It's a gift really.
Like when I'm supposed to be getting dinner for my kids and I instead think about how awesome it would be to be Wile E. Coyote and then actually catch that mother-effing, dick-head roadrunner. Or when I'm at mass and instead of contemplating the divine something,something of Jesus I wonder who I would eat if the church were suddenly locked from the outside by a gang of post-apocalyptic thugs. I mean...I wouldn't have to worry about water, because we Catholics have loads of the magic kind, but food might be a problem because those skinny wafers won't cut it. Maybe they are the transubstantiated body of our Lord and Savior*, but they probably only have, what...20 calories at best? I think I'm gonna eat Mrs. Murtough. She's put on quite a few pounds since her kidneys failed.
To Wong Foo Thanks For Everything, Julie Newmar is of course, the story of Priscilla Queen of the Desert as told by the following non-Australians: John Leguizamo, Patrick Swayze, and robustly non-Australian Wesley Snipes. All dressed in drag. And no I don't mean dressed up as drag racers, because that would be really cool to see...like each actor could be dressed up like a car and then run really fast in a sprint against the other actors. That would have a lot of dramatic tension because everyone would want the underdog, Wesley Snipes car to win, but he would be sabotaged by racists in the second act and then the Patrick Swayze race car would have to race to win in the climax of the film. And then some song by Night Ranger would come on when he won and there would be a freeze-frame of the two surviving cars jumping in mid-air, hands together like champions. Not that kind. The "men dressed up as chicks" kind.
Was Wong Fu** awesome? No. No it was not. I barely remember it. But will that keep me from focusing on what it was that made Patrick Swayze chose it as his project after the success of Dirty Dancing and Ghost? Nope. I'm totally fixated on it like it was the leg of someone dressed in a fancy suit at a funeral and I am a horny dog who's walked in off the street and need to get my hump on.
Moral: Wesley Snipes makes an ugly woman.
*This might be bordering on sacrilegious, but God has a good sense of humor about blasphemy according to my complete ignorance of how many people have been stoned to death for it over the centuries.
**I abbreviated it in the interest of not wanting to type out that whole big long thing out again and also so you think I am best friends with that film and therefore my smack talk is done in playful fun, and me and the movie go way back and we drink beer and play cards together and never argue about having what it would classify as "semi-gay" experiences in the movie theater that one time.
Aside: Hey! Don't forget to read the Roaring Dork. Today I talk about Resident Evil: Afterlife and how Milla Jovovich could sell me her used tampons and call them "Fire Mice" that are genetic mutations of actual mice with red coats and even though they totally look fake and the googly eyes she's glued on the one are starting to come off, it's Milla Jovovich so who even cares.