That was pretty stinking great.

Yeah, like many reboots it has that Tarantino stink on it. It's an extended selfie of someone watching better movies.

Can't take the stink off shit.

People burning garbage in their backyards is bad enough, but that's really gonna stink the place up.

Sweet... I don't want to be cold hearted but I will. This might be killing two birds with one stone. 1) being -private luxury crack smoking room. That's what's gonna happen... Maybe some showering... Doesn't matter to me though, the bums stink, the BART stinks, the whole downtown area of SF smells like a huge crack alcohol shit storm for being such an "affluent" city. I think this was well intended but I don't trust the "non-profits" around here especially in this "app" bubble. "Give me a huge grant because I have like the most astonishingly brilliant idea blah blah blah (pockets 25% of grant for outrageous rent costs)."

Ok, so Disney behaves like a big corporation and fucks people over. Same shit, different day.
But doing it to fuck with Quentin? No. Fuck you, Quentin. No. The universe doesn't revolve around that man. It's neither about Hateful Eight nor the guy himself, it's about money and ticketsales.
I love Quentin's movies but that man's egomania really stinks.

This stinks so bad I can smell it through my computer screen.

I have zero interest in this film now. They just tossed a cosplayer into what was shaping up to be an interesting combination of characters.

Also, they obviously went to Eisenberg for the role and said "You can do 'Heath-Ledger-crazy', right?" It just stinks of hoping to re-capture another Joker performance.

guaranteed way to go home stinking of alcohol!

I'm a big fan of the first 3 Terminator movies and I watched the first 30 minutes of this before I had to stop watching, it's painful just how bad it was. So much time was taken up recreating scenes from better movies, it's got that self-aware Tarantino stink all over it. I'm embarrassed for Arnold, it's like he was hosting SNL and was there to do parodies of his own schtick.

Avoid this one like a tire in the road.

It "stinks"

Dude, that's clearly a 90's video. However, the best production value won't help you if your content stinks, just ask M. Night Shyamalan. Having white children rap about religion is terrible. If you can't see this cheap and lazy attempt at making Jesus PR for children for what it is, you'll probably need the Lord's help more than the kids do.

So...I go to John Lewis if I'm an old man who wants to look at little girls through a telescope?


The Man in the Moon had silver shoon
And his beard was of silver thread;
He was girt with pure gold and inaureoled
With gold about his head.
Clad in silken robe in his great white globe
He opened an ivory door
With a crystal key, and in secrecy
He stole o'er a shadowy floor;

Down a filigree stair of spidery hair
He slipped in gleaming haste,
And laughing with glee to be merry and free
He swiftly earthward raced.
He was tired of his pearls and diamond twirls;
Of his pallid minaret
Dizzy and white at its lunar height
In a world of silver set;

And adventured this peril for ruby and beryl
And emerald and sapphire,
And all lustrous gems for new diadems,
Or to blazon his pale attire.
He was lonely too with nothing to do
But to stare at the golden world,
Or to strain at the hum that would distantly come
As it gaily past him whirled;

And at plenilune in his argent moon
He had wearily longed for Fire-
Not the limpid lights of wan selenites,
But a red terrestrial pyre
With impurpurate glows of crimson and rose
And leaping orange tongue;
For great seas of blues and the passionate hues
When a dancing dawn is young;

For the meadowy ways like chrysophrase
By winding Yare and Nen.
How he longed for the mirth of the populous Earth
And the sanguine blood of men;
And coveted song and laughter long
And viands hot and wine,
Eating pearly cakes of light snowflakes
And drinking thin moonshine.

He twinkled his feet as he thought of the meat,
Of the punch and the peppery brew,
Till he tripped unaware on his slanting stair,
And fell like meteors do;
As the whickering sparks in splashing arcs
Of stars blown down like rain
From his laddery path took a foaming bath
In the ocean of Almain;

And began to think, lest he melt and stink,
What in the moon to do,
When a Yarmouth boat found him far afloat,
To the mazement of the crew
Caught in their net all shimmering wet
In a phosphorescent sheen
Of bluey whites and opal lights
And delicate liquid green

With the morning fish — 'twas his regal wish —
They packed him to Norwich town,
To get warm on gin in a Norfolk inn,
And dry his watery gown.
Though St. Peter's knell waked many a bell
In the city's ringing towers
To shout the news of his lunatic cruise
In the early morning hours,

No hearths were laid, not a breakfast made,
And no one would sell him gems;
He found ashes for fire, and his gay desire
For choruses and brave anthems
Met snores instead with all Norfolk abed,
And his round heart nearly broke,
More empty and cold than above of old,
Till he bartered his fairy cloak

With a half waked cook for a kitchen nook,
And his belt of gold for a smile,
And a priceless jewel for a bowl of gruel,
A sample cold and vile
Of the proud plum porridge of Anglian Norwich —
He arrived much too soon
For unusual guests on adventurous quests
From the Mountains of the Moon.

So. Stinking. Cool.

Victoria's Secret models eat your heart out.

That's what I'm going as for Halloween next year.

*promote

My man! Thank you for re-upgrading to charter and for a whole stinking YEAR! Your dedication to and support for the sift is appreciated and touching.

We love you. ♥