(Bob Hoskins is dead.)
Yesterday, the Dragon Lady worked late. So I prepared pork and French fries for me and the kids. The meal was delicious. I'm quite proficient at cooking. Poor old Smith is a real Betty Crocker. I even own an apron and possess a dazzling smile. I'm just a hairy foul-smelling June Cleaver. I washed the vittles down with a large glass of Coke. Sugary soft-drinks make my heart sing with joy.
The discipline committee at James-uh's school might give him a detention. They haven't decided yet. But I'm no longer too concerned with Twizzler-gate. I talked with one of his teachers. He said a bunch of boys were in on the carnage. Compared to the others, my kid's an angel. Nevertheless, I set high behavioral standards. Next time he screws around, I'll break his fingers. We've got enough candy at home. He doesn't need to steal it.
I downloaded the latest episode of Fargo. I enjoy the series a lot. Billy Bob Thornton plays a sadistic hit man. In this episode, he kills a dog with a nasty-looking knife in order to break into a rich man's home. He doesn't murder the man. Instead, he replaces his real medicine with speed. By the end of the show, the poor guy is bouncing off the walls. Fargo has a devilish sense of humor. It's very dark--if you're into that kind of thing.
I paid homage to the Christ God. I said the Lord's Prayer on bended knees. No big surprise. After all, I'm not some filthy atheist. I begged Jesus to slap some sense into my idiot son. That kid needs an attitude adjustment. He takes nothing seriously.
I went to bed at 10 p.m. I had another dream about fishing. I was alone on a pristine sandy beach with a pole in my hand. I'm not sure if I caught anything. I used to be an avid fisherman back in the day. The hobby was a great excuse to consume lots of beer and throw the crumpled cans at unfortunate alligators.
I woke up at 6 a.m. and drank several cups of coffee. Then I read the paper while enjoying a bathroom break. Bob Hoskins died of pneumonia. He was 71-years-old. Hoskins was truly a great actor. His performance in The Long Good Friday is one of the best that the 20th century has to offer. It was nothing less than dazzling. The phrase tour de force pops to mind.
I turned on Fox News. That little moron Greg Gutfeld believes the United States isn't active enough in international affairs. He won't be happy until we stick our beak into every corner and crevice of the entire globe. It's always the biggest pussies who enjoy violent conflict the most. After all, what does Gutfeld have to lose? He's just another sissy from Manhattan getting drunk on Martinis. It's not as if he's ever fired a gun at another human being.
Anyway, it's time for the song du jour. Here's Man of Constant Sorrow by Union Station. God bless.