C'est étonnant à quel point Orlando Bloom ressemble à Elijah Wood sur l'affiche de Troie.
Sans déconner, il faut télécharger Dschinghis Khan. Je connaissais déjà cette chanson, reprise par un obscur groupe punk allemand. Mais ça. Ca. C'est extraordinaire. Les chanteurs, les costumes, la chorégraphie... on dirait la danse rituelle d'un groupement de serial-killer juste avant qu'ils ne se jetent sur vous pour vous dévorer à pleines dents.
Petite remarque en passant sur les meurtres déguisés en suicide. J'y repense à propos du suicide de Grossouvre. Barril dit que c'est impossible qu'il se soit suicidé, et effectivement, il met en avant un grand nombre d'éléments absurdes (absence de bruit, garde du corps déplacé, etc.). Mais parmi les arguments qui ne peuvent pas tenir, et il faut être suicidaire pour le comprendre, c'est le fait d'avoir des obligations, plein de choses en cours, de ne pas sembler malade. Rien n'y fait. Pour donner un exemple concret, si je n'avais pas eu la flemme de sortir de ma douche, sous l'eau très chaude, pour redescendre chercher les clefs de ma Marlin dans la poche de mon treillis, je ne serais pas en train d'écrire ces lignes. Et pourtant, j'ai un rendez-vous à deux heures, un banquet demain, plein de choses en cours. Ce n'est pas ça qui peut protéger la pulsion de vie.
Relévé chez Kim Dutoit.
Bon, j'ai pas tout bon, mais grosso-modo...
-- you have ever loaded a drawer up with so much ammo that you can't open it.
-- someone asks how many guns you have, you have to think about it for a minute.
-- you have ever bought ammo in a caliber that none of your guns fire.
-- the guns you took to the range cost more than your car.
-- you carry a different gun every day of the week.
-- whenever you can't decide which gun to get, you get both.
-- you get your wife/girlfriend to wear Hoppes 9 instead of her usual perfume.
-- you take so many guns to the range and don't shoot half of them.
-- you have an extra room in your house just for ammo and guns.
-- your home page is set to a firearms-related webpage.
-- you count the number of bullets that people shoot in a movie and then scream a top of your lungs BULLSH**!!! when a guy using a revover mows down a battalion of criminals without reloading.
-- you know more about the Constitution than your lawyer.
-- your wife leaves you and you don't mind. Your dog gets run over by a truck and you barely flinch. But you accidentally drop your favorite gun, gets scratched and you cry a river.
-- you have more holsters than Imelda Marcos had shoes.
-- you never stop looking for pre-ban hi-cap magazines... even in a supermarket.
-- you can field strip any firearm you own hanging upside down and blindfolded.
-- you have ever bought a gun to fill an old holster someone gave you.
-- you have ever bought a gun to shoot up a half-filled 20-round box of ammo someone gave you, because you didn't have a rifle in that caliber yet.
-- you have ever accidentally run a pocket pistol through the wash and spin cycles, still in your pants pocket.
-- you do not own a single fabric-based item (clothing, bags or suitcases) that does NOT set off the explosives trace detector at the airport.
-- you have ever bought a gun that is identical to TWO you already own, because the first two are out-of-production NIB examples and you can't bring yourself to shoot them.
-- when buying something with pocket change, you have to pick the dimes and quarters out of a handful of loose .22 ammo.
-- you regularly find guns around the house and in far corners of the safe that you have no memory of buying ... and such discoveries no longer surprise you.
-- you have ever busted a spring on your car from piling too much ammo in the trunk on the way to a shoot.
-- you have ever researched a firearm you own to find out the date it was manufactured... and then thrown a birthday party for it.
-- you go to WalMart for back-to-school supplies, then must explain to your wife why that includes 1k of 9mm Win white box.
-- your dog is "Dog" and your cat is "Cat," but each of your guns has a name. (Well, at least the guns you're closest to -- ya know, the ones you've bonded with.)
-- when you say "Damn ! That is a sexy looking piece!", your wife knows you are not looking at another woman.
-- whenever you see a story on TV about a gator spotted in a neighborhood, you think "Crap, there goes another target of opportunity."
-- any time a weather person on TV gives the latest update on the hurricane du jour, the first thought you have is to wonder if you have enough ammo.
-- your hurricane panels have shooting ports.
-- you have to have additional homeowner's insurance specifically for firearms.
-- the cops have ever called Homeland Security after pulling you over.
-- you have ever carried more than two guns at once.
-- when the local gunshop needs an old or obscure magazine, they call you.
-- when you call your local House Rep's office, the guy who answers groans and says "I'll tell him again not to vote for AWB" as soon as he hears your name.
-- you have more holsters than pants.
-- the movers all groan when they see your gunsafe.
-- you spend half an hour bitching about how the good guy in the movie killed 20 badguys firing full-auto from the hip.
-- you spend another half an hour explaining how the movie would have been over in 10 minutes if any of the bad guy's victims had a gun.
-- you regularly just sit and stare at your guns for a while, and the rest of your family doesn't find this strange.
-- you can actually take a nap in a gun range.
-- you felt a knot in your stomach when they showed US soldiers in Iraq destroying a cache of brand spanking new AK-74s on the news.
-- you mount a tripod, bayonet and flash suppressor to your N.A.A. 22 MINI MAG.
-- you do a complete breakdown of all your weapons just to stay in practice - "especially if you haven't made it to the range lately."
-- you find more .22LR rounds than loose coins when you clean out your car.
-- your nightstand is stacked with gun mags and firearm technical and reloading manuals.
