fuck david lynch.

so krissy and i are attempting to start a serial entitled (guess) 'fuck that guy'. each week we'll each be fucking the same different guy and letting you know how our experiences differ. much like in the other boleyn girl, i imagine that krissy will get it rough and i'll get it sweet...eventhough she is the blonde and i am the brunette..ah how the world can change in an instant.

what am i talking about? nothing at all.

but f'real



'fuck that guy' is not about getting slutty, but about getting ignorant. and hateful.

'scuse me, david lynch? would you please come to the stage?


theeeeeeeeeinks.

krissy and i came to the same idea that maybe we're just not 'artsy' enough, but fuck that. i went to art school and fell into many a cliche trap (graffiti and black and white, nude self-portraits to name a couple), but i still managed to avoid the confusing mess that is the church of david lynch. what is it? is it the achingly lead-footed dialogue? is it the non-sexual non-gripping non-tension? is it david lynch himself and his creepy ability to never ever appear to be any age other than 52 and a half? who knows. but whatever it is, i hate it. all of it. i mean seriously eraserhead? i wish i could erase that from my head. i remember when my college boyfriend showed it to me, prefacing it with 'this is my favorite movie. david lynch is a genius.' accompanied by this ridiculous gigglegrin that made him look like a 5 year-old about to show you his collection of dead lizards.

oh believe me i tried to like it. when i realized that was impossible, i tried desperately to just follow it. realizing even that was not an option, i moved on to not peeling off my skin, stuffing it, and leaving it there to run away and start a new life sans epidermis.

so. fuck that guy.