In an attempt to blog more often, I've decided to introduce The 30 Second Blog- an ongoing series where I will jump on blogger.com and post random thoughts in- you guessed it- 30 seconds or less. Aside from spell check, I will not edit these posts what so ever. Don't worry, these won't be the only blogs I post. You'll still get to read the more lengthy, tediously boring shit I usually post every once in a while. This is to keep the writing juices flowing.
Alright, here it goes. My first 30 Second blog.
My brother and I hit up a Rockies game last night. Twas very cool. Besides getting to see the rox beat the pads on a walk-off double, we also enjoyed all the eye candy on display (damn there was lots of T&A), as well as the bountiful food offered at the stadium. In a matter of three hours, I polished off a cheeseburger, two hot dogs, a Parmesan stick, and five beers. Overall, it was a great evening of hedonism and an excellent sporting event.
I highly recommend to everyone to catch a rox game this season. There's plenty of seats available (since the Rockies suck), and it's at least an interesting night out.
-LLL
Sunday, May 31, 2009
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Control/Alt/Panic
In the midst of enjoying the Denver Nuggets beat down of the Lakers last night, Stephanie alerted me that our computer was under attack by some kind of vicious virus and that I should fore go watching the game and address the issue immediately.
Upon reaching the computer, I discovered several new icons had added themselves to my computer screen (and along the bar at the bottom of the screen). In a matter of seconds, a new "anti-virus" program had downloaded to my computer and was now informing me that my computer was infected and needed to be fixed. Yeah, no kidding.
No matter what I tried to do, I couldn't escape this new "anti-virus" program's pop ups. They kept piling on top of whatever program I tried to open, including the anti-virus software I actually have.
Being that I know nothing about computers (and given my heightened anxiety), I gave my friend Daniel a call. For those of you who don't know, Daniel is a computer god, and a merciful computer god at that. So I called him up and asked for his blessings. He gave me a list of options of what I could try and I went to work.
In the end, restoring my computer to an earlier date, combined with a few sweeps of my real anti-virus program allowed me to remove the infestation of the unwanted anti-virus plague (or whatever the fuck it really was).
Currently, all seems well, but I'm skeptical. Computers are out to get me, even if it's the last thing they do. It wouldn't surprise me if the virus is just hiding in wait, biding it's time to strike.
One good thing did come out of all of this though. I finally got off my lazy ass and bought an external hard drive. The Dagger of Lokin and and my music library are now safely stored elsewhere in case the Apocalypse comes for my desktop. At least I think they are.
I hate computers.
Upon reaching the computer, I discovered several new icons had added themselves to my computer screen (and along the bar at the bottom of the screen). In a matter of seconds, a new "anti-virus" program had downloaded to my computer and was now informing me that my computer was infected and needed to be fixed. Yeah, no kidding.
No matter what I tried to do, I couldn't escape this new "anti-virus" program's pop ups. They kept piling on top of whatever program I tried to open, including the anti-virus software I actually have.
Being that I know nothing about computers (and given my heightened anxiety), I gave my friend Daniel a call. For those of you who don't know, Daniel is a computer god, and a merciful computer god at that. So I called him up and asked for his blessings. He gave me a list of options of what I could try and I went to work.
In the end, restoring my computer to an earlier date, combined with a few sweeps of my real anti-virus program allowed me to remove the infestation of the unwanted anti-virus plague (or whatever the fuck it really was).
Currently, all seems well, but I'm skeptical. Computers are out to get me, even if it's the last thing they do. It wouldn't surprise me if the virus is just hiding in wait, biding it's time to strike.
One good thing did come out of all of this though. I finally got off my lazy ass and bought an external hard drive. The Dagger of Lokin and and my music library are now safely stored elsewhere in case the Apocalypse comes for my desktop. At least I think they are.
I hate computers.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
How Guilty Should I Feel?
About a month ago, a coworker of mine approached me and asked if I'd trade days off with her. She wanted to take my Tuesday off (May 26Th) and I would take her Wednesday off (May 27Th). I didn't really want to do this, since with the Memorial day weekend, I would have four days off in a row (Saturday-Tuesday). As well, this was to be the weekend that Steph and I would celebrate our 9Th wedding anniversary, and even though we hadn't yet made specific plans, we had planned to do something.
