We f--ked up. Big time.
My wife and I must have been smoking some good shit the day we decided to buy our house. Well, we don't actually do drugs, but when I think about our house, substance abuse seems like a solid plan (and likely we could acquire them nearby). Now, don't get me wrong, our place? It's relatively charming. And at the time, affordable. But little did we know it's in a horrible location. Well, that's not entirely true. It's on a busy road traveled exclusively by douchebags. It's also near some ugly electrical transformer facility, where they implausibly craft telephone poles twenty four hours a day. But what pisses me of more than anything? Motherf--kers break into our cars. All the time.
Luckily for the audience, the characters in Sofia Coppola's The Bling Ring have their sites set much higher than Bumf--k, PA. These entitled little shits stake out Hollywood, and stealing valuables out of cars is only the beginning. Eventually, taking something out of an unlocked car isn't enough, and this crew rob mansions repeatedly.
I know I'm old, trust me. But peering into the lives of anybody ten years younger than I currently am immediately makes me want to fight something. And while I'll stop just short of shaking my fist from my front porch (which I don't even have, dammit) at the kids passing by, I clearly resent the youth featured in this flick, if not every teenager on the planet. Youth is wasted on the young, indeed.
Watching rich kids steal from even richer celebrities is a very odd thing. I love movies and I love movie stars, but honestly, I don't give a f--k about what they have and where they live. And I would never even consider stealing anything as I realize how hard it is to work for the little bit of shit I have. I respect talent. And if you get paid millions of dollars for whatever it is you do, good for you. Don't rub my face in it, and we're cool.
My wife and I must have been smoking some good shit the day we decided to buy our house. Well, we don't actually do drugs, but when I think about our house, substance abuse seems like a solid plan (and likely we could acquire them nearby). Now, don't get me wrong, our place? It's relatively charming. And at the time, affordable. But little did we know it's in a horrible location. Well, that's not entirely true. It's on a busy road traveled exclusively by douchebags. It's also near some ugly electrical transformer facility, where they implausibly craft telephone poles twenty four hours a day. But what pisses me of more than anything? Motherf--kers break into our cars. All the time.
I know I'm old, trust me. But peering into the lives of anybody ten years younger than I currently am immediately makes me want to fight something. And while I'll stop just short of shaking my fist from my front porch (which I don't even have, dammit) at the kids passing by, I clearly resent the youth featured in this flick, if not every teenager on the planet. Youth is wasted on the young, indeed.
Watching rich kids steal from even richer celebrities is a very odd thing. I love movies and I love movie stars, but honestly, I don't give a f--k about what they have and where they live. And I would never even consider stealing anything as I realize how hard it is to work for the little bit of shit I have. I respect talent. And if you get paid millions of dollars for whatever it is you do, good for you. Don't rub my face in it, and we're cool.
