• Parkerizing at home.
• “Fucking women is as monotonous as listening to male wit. I find that the news in the papers is always the same, that the vices are trivial, and that there aren’t enough different ways to compose a sentence.”
• Megan Fox has dark brown locks.
• Chicken dinner. Via Pseudoscience of the Present Day.
• “The martini is…well…OK, if we ignore the sullying ice cubes, it’s pretty much perfectly average. Everything I asked that it contain is there, more or less in their correct proportions. But the truth of the matter is this: it lacks panache. It’s the libationary equivalent of masturbating with a tea cozy. You get the job done, but it’s not exactly the Adrenaline Thrill-Ride of the Summer.”
• An interview with Cormac McCarthy.
• An interview with James Ellroy.
• All of Robert Louis Stevenson, free.

Megan Fox is a magical Disney cartoon, a Jessica Rabbit run wild, and she eagerly invites the camera to attend to her every crevice and flesh-folded intersection. Even as an avowed homosexual, I cannot help but notice just how feverishly she thrusts her secret parts towards the camera at every opportunity. (Of course, the camera thrusts back, as it has the hideous, orc-like eye of “director” Michael Bay leering behind it, and clearly he is touching some grotesque and unnaturally short and discolored protuberance of his own flesh the whole while.) In a slightly worse world, Megan Fox would be the star not of Hasbro’s idiot “Transformer” franchise but of something that has the phrase “Double Penetration” in the title. All on her own, she is reeling back twenty years of gender and film studies textbooks. While we may have thought the male gaze was wilting or troublesome, Megan Fox proves that (for her and a select few others, at least) the male gaze is just some flimsy and pitiful little ray to rub her flesh up against so as to keep warm her nearly-exposed rump. She is hard to believe, with the soft kitty-cat stripper ways of a Gina Gershon melded with the hard machineness of a Linda Fiorentino.