Waxing on Favrisophical

Have you ever listened to the soundtrack from The Karate Kid? I mean really listened to it? It's both sick and sad. Nearly every moment of the film, both those filled with teen angst and those filled with waxing (on and off) are accompanied by the tunes of some wild 80's rocker on, what would appear to be, a great amount of really good acid. The fact that I never noticed this before, and found the melodious assault completely acceptable when last I viewed this movie, worth neither a sideways glance nor doubled-over hysterics, (given I was probably like, nine) makes it a good deal sicker and sadder. Anyway, we're watching this classic not so much for the soundtrack, but for the outstanding way it diverts my attention from the fact that one of my favorite cities is floating away.

And what is it about Brett Favre that attracts such rancid misery? I swear that man must have sold his soul to the devil. "I don't care!" said Brett, "I don't care what happens to me! Just make me mega-cute and give me an arm like a laser driven cannon! To hell with everything else!” To this, the devil replied, "sign here". The next thing you know, he breaks his dad and loses his thumb (hold on. Strike that. Reverse it.), his brother-law dies, his wife gets breast cancer, he cracks his head open, and now he's got beignets floating through his childhood livingroom.

Bonsai.