Cars intrigue me. Their shape, size, and power don’t really matter to me; I just think they’re interesting concepts. Horseless carriages. A single person can go anywhere with a paved road and enough gasoline. It’s freedom to travel, up to a point. You can go anywhere, anytime, as long as you have enough cash laying around to fill the tank. It’s getting harder and harder to find enough loose cash for that sort of thing. I can’t tell if I’m going broke or if gas is getting pricy.
I don’t know whether to be scared or slightly aroused. While regular old Indians are more than enough to get me excited, when you throw in fantastically choreographed fights and huge muscles all around, I’m not sure I can contain myself. I didn’t even know there were that many muscular Indians available. Maybe they hired an entire IT call center to get juiced up for the film, but that seems like it would take a while.
The video offers such a thoroughly unusual combination of Western culture and Eastern weirdness. The sheer amount of masculinity exuded by every frame is incalculable. The testosterone seeped through the screen and entered my pores. I grew a full, bushy mustache after the first minute of viewing. After two minutes I grew an extra foot and put on one-hundred pounds of pure muscle.
I’ve already gone to far. If I watch past the three-minute mark I feel like the sheer amount of manliness will rip a hole through time and space and the Indian version of Arnold Schwarzenegger will swoop in and ask if I’m happy with my current Internet service provider. While that’s not necessarily a bad thing, I have stuff to do tomorrow, and I really don’t have time to drag myself out of a roid-rage wormhole, again.
Coincidentally, Communists And Quikrete Is The Name Of My Duran Duran Tribute Band
(Warning: Some salty language in the soundtrack, but it’s all indecipherable for the most part. I’d mute it for the sake of your own sanity.)
It’s rather refreshing to see that the fellow working on the apartment was wearing close-toed shoes, long pants, and a long-sleeved shirt instead of flip-flops, culottes, and half a Slayer t-shirt. Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t believe in dressing like a Vietnamese serf when working on my house. Just because everyone on HGTV does demolition wearing nothing but a fig leaf and crocs, doesn’t mean you should too. Leave that behavior to the professionals who get paid enough to replace all the toes they cut off with robotic ones.It’s a little known fact that over 90 percent of all the renovation-TV-show hosts have robotic arms and legs because they keep cutting their limbs off. Norm Abram from Ask This Old House is more man than machine at this point.
At least renovation-TV-show hosts aren’t as bad as some of the other people on TV who have their entire body encased in silicone, so they can look like disturbing, fleshy, scarecrows for all eternity. I’d much rather be the Terminator than Pamela Anderson’s boobs. Err — actually, I might take that back. At least Pam’s boob gets to touch Pam’s other boob.
Not all heroes wear capes — some of them ride buffalo and punch cougars in the face.
This guy is possibly the manliest man I’ve ever seen in my entire life. He rides a buffalo, fights Indians, punches a mountain lion, rescues an abandoned baby, and shoots up a saloon without messing up his killer beard. The dude can take a bullet like a boss, too. I’m pretty sure it was deflected by his awesomeness, and he was just faking being shot for the sake of the plot.
It’s safe to say that guy on a buffalo is the epitome of everything the borderline sociopath boy aspires to be. When I grow up I want to be a guy on a buffalo, too.