Deal the porch is leading us absurd.
Push that, push that, push that to the hull
That this isn't nothing at all
Yeah! Whatever that means!
Apparently, Franco released a collection of short stories, because he's such a genius. Even perpetual Franco pole-smokers The AV Club didn't give it an exactly favorable review. They even try to back it up by reiterating his talent, less he stop blessing them with his Heavenly presence, but the resentment is clearly there.
And then there's this, but I'm not going to write another word about it because I refuse to give Franco the pleasure of making me (or my beloved readers) vomit.
Seriously, Franco, who do you think you are?
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| Pictured: James Franco |
Will someone please explain to me what the deal is with James Franco? It seems like he's everywhere, and yet, I cannot for the life of me picture him or recall ever seeing him in a movie. Maybe because he's only in Oscar-baiting tripe like 127 Hours (Oh Danny Boyle, where have you gone?) or pro-rape stoner crap like Your Highness (and just when I'd forgiven your complete inability to act, Natalie Portman) and I'm not in college anymore, so I don't have to pretend to like those films.
According to IMDB, it's his birthday today, but I came from the site ten seconds ago and I can't remember what he looks like.
He's the REM of actors--generic in every respect, and yet, for some reason, highly lauded by people who should frankly know better. Sure, REM had some catchy tunes, but the lyrics were just a series of phrases strung together. Here are some lyrics from "Radio Free Europe"
Keep me out of country in the word
Deal the porch is leading us absurd.
Push that, push that, push that to the hull
That this isn't nothing at all
Yeah! Whatever that means!
Apparently, Franco released a collection of short stories, because he's such a genius. Even perpetual Franco pole-smokers The AV Club didn't give it an exactly favorable review. They even try to back it up by reiterating his talent, less he stop blessing them with his Heavenly presence, but the resentment is clearly there.
And then there's this, but I'm not going to write another word about it because I refuse to give Franco the pleasure of making me (or my beloved readers) vomit.
Seriously, Franco, who do you think you are?
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