The other day, I got taken to Taken 2.

Taken to Taken 2. Heh.

Don’t mind me. Easily amused, me. My pain specialist has upped the dosages till they can find someone other than New England Compounders to make my shot.

I have to titrate up my Neurontin to see if my system can take 600 mg a day. The Percs, which I had prescribed as every eight hours and was actually taking about every twelve hours but only every other day, I am now supposed to take every six hours.

I did not take any before Taken 2, because I was thinking of the other moviegoers. Percocet makes me chatty. If you were in Auditorium 2 at Red Rock on Wednesday afternoon, you’re welcome.

I’ve had some now, though, because I’ve been up since 2 am and fuck that.

So, feeling chatty, I don’t feel bad about giving out spoilers on account of you’ve all seen the first Taken, including, I think, the Mom, who probably said, “Hey, isn’t that Broots?” about the bloke playing one of Liam Neeson’s former CIA buddies, and yes, Mommy, that was Broots. Well spotted.

What was I talking about?

Oh, right. Spoylerz. I haz them. My spoylerz. Let me show you them.

Everyone who thought Liam Neeson and Famke Janssen were going to reunite at the end of the first Taken, relax. They have ice cream sodas at the end of the new film. It’s very sockhoptastic.

Liam Neeson couldn’t have done any of his badassery this time round without Maggie Grace throwing grenades and dropping guns down chimneys for him.

Also, a bunch of blatant product placement for iPhone, Asus, and Skype, not in that order.

The Albanian father of the Albanian whom Liam Neeson took out in the first film has two other living Albanian sons. Stay tuned for Taken 3 and Taken 4, at least one of which will have Liam Neeson having to suck down some Metamucil in order to fight the Albanians who have kidnapped his grandchild.

He may wind up swinging his walker at them, is all I’m saying. Man’s already sixty, for fuck’s sake.

What else?

Oh, That Man of Mine has a new job, for which he must have an alcohol card, a gaming commission card, and a firearm.

I can’t object to his handling a gun. He was a crack shot in the Marines, so, theoretically, he knows what he’s doing.

However, he’s also become the man who can break a bottle of shampoo just trying to open it, so I don’t intend to be around when he cleans the thing.

Also, I have new party shoes, because I thought I was going to a party, only I’m not. Still, I have the shoes, just in case I ever get invited somewhere else.

And I got a whole box of lovely new makeup from E.L.F., including some stuff called Pout Perfecter, about which I am most pleased, and about which That Man, who considers my pout to be the equivalent of a sucker punch and pretty much already perfect, is less pleased.

See? Chatty.


drinking: ice water
listening to: Anarbor, Damage I’ve Done
other new makeup: a new compact which mr. armed security officer has already broken

6 thoughts on “chatty

    • I don’t expect him to injure himself or anyone else, so much as I expect him to break it and need another one. Knowing him, repeatedly.

      • LMAO that you remembered that episode. I recorded that for Podcrapular in a (truly crappy) Mid-West parking lot. I did sound sincere, though! At least that was my take. Just the same, you live closer to Liam than me. I believe this would be a coup if we bloggers could figure out a way to have you meet the man!

  1. Liam Neeson lives in New York, which is not anything near Vegas, last I checked. Not that it matters. We used to go to upstate New York all the time when we lived on the east coast and we never ran into him. Nor Natasha Richardson, come to that.

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