The reason my coworker wanted to trade though won me over, as she was hoping to fly out to visit her boyfriend in Arizona that weekend. By trading days, she'd be able to spend more time with him (coming back on Tuesday instead of Monday). Now normally, all she'd have to do to take the day off is to use PTO (her paid time off), however she doesn't have any PTO left. She has called in sick so many times already this year that she's run out of PTO, so swapping with me was her only option.
Are you with me so far? OK.
About two weeks ago, she informed me that her and her boyfriend broke up, and that she wouldn't be going to Arizona. Therefore, I took my day off back so that I would once again have the longer weekend, and so that Steph and I could have the option to take a trip for our anniversary if we wanted. All was well.
Then, suddenly, just two days ago, she came to me yet again and informed me that her and her boyfriend were back together. Not only that, but he had already bought her airline tickets for her to visit him that weekend (as they'd planned before). Her return flight would be late Tuesday, meaning she'd have to have the day off.
By this time though, Steph and I were set on wanting to spend the four days together, so I told her I would not trade with her again (despite all her pleas). As a result, she had to buy a one-way ticket from Arizona to Denver for Monday (a ticket that was more expensive because of Memorial day), and half of the tickets that her boyfriend had bought would now be useless. So basically, as a result of my decision, they are both out a lot of money, and they won't be able to spend as much time with each other as they'd hoped.
So here's my question:
How guilty should I feel if she dies in a plane crash on her return flight to Denver?
The reason my coworker wanted to trade though won me over, as she was hoping to fly out to visit her boyfriend in Arizona that weekend. By trading days, she'd be able to spend more time with him (coming back on Tuesday instead of Monday). Now normally, all she'd have to do to take the day off is to use PTO (her paid time off), however she doesn't have any PTO left. She has called in sick so many times already this year that she's run out of PTO, so swapping with me was her only option.
Are you with me so far? OK.
About two weeks ago, she informed me that her and her boyfriend broke up, and that she wouldn't be going to Arizona. Therefore, I took my day off back so that I would once again have the longer weekend, and so that Steph and I could have the option to take a trip for our anniversary if we wanted. All was well.
Then, suddenly, just two days ago, she came to me yet again and informed me that her and her boyfriend were back together. Not only that, but he had already bought her airline tickets for her to visit him that weekend (as they'd planned before). Her return flight would be late Tuesday, meaning she'd have to have the day off.
By this time though, Steph and I were set on wanting to spend the four days together, so I told her I would not trade with her again (despite all her pleas). As a result, she had to buy a one-way ticket from Arizona to Denver for Monday (a ticket that was more expensive because of Memorial day), and half of the tickets that her boyfriend had bought would now be useless. So basically, as a result of my decision, they are both out a lot of money, and they won't be able to spend as much time with each other as they'd hoped.
So here's my question:
How guilty should I feel if she dies in a plane crash on her return flight to Denver?
Tuesday, May 19, 2009
Random Thoughts
It's been a while since my last blog, but what can I say? I'm deVoid of opinions worthy of being posted for public consumption. For example...
--- I'm officially putting myself on suicide watch. Why? Because of Bret Favre, as always. Once again, good old #4 simply refuses to go away, assuring yet another off season of Farve drama for you (yes you, my helpless reader) and I to endure. For those of you who may have missed it (and my, what a lucky little sportscenter-hating bastard you are if you did), the scrappy, never-say-die #4 has decided to undergo arm surgery so that he can return once again to the NFL (which for Bret stands for will Never Fucking Leave). This time, he'll most likely end up quarterbacking the Vikings, who as far as I know, are the only idiots courting Mr. 1997.
Every sports show I watch, from Pardon the Interruption to Sportscenter, will have 24/7 Farve coverage from now until the end of the off season, thus ruining every TV show I love for the next four months (with the exception of HBO's Entourage, which will be ruined by a Tom Brady cameo).
Seriously, I'm gonna bathe with a toaster.
--- Reason #214 why I hate customers- their obsession with new money. A day doesn't go by that I don't have a customer request of me a flawless, fresh from the mint bill. Occasionally, maybe 10% of the time, the customer is about to leave the country, and needs the money to be new so that they won't have any problems exchanging it. Fine, I'm OK with that. It's not the customer's fault that other countries are so damn picky about the condition of our currency. It's the other 90% of customers, the gift givers, that make me want to unleash the mighty maw of my staple remover upon their faces. With these people, it's always the same. They want the money to be new because their giving it as a gift. Were the bill to be old, or if it had markings on it, or if was worn even just a bit, well that simply wouldn't do. God forbid that the high school grad receiving this gift should touch a tainted, cocaine-laced bill long past it's glory days. Oh, hell no. The bills must be virginal, their hymens completely intact. They must be as fresh and as clean clean as possible. They must pop pop pop! Are we green?
