Seeing as my old lady doesn't live in the same country as me and my plans for the evening of murdering a lobster was blown off by a (dude) who had to put (cinderblocks) under his bed, I decided to get my haircut by a gay man at a black beauty salon, go take shot with a prostitute in an empty bar and come home and watch Steven Seagal in Hard to Kill. And therefore do nothing for Valentines Day.
Confusing? Yes. Imagine my feelings when I see the shrine to Debbie Gibson everyday surrounded by a pile of broken Transformers in my closet as i get dressed for work on a daily basis. That also serves as my tie rack. Anyways.
Steven Seagal is the most bullshit action hero ever. If you made that mutha run an obstacle course he would be out in the pie in the face round. If the sounds that resonated from my walls were not Al Green "Let's get it on" and the mastication of macaroni and cheese coming in full karaoke mode from all sides, I probably would not have been forced to put the headphones on to watch it in the first place. (Didn't hurt he was banging the chick from Weird Science) Unfortunately, every time I took them off to run to the bathroom to piss, I was forced to take turns urinating with vomiting from the carnal sounds of the animals mating from all sides. The sounds, agggh, the sounds...
After about nine whiskeys, the pain of Seagal and the noise was over. I removed the headphones and was greeted with screaming, yelling and police sirens. The soundtrack for a much more appreciated Valentines Day in Bed Stuy Brooklyn.
Happy Valentines Day Baby. A love letter from me to you.
A video sent in from From Under The Boardwalk proves my point. It's entitled, "Steven Seagal Runs Like A Girl"