Steven’s idea of what’s “Chill” may not be the same as yours. Or mine. Or your neighbors.
The important thing to remember is that opinions are just different. They’re not better or worse… until they get him killed.
In that case, they’d be worse, I guess.
When Clint Eastwood movies get noisy, you know that the things have hit the fan. And by things, I mean bullets. And by fan, I mean… everything.
Bad guys, good guys, cowboys, rustlers, presidents, airplanes, ropes, Clint himself, busses, cars, buildings… I’m sure you can think of other things that get shot in Clint Eastwood movies.
What were we talking about again?
Kara and Steve are such a cute couple, don’t you think?
Kara’s all energetic and driven, and Steven is… about to be crushed under that.
Adorable.
Awwwww. That’s sweet.
Hubris is still alive.
Nice, right?
Healthy food, exercise, time outdoors… there’s no way this is how love is supposed to be, is it?
Where’s the TV binge watching with chips and drinks?
Mrs. Biner, it seems, has been harboring a lifelong, if slightly outdated, ambition for her only child.
And, of course, Kara seems to have gotten the sense of it at a young age, and did what she does. She competed with it.
Didn’t drive it out of her head, though, I mean, she DID jump straight at the chance to settle down as soon as it presented it itself.
Good Ol’ Jake. Gotta keep up appearances.
Of course, he’s gonna appear pretty dang stupid when they plaster over various joints and bendy places until he’s not much use to himself.
It’s like… some people see a goal, and do what it takes to achieve it, and don’t think through the steps that lead up to it.
Not me, though. Never done that.
I don’t think Kara is especially nice to people who… well, people who can’t challenge her to a duel, really.
And when I say “duel”, I mean any competitive back and forth. Maybe Steven’s got the right idea… The only way to win is not to play.
…even when she calls you a bald, fat, chicken man.
I don’t think Za’a is as hip and original as she thinks she is.
But that’s just my opinion. Other opinions might be contrived, probably having to do with my age and how I’m out of touch and how counter-culture people that I saw growing up in the 70s aren’t ANYTHING AT ALL like the counter-culture people who’re growing up now or anything. And certainly nothing like the counter-culture people who ran around in ancient Greece or Japan or Siberia, or like the counter-culture people that’ll be born in a few years that Za’a will think are just a lost generation of posers.
We’ve all heard the stories. The kid that was being all stoic about his booboo until he looked down and saw his arm covered in blood. The kid with the broken arm to insisted he was good to finish the ball game. The kid that thought his rash was acting up on the campout and woke up with ant bites all over him.
The jackass who had a bowling ball fight in the dark and passed out, then woke up and figured if he survived the whole night with a leg the color of a blood blister, there’s no reason to think it’s life-threatening.
No, that last one still sounds dumb.
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