Is My Name Champ?

Every time I see Marcia Cross all saned-up and trying to sell me apple juice or what the fuck ever I’m just waiting for her to peel off her damn wig and reveal her crazy-evil plan of seduction and destruction to herself in the mirror.

I have this tic that causes me to heavily associate an actor with the first role I like them in. Thusly, Michael Cera will always and forever be George Michael. Even when he’s all grown up and doing a proto-hipster Hamlet (I’m sure it’s already in pre-production) I will be calling him George Michael and asking him questions about the banana stand. And in this conversation in my head he will stammer his answers charmingly as his eyes dart nervously between my rack and his grandmother refreshing her cocktail in the kitchen.

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This entry was posted in Drugs, Fucking Hipsters, Murderous Rage, Sara, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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