pinkeffinprofessional | (no subject)

So John fucking Hughes.

First you've got Sixteen Candles, which was a fucking bitch of a movie to get through because of the fact that Molly Ringwald spends most of it whining about how her fucking family forgot her birthday. Then you get on to a movie like The Breakfast Club, which is like no high school I've ever fucking been to. What's up with this Molly Ringwald chick, anyway? Is her pussy made of diamonds or something? She's a decent enough actress, sure, but then he casts her again in Pretty in Pink and we're expected to believe she isn't boning Hughes in her free time?

What happened to her, anyway?

["I think she got fat."]

Okay, so Molly Ringwald's now a cow. Anyway, John Hughes. He wants people to believe that Americana is some fucking wonderland of teenage morality or something. Even fuck, what's his name, the kid in the Breakfast Club whose dad beats him up, whatever, he's practically a fucking saint compared to the kids I grew up around.

["Maybe you just had a crappy childhood."]

Look whatever. Point is. John Hughes.

What the fuck is that guy's thing, anyway? I mean then you got Ferris Bueller and the fact that I'm pretty sure that him and his girlfriend were just the psychotic products of that Cameron kid's imagination. I mean you notice that first off, Matthew Broderick spends the whole movie breaking the fourth wall, and the whole fucking town just buys into this playing hooky shit. Anyway.

["You done?"]

Don't fucking tell me you like that Brat Pack crap.

[ooc: Conversation with a bartender.]