OK, I get it. New money looks better, it feels better, it even smells better. It's easier to slip into a stripper's g-string, or so I've heard. But in the end, will the person receiving it really give a flying fuck if it's new or not? Will they love it any less? Will they refuse to accept it? Nope. So just take the money I give you and get the hell out of my bank.
--- Vegas, baby! That's right kids, it's time for another Vegas trip. I think most of you out there know about this already, but in case you don't, Steph and I plan to hit up the greatest city ever the weekend of Halloween (Oct. 31st- Nov. 3rd). How cool will that be? Halloween has been quickly transforming into an adult holiday for years now. Well just imagine how crazy it'll be in Vegas. Why the hell didn't we think of this before? Plus, we'll be going in the heart of the NFL season, which means lots of easy money. Peeps, the donks are playing at Baltimore that weekend. And the Giants are at the Eagles. Need I say more?
--- I'm starting to think I'm not cut out to be a writer. Not just because I have no talent, or because my control of the English language is poor (which are both reasons enough), but because I'm the slowest writer to ever sit his ass in front of a computer and type. It takes me forever to write, whether its a blog, a short story, or a novel. It took me five years to write the Dagger of Lokin. I've been writing Hell's Elevator for what seems like forever, and it's still not finished. Could I really finish something if I was under a deadline? If a publisher wanted the Mace of Dominion finished in six months, or even a year, could I get it done? I seriously doubt it. Writing will always just be a hobby, and maybe that's for the best.
--- A few weeks ago while Steph and I were in Boulder, I picked up a T-shirt making kit at a quirky toy store somewhere in the bizzaro world that is Pearl Street. Let me tell you, I am completely and madly in love with my T-shirt making kit. Already I've made three shirts, and I'm officially addicted. The only reason I mention this, my dear reader, is to warn you of the awkwardness to come when I eventually present to you your very own, specially designed shirt. Chances are you won't like it and that you won't want to wear it, but you needn't worry about that. You can use it as a rag the next time you wash your car for all I care, but you're getting the shirt. Like lesbian porn and boozing before it, making t-shirts is my latest, greatest obsession, and I highly doubt I'll grow tired of it any time soon. There, you've been warned.
Here are just a few t-shirt ideas I'm currently working on:
Abortion: It's why I found parking.
What's in your ham wallet?
Plays well with Boobs.
Great stuff, right? Sure. But don't worry, friends. If I do make you a shirt, it won't be of any of the ones above. It'll be designed specifically for you!
--- If there's anyone out there who reads my blog but doesn't read Daniel's, give yourself a hard slap across the face and go check out his blog. It's damn funny, plus unlike me, he consistently makes posts. Oh, and be sure to post a comment so he knows you were there. Tell him Triple L sent you. http://theashaman.blogspot.com/
--- I'm officially on the Nugget's bandwagon. Who want's to hit up downtown with me if they make it to the championship? I might finally get to check "getting sprayed with tear gas" off my things to do list.
--- I'm officially putting myself on suicide watch. Why? Because of Bret Favre, as always. Once again, good old #4 simply refuses to go away, assuring yet another off season of Farve drama for you (yes you, my helpless reader) and I to endure. For those of you who may have missed it (and my, what a lucky little sportscenter-hating bastard you are if you did), the scrappy, never-say-die #4 has decided to undergo arm surgery so that he can return once again to the NFL (which for Bret stands for will Never Fucking Leave). This time, he'll most likely end up quarterbacking the Vikings, who as far as I know, are the only idiots courting Mr. 1997.
Every sports show I watch, from Pardon the Interruption to Sportscenter, will have 24/7 Farve coverage from now until the end of the off season, thus ruining every TV show I love for the next four months (with the exception of HBO's Entourage, which will be ruined by a Tom Brady cameo).
Seriously, I'm gonna bathe with a toaster.
