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I met a hunter on the bus today. He had a fancy cap and a telescope and an astrolabe -- though I suspect it might have been a false astrolabe for fashion's sake -- and he was on the hunt.
"I'm looking for the people," he told me, "who broke into my house and replaced all my favorite movies from the eighties and nineties with embarrassing, outdated movies that are superficially similar in plot but lack the boyish wonder of the originals with a sort of campy ignorance."
"Good luck with that," I said.
"I think the people who tampered with the Ladyhawke soundtrack may be copycats, modeling themselves after the folks who spliced a horrible embarrassing racist caricature into Breakfast at Tiffany's, back in the classic day."
We exchanged our contact information, so if you call me from now on, you'll probably reach him instead. Please be patient.
"I'm looking for the people," he told me, "who broke into my house and replaced all my favorite movies from the eighties and nineties with embarrassing, outdated movies that are superficially similar in plot but lack the boyish wonder of the originals with a sort of campy ignorance."
"Good luck with that," I said.
"I think the people who tampered with the Ladyhawke soundtrack may be copycats, modeling themselves after the folks who spliced a horrible embarrassing racist caricature into Breakfast at Tiffany's, back in the classic day."
We exchanged our contact information, so if you call me from now on, you'll probably reach him instead. Please be patient.
