I'm intrigued by Vince Vaughn, the crook in 1968. What kind of urban capers would he be doing? I'm sure that portion of the movie would be done with a Quincy Jones soundtrack. Can't wait! Oh, yes I can.
@MrInBetween: It's simply an allergic reaction to downing dozens of beers while watching late night poker tournaments on ESPN. A few months of not doing that anymore should clear it right up.
Monday: Walked the dogs past Vince's house again. Wonder if he noticed? Tried to look out of the corner of my eye to see if the curtains on any of the windows were twitching, walked into lamp post. Pretty sure there was no curtain twitch. I hope.
Tuesday: Walked the dogs past Vince's house again. I love thinking of it as "Vince's house." I mean, it could be "Vince Vaughn's house," or "Mr. Vincent Vaughn's house," or "The home of the celebrated actor Vincent Vaughn." Or even "Fat Vinnie's Boss Crib." But "Vince's house" just sounds so cozy. Like something that was meant to be.
Wednesday: Walked the dogs past Vince's house again. I wonder if he would notice me if my name were Estella and we both were traveling through time together for thousands of years and he was a silk trader at some point, or maybe one of those Chinese kings who wore a hat shaped like a wooden shoe? Hmmm. This bears thinking about.
Thursday: Walked the dogs past Vince's house again. Mimsy laid a huge cable just at the foot of the driveway. I had to pick it up using some dead leaves. Ick.
Friday: I raced, screaming "I can't take it any more!' to Vince's house and hammered on the door, pleading and sobbing for him to open up the door, his heart, our lives, a new chapter in existence.
Some blonde who looked kind of strung out opened the door and told me this wasn't Vince's house, he lived over in Bel Air and her name was Courtney and did I want to hear her play this new song she'd been working on and did I think Yoko Ono was a great artist or a deranged bitch or maybe both. She kind of freaked me out, honestly.
Oh, I love when "writers" take absolute bullshit and try to pass it off as real literary work, because they may have, possibly, not ever, actually met a celebrity and now that should mean they can turn an imaginary conversation into a book (book of $millions!) that anyone with firing synapses would tell you is the lamest way to ever bastardize the publishing industry next to letting some moose hunter offer her rendition of Jack Handey's Deep Thoughts.
Yeah, i paid 23.50 plus concessions to see this with my wife. I'm not even mad, I knew it would be terrible when I agreed to see it, so I don't want my money back even though we left at the 50 minute mark. I just expected something a little more tolerable from "the guys who brought you Swingers."
I hate to be this person, but the simple fucking grammar mistakes are just intolerably frequent on Gawker these days. Moylan, Rushfield, and Belonsky need to go back to the 2nd grade and learn the difference between its and it's (among other things.) I mean, c'mon guys, you're getting paid for this. Have a little respect.
@Tattertotter: What do you expect? How much are these guys paid per post? How many posts do they have to crank out to be able to eat and pay rent? Does Gawker even employ a copy editor? And what's the volume of copy that comes through? Get used to it, folks, this is the New Journalism.
That's "Swingers" era Vince Vaughn... the mistake no one regrets making all that much.
Current Vince Vaughn is that bloated neighbor who gets drunk way too early at the neighborhood block party and slurringly hits on someone's horrified teenage daughter right before passing out on the lawn. His long-suffering wife leaves him there all day, and one of his buddies throws a wet towel over his face once he starts to sunburn.
He was great in Swingers. And middle-aged losers (like me) want to re-live our younger days, back when Vince Vaughn was cool and we wanted to be like him.
01:30 PM
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I mean, if you're going to lose your mind over such a random celebrity as Vaughan, wouldn't you want to romance him at his actual peak?
12:15 PM
Monday: Walked the dogs past Vince's house again. Wonder if he noticed? Tried to look out of the corner of my eye to see if the curtains on any of the windows were twitching, walked into lamp post. Pretty sure there was no curtain twitch. I hope.
Tuesday: Walked the dogs past Vince's house again. I love thinking of it as "Vince's house." I mean, it could be "Vince Vaughn's house," or "Mr. Vincent Vaughn's house," or "The home of the celebrated actor Vincent Vaughn." Or even "Fat Vinnie's Boss Crib." But "Vince's house" just sounds so cozy. Like something that was meant to be.
Wednesday: Walked the dogs past Vince's house again. I wonder if he would notice me if my name were Estella and we both were traveling through time together for thousands of years and he was a silk trader at some point, or maybe one of those Chinese kings who wore a hat shaped like a wooden shoe? Hmmm. This bears thinking about.
Thursday: Walked the dogs past Vince's house again. Mimsy laid a huge cable just at the foot of the driveway. I had to pick it up using some dead leaves. Ick.
Friday: I raced, screaming "I can't take it any more!' to Vince's house and hammered on the door, pleading and sobbing for him to open up the door, his heart, our lives, a new chapter in existence.
Some blonde who looked kind of strung out opened the door and told me this wasn't Vince's house, he lived over in Bel Air and her name was Courtney and did I want to hear her play this new song she'd been working on and did I think Yoko Ono was a great artist or a deranged bitch or maybe both. She kind of freaked me out, honestly.
11:42 AM
11:03 AM
12:33 PM
10:56 AM
10:53 AM
10/12/09
10/12/09
10/12/09
10/12/09
10/12/09
10/14/09
10/12/09
10/12/09
10/12/09
That's "Swingers" era Vince Vaughn... the mistake no one regrets making all that much.
Current Vince Vaughn is that bloated neighbor who gets drunk way too early at the neighborhood block party and slurringly hits on someone's horrified teenage daughter right before passing out on the lawn. His long-suffering wife leaves him there all day, and one of his buddies throws a wet towel over his face once he starts to sunburn.
10/12/09
10/12/09
The whole thing is quite pathetic, really.
10/12/09