--- Reason #214 why I hate customers- their obsession with new money. A day doesn't go by that I don't have a customer request of me a flawless, fresh from the mint bill. Occasionally, maybe 10% of the time, the customer is about to leave the country, and needs the money to be new so that they won't have any problems exchanging it. Fine, I'm OK with that. It's not the customer's fault that other countries are so damn picky about the condition of our currency. It's the other 90% of customers, the gift givers, that make me want to unleash the mighty maw of my staple remover upon their faces. With these people, it's always the same. They want the money to be new because their giving it as a gift. Were the bill to be old, or if it had markings on it, or if was worn even just a bit, well that simply wouldn't do. God forbid that the high school grad receiving this gift should touch a tainted, cocaine-laced bill long past it's glory days. Oh, hell no. The bills must be virginal, their hymens completely intact. They must be as fresh and as clean clean as possible. They must pop pop pop! Are we green?
OK, I get it. New money looks better, it feels better, it even smells better. It's easier to slip into a stripper's g-string, or so I've heard. But in the end, will the person receiving it really give a flying fuck if it's new or not? Will they love it any less? Will they refuse to accept it? Nope. So just take the money I give you and get the hell out of my bank.
--- Vegas, baby! That's right kids, it's time for another Vegas trip. I think most of you out there know about this already, but in case you don't, Steph and I plan to hit up the greatest city ever the weekend of Halloween (Oct. 31st- Nov. 3rd). How cool will that be? Halloween has been quickly transforming into an adult holiday for years now. Well just imagine how crazy it'll be in Vegas. Why the hell didn't we think of this before? Plus, we'll be going in the heart of the NFL season, which means lots of easy money. Peeps, the donks are playing at Baltimore that weekend. And the Giants are at the Eagles. Need I say more?
--- I'm starting to think I'm not cut out to be a writer. Not just because I have no talent, or because my control of the English language is poor (which are both reasons enough), but because I'm the slowest writer to ever sit his ass in front of a computer and type. It takes me forever to write, whether its a blog, a short story, or a novel. It took me five years to write the Dagger of Lokin. I've been writing Hell's Elevator for what seems like forever, and it's still not finished. Could I really finish something if I was under a deadline? If a publisher wanted the Mace of Dominion finished in six months, or even a year, could I get it done? I seriously doubt it. Writing will always just be a hobby, and maybe that's for the best.
--- A few weeks ago while Steph and I were in Boulder, I picked up a T-shirt making kit at a quirky toy store somewhere in the bizzaro world that is Pearl Street. Let me tell you, I am completely and madly in love with my T-shirt making kit. Already I've made three shirts, and I'm officially addicted. The only reason I mention this, my dear reader, is to warn you of the awkwardness to come when I eventually present to you your very own, specially designed shirt. Chances are you won't like it and that you won't want to wear it, but you needn't worry about that. You can use it as a rag the next time you wash your car for all I care, but you're getting the shirt. Like lesbian porn and boozing before it, making t-shirts is my latest, greatest obsession, and I highly doubt I'll grow tired of it any time soon. There, you've been warned.
Here are just a few t-shirt ideas I'm currently working on:
Abortion: It's why I found parking.
What's in your ham wallet?
Plays well with Boobs.
Great stuff, right? Sure. But don't worry, friends. If I do make you a shirt, it won't be of any of the ones above. It'll be designed specifically for you!
--- If there's anyone out there who reads my blog but doesn't read Daniel's, give yourself a hard slap across the face and go check out his blog. It's damn funny, plus unlike me, he consistently makes posts. Oh, and be sure to post a comment so he knows you were there. Tell him Triple L sent you. http://theashaman.blogspot.com/
--- I'm officially on the Nugget's bandwagon. Who want's to hit up downtown with me if they make it to the championship? I might finally get to check "getting sprayed with tear gas" off my things to do list.
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Fuck You, Barney Frank
Here I was clamoring about how great it would be if online gambling were made legal by our brave leaders in Washington, when it turns out that the bill being submitted to congress does not include sports betting.
Even if the bill passes, online sports betting would still be illegal.
So let me get this straight. It would be perfectly fine for me to bet on the random outcome of a computer generated roulette table, but illegal for me to put $50 on the Broncos to lose to the Baltimore Ravens?
Are you fucking kidding me?
I swear my government hates me.
Here's a link to an article that details my misfortune, if you're interested.
http://sports.espn.go.com/espnmag/story?id=4148566
Even if the bill passes, online sports betting would still be illegal.
So let me get this straight. It would be perfectly fine for me to bet on the random outcome of a computer generated roulette table, but illegal for me to put $50 on the Broncos to lose to the Baltimore Ravens?
Are you fucking kidding me?
I swear my government hates me.
Here's a link to an article that details my misfortune, if you're interested.
http://sports.espn.go.com/espnmag/story?id=4148566
Thursday, May 7, 2009
...And I Jizzed In My Pants
Open my window and a breeze rolls in, and I jizz in my pants.
