Collect my Thoughts

And...................The Academy Award for Best Motion Picture goes to..............Clint Eastwood's feces!



I think it's entirely possible someone could aim a camera at Clint Eastwood dropping his morning deuce and the Oscar(trademark) buzz would begin immediately. The buzz would create such power, Clint's position on the thrown could be jostled a bit, even before he had a chance to finish. Ok ok. it was a pretty decent bathroom session. Only Mr. Eastwood can drop bombs quite like that. His movement moved me. I teared up a bit. But, I have to admit I was somewhat let down that Morgan Freeman didn't knock on the door and offer advice on how to handle the emotional effectives of improper wiping techinique; pass on the knowledge.



"Jeez Clint, maybe some baby wipes would make the experience more pleasant.

"Dammit Morgan, I like the pain. I miss the world. This is my Hundred Thousand Dollar Baby."



That could be the Oscar(TM) clip. That log has a killer jab. Fo sho. What's really going to be killer is the remake. Excuse me, the re-imagining, or origin story. It all started on a balmy, spring morning in Carmel. A cup of coffee and a bran muffin and it was on like Donkey Kong. As her perused the morning paper, a rumbling signal the beginning. Luckily, the heater was on overnight, so the porcelain will be at room temperature, so as to not induce shock and a potenial coronary episode for the aging warrior. One bite of his grapefruit, and the point of no return was established.



Point of no Return? Was that with Clint Eastwood? Or was that Bridget Fonda? A remake of La Femme Nikita? Maybe she can play the female lead in the re-imagining. Maybe they can share the his and her's toilet of love. Talk about buzz. Who will play the lead? I see Bruce Willis! Yes! I digress. Back to the saga.



Clint stubbed his toe, again, on the leg of one of the chairs around the breakfast table. " I hate life,' he exclaimed as her strained to block out the pain and tension. His scurrying dog scampers by barking, demanding attention that a man in pre-bowel drama cannot reciprocate. slighty hunched over at this point, holding a mit gingerly to his belly, he's feeling urgent issues. His grizzled face is a poigniant reflection of his predicament; diginified, feeling urgency, damning his rotten luck. Life has dealt him a raw deck, and he's resigned to the fact that he will die alone, crapping, with only a random cameo from Morgan Freeman to take solace. I see the poster now; "Deuce:A Shit Story."



Maybe I'm taking this too far. Is there any fecal content in Slumdog Millionaire? That should put it over the top.







ps Tom Waits rules

ps ps ss