-- your primary office decoration at work or on your fridge at home is your best target group.
-- your guns are cleaner than your home.
-- a topless joint with free admission is half a mile away, and instead you drive 40 miles to the shooting range on a Saturday night.
-- you alternate Silvertips and Hydra-shoks in your magazines because they look prettier that way.
-- you can't figure out why your non-shooting friends laugh when you say "Bushmaster".
-- you collect brass even though you only buy factory ammo.
-- "Miller Time" means plinking at beer cans.
-- the highlight of your week is discovering that six .40 SW hollowpoints fit perfectly in a plastic 35mm film canister. (5 up/1 down in the middle).
-- you ever had to explain "It's not the SAME gun, it's a different VARIANT".
-- you can spot spent brass at 50 paces.
-- you pick up brass in calibers you don't shoot, just in case.
-- you have a drawer full of holsters that weren't quite right (don't we all?).
-- you watch old WWII movies and can identify and look at all the rifles and handguns but can't remember who starred in the movie or what it was about.
-- .30-06 or 8x57 to you is just as appealing as 36-24-36.
-- you drive over fifty miles to buy anything gun-related.
-- you start feeling uneasy if you have fewer than 500 rounds on hand for your favorite shooter.
-- you reflexively count the number of shots fired by every weapon in the film, then gripe to your friends when the gunshots exceed the capacities.
-- your telephone number is: 223-2250 or 308-3006 or 303-3040 or some other combination of three + four digit calibers.
-- you think there is some special significance when you glance at a digital clock and it shows 3:08, 3:57, 2:23, etc., no matter how many times you see it.
-- you consider concealed carry every time you shop for clothes.
-- you visit the range more than twice a week.
-- your teenage daughter's next date is introduced to you while you're sitting at the loading bench cleaning your M1 carbine.
-- you've ever photographed your entire gun collection, but "insurance purposes" never entered your mind.
-- you let your wife go out and blow all kinds of money on junk she'll never use just so she won't gripe when you buy that latest piece you really need for your collection.
You Might Be A Gun Nut If... you can point out all the mistakes they make on American Shooter and the History Channel's Tales Of The Gun.
Ca y est, je suis super content, j'ai reçu mes Victorinox :
|J'ai le Stayglow, un paire de plaquettes phosphorescentes qui vont aller sur mon Camper, et un Signature vert gravé à mon nom. La vie est belle.|
Le temps des cerises (Clément) Quand nous chanterons le temps des cerises Et gai rossignol et merle moqueur Seront tous en fête Les belles auront la folie en tête Et les amoureux du soleil au coeur Quand nous chanterons le temps des cerises Sifflera bien mieux le merle moqueur Mais il est bien court le temps des cerises Où l'on s'en va deux cueillir en rêvant Des pendants d'oreilles Cerises d'amour aux robes pareilles Tombant sous la feuille en gouttes de sang Mais il est bien court le temps des cerises Pendants de corail qu'on cueille en rêvant Quand vous en serez au temps des cerises Si vous avez peur des chagrins d'amour Évitez les belles Moi qui ne crains pas les peines cruelles Je ne vivrai pas sans souffrir un jour Quand vous en serez au temps des cerises Vous aurez aussi des chagrins d'amour J'aimerai toujours le temps des cerises C'est de ce temps-là que je garde au coeur Une plaie ouverte Et dame fortune, en m'étant offerte Ne pourra jamais fermer ma douleur J'aimerai toujours le temps des cerises Et le souvenir que je garde au coeur
|Riviera Radio est la seule radio commerciale que je connaisse à diffuser du Smiths. Et je trouve ça cool.|
|Dieu créa l'homme à Son image, Il le créa à l'image de Dieu, il le créa homme et femme.|
VIRIL (Jean Guidoni)
Tout a commencé y'a six mois
"Where would we put it though?" one of them asks.
"Put what?" my mother asks back.
"Galaga! Galaga!" my sisters scream.
"In Clay's room, I suppose," my mother says.
I shake my head.
"Bullshit! No way," one of them yells. "Clay can't have Galaga in his room. He always locks his door."
"Yeah, Clay, that really pisses me off," one of them says, a real edge in her voice. "Why do you lock your door anyway, Clay?"
I don't say anything.
"Why do you lock your door, Clay?" one of them, I don't know which one, asks again. I still don't say anything. I consider grabbing one of the bags from MGA or Camp Beverly Hills or a box of shoes from Privilege and flinging them out the window.
"Mom, tell him to answer me. Why do you lock your door, Clay?"
I turn around. "Because you both stole a quarter gram of cocaine from me the last time I left my door open. That's why."
My sisters don't say anything.
"Teenage Enema Nurses in Bondage" by a group called Killer Pussy comes on the radio, and my mother asks if we have to listen to this and my sisters tell her to turn it up, and no one says anything else until the song's over.
When we get home, my younger sister finally tells me, out by the pool, "That's bullshit. I can get my own cocaine."
- Bret Easton Ellis (Less than zero)
Banquet pour demain, tenue légère. Je penche pour le jean beige et ma chemise grise, ou alors pour ma chemise hawaïenne verte. Petit sac contenant de quoi lire pour le voyage, une bouteille d'eau et mes accessoires habituels. Accessoires : ma montre Casio (il faut que je m'en trouve une un peu plus classe), mon CRKT M16-13 Z et mon Inova 24/7. Finalement, je pense que ce sera treillis et rayé.
|La rasterberization a encore frappé, témoin cette magnifique Mini-Uzi de plus d'un mètre de long.|