When Bruce Willis was dead at the end of 6th Sense, I jizzed in my pants.
I just heard on CNN that a bill is being introduced in congress for the legalization of online gambling, and I jizzed in my pants.
My apologies to The Lonely Island for plagiarizing their beautiful song, but ripping off Ren and Stimpy's "Happy Happy, Joy Joy" just wasn't going to cut it. I'm sorry too I couldn't make my added line to the song rhyme, but I just didn't have the patience to try.
Could it really happen? Could my dream of legally betting against (err, I mean for) the Broncos come true? Well, maybe.
According to various news groups, a bill is being presented to congress that would legalize online gambling. As you can imagine, I'm a bit choked up about it.
http://www.forbes.com/2009/05/06/gambling-barney-frank-markets-equities-online.html
I seriously doubt it will happen, but at least there's a chance. As the Forbes article says, the bill will most likely die in the senate, leaving me to ponder as I do every year whether to gamble illegally on the up coming football season or to just wait until I make it to Vegas.
I urge everyone out there to write their state senator (though I won't be doing this myself) and demand that they support this bill.
How fucking sweet would it be if they can pass this bill? Damn fucking sweet if you ask me.
When Bruce Willis was dead at the end of 6th Sense, I jizzed in my pants.
I just heard on CNN that a bill is being introduced in congress for the legalization of online gambling, and I jizzed in my pants.
My apologies to The Lonely Island for plagiarizing their beautiful song, but ripping off Ren and Stimpy's "Happy Happy, Joy Joy" just wasn't going to cut it. I'm sorry too I couldn't make my added line to the song rhyme, but I just didn't have the patience to try.
Could it really happen? Could my dream of legally betting against (err, I mean for) the Broncos come true? Well, maybe.
According to various news groups, a bill is being presented to congress that would legalize online gambling. As you can imagine, I'm a bit choked up about it.
http://www.forbes.com/2009/05/06/gambling-barney-frank-markets-equities-online.html
I seriously doubt it will happen, but at least there's a chance. As the Forbes article says, the bill will most likely die in the senate, leaving me to ponder as I do every year whether to gamble illegally on the up coming football season or to just wait until I make it to Vegas.
I urge everyone out there to write their state senator (though I won't be doing this myself) and demand that they support this bill.
How fucking sweet would it be if they can pass this bill? Damn fucking sweet if you ask me.
Tuesday, May 5, 2009
Getting All Wet For Wolverine
My brother and I just went and saw "X-Men Origins: Wolverine." It was terrible. Like Dagger of Lokin terrible. The entire X-Men franchise has been a complete let down for me, ranking second only to the Star Wars prequels as the most disappointing movies of all time. The X-flicks, like the Star Wars prequels, had all the potential in the world for being truly great movies, but ultimately failed because of poor plot lines and poor writing.
If you were planning on seeing it, don't bother. Don't even wait for it to come out on DVD. Just pretend it never happened. Trust me.
Bashing the movie however is not the reason I'm posting this. Really, who am I to criticize poor writing? No, the real reason is the girl who sat behind my brother and I during the movie.
I noticed her when she first entered the theater, being that she was female and I tend to notice when females are around. She was alone, and she came in during the previews and sat just behind me and to the left. In the brief time I had to check her out, my take on her was that she was a total dork, a classification I rarely attribute to girls. Guys can be dorks, whereas women who love comic books and Star Trek and playing dungeons and dragons are just oddly cool to me. Somehow their femininity offsets what would otherwise be dorky traits. Not with this girl though. She was a dork. A cute dork, but a dork. The chick had come alone to see a comic book movie, and her enthusiasm was readily apparent as she hurried to her seat and began tearing into a candy bar. It wasn't until the movie started though that I realized exactly how enthusiastic this girl really was for the movie.
Almost immediately the girl began to talk to the movie, or more specifically, to Wolverine. But I don't mean that she was commenting on the movie. She was literally talking to Wolverine. In the first scene of the movie (here comes a spoiler), Wolverine is a young boy who witnesses the murder of who he thinks is his father. Seeing the murderer standing over his dead father, his claws reveal themselves for the first time in his life, and he charges the murderer and impales the man with the bones protruding from his fists. As the murderer is dying, he tells Logan that he is in fact his true father. Oh my god, wolverine just killed his real father. Real good stuff, right. So while I'm snorting at the absurdity, the girl behind me is trying to console Wolverine.
