...you don't talk about Fight Club. And here's why.
We were in Blockbuster, looking for Mystery Men because, well, it's a great flick and Chris thinks that I'm Janeane Garofalo on the inside. Blockbuster didn't have it because they're a bunch of corporate assholes who are more interested in stocking 13 copies of Barber Shop 2 because that way they're represen'in, innit. But anyway, we were cruising the comedy aisle, trying to find something other than Uncle Buck and My Girl 3, when we heard the standard PB pod of stoners come in. Chris stopped in his tracks, closed his eyes and said, "Just wait for it. Just wait." So we stood there until one of them started talking.
"Yeah? So Fight Club? It really made me, like, think? That one, and um? The other one? Clockwork Orange? Yeah, Fight Club and Clockwork Orange, after I watched them? They made me smarter?"
For a moment, in my head, it was like that part in High Fidelity where I go through all the possible ways I could beat the living shit out of this girl. My favorite is still the one where I rip the window-mounted air conditioner out of the wall and drop it on her head. They say that living at the beach is supposed to be peaceful, but I don't know what the hell they're talking about.
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