"You poor boy. You killed your father!"
Had she said this sarcastically, I would have been right with her. But she hadn't. She couldn't have been more serious.
As the movie continued, her empathy for Wolverine and his trials grew. She was there for him, and she wanted him to know it. She felt his pain.
Then came the love scenes, and things really got weird. The romance between Wolverine and his great love Kayla Silverfox was a drawn out, cheesy depiction of a warrior settling down and leaving his violent past behind in order to start a new life with a super hotty who couldn't love him more. It was sappy and predictable, all for the purpose of showing us the severity of what Wolverine lost when the woman inevitable died.
Unlike with the rest of the movie, the girl was completely silent during the love scenes, except for her measured, if heavy breathing. I wasn't sure if she was jealous of Kayla Silverfox, or if she thought she was Kayla Silverfox.
Finally though, it was all too much for her. In the most sexual scene in the movie, Kayla slides on top of Wolverine (wearing a silky, sexy night gown), and begins kissing him in between reciting a story about the romantic escapades of mythological gods. I'm surprised I didn't get a chubby.
It was at this moment, with a half-naked Hugh Jackman putting his adamantium retracted claws all over lovely Kayla that the girl got up and left. She left and she did not come back.
Either she couldn't stand watching her true love Wolverine in the arms of another woman and simply had to storm out of the theater, or she went home and masturbated. I'm guessing the latter.
What a dork.
If you were planning on seeing it, don't bother. Don't even wait for it to come out on DVD. Just pretend it never happened. Trust me.
Bashing the movie however is not the reason I'm posting this. Really, who am I to criticize poor writing? No, the real reason is the girl who sat behind my brother and I during the movie.
I noticed her when she first entered the theater, being that she was female and I tend to notice when females are around. She was alone, and she came in during the previews and sat just behind me and to the left. In the brief time I had to check her out, my take on her was that she was a total dork, a classification I rarely attribute to girls. Guys can be dorks, whereas women who love comic books and Star Trek and playing dungeons and dragons are just oddly cool to me. Somehow their femininity offsets what would otherwise be dorky traits. Not with this girl though. She was a dork. A cute dork, but a dork. The chick had come alone to see a comic book movie, and her enthusiasm was readily apparent as she hurried to her seat and began tearing into a candy bar. It wasn't until the movie started though that I realized exactly how enthusiastic this girl really was for the movie.
Almost immediately the girl began to talk to the movie, or more specifically, to Wolverine. But I don't mean that she was commenting on the movie. She was literally talking to Wolverine. In the first scene of the movie (here comes a spoiler), Wolverine is a young boy who witnesses the murder of who he thinks is his father. Seeing the murderer standing over his dead father, his claws reveal themselves for the first time in his life, and he charges the murderer and impales the man with the bones protruding from his fists. As the murderer is dying, he tells Logan that he is in fact his true father. Oh my god, wolverine just killed his real father. Real good stuff, right. So while I'm snorting at the absurdity, the girl behind me is trying to console Wolverine.
"You poor boy. You killed your father!"
Had she said this sarcastically, I would have been right with her. But she hadn't. She couldn't have been more serious.
As the movie continued, her empathy for Wolverine and his trials grew. She was there for him, and she wanted him to know it. She felt his pain.
Then came the love scenes, and things really got weird. The romance between Wolverine and his great love Kayla Silverfox was a drawn out, cheesy depiction of a warrior settling down and leaving his violent past behind in order to start a new life with a super hotty who couldn't love him more. It was sappy and predictable, all for the purpose of showing us the severity of what Wolverine lost when the woman inevitable died.
Unlike with the rest of the movie, the girl was completely silent during the love scenes, except for her measured, if heavy breathing. I wasn't sure if she was jealous of Kayla Silverfox, or if she thought she was Kayla Silverfox.
Finally though, it was all too much for her. In the most sexual scene in the movie, Kayla slides on top of Wolverine (wearing a silky, sexy night gown), and begins kissing him in between reciting a story about the romantic escapades of mythological gods. I'm surprised I didn't get a chubby.
It was at this moment, with a half-naked Hugh Jackman putting his adamantium retracted claws all over lovely Kayla that the girl got up and left. She left and she did not come back.
Either she couldn't stand watching her true love Wolverine in the arms of another woman and simply had to storm out of the theater, or she went home and masturbated. I'm guessing the latter.
What a dork.
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