-Feanor.Net :: Deeper Magic from the Dawn of Time-

Link: http://www.spokeeasy.com/gallery/RAGBRAI2007

Prove that we were actually alive (one week ago, give or take) in the third dimension, on Earth, which is the third planet of this solar system that provides me the ability to generate zeroes and ones via finger presses, and thereafter, the spewage of said content throughout said planet via fibre and similar technological conduits. In short, I have the pictures: some portliness, some seductiveness, a tidge or two of reproductive musk, and random retinal malfunctions that may or may not have been triggered by alcoholism.

This is what you'll want to click on.
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That being dispersed, it's important to realize that Starman is the feline's negligee(s). Or perhaps better. In attempting to relax for the first time this week I'm realizing that this flick is considerably more intriguing than my recently procured legal copy of Deathly Hallows, which is, if I may be so bold, an absolute mess of inconsistencies. Jeff Bridges is totally annihilating Praetor Rowling as far as this kid is concerned. And, he gets to nail Indy's chica from Raiders of the Lost Ark. I'm sure that my pre-release exploits and endless Wikipedia analyses haven't helped, but jeeze, it's almost as though she scrambled to tie so many of the particularly sticky voodoo-related ends together... and I'm not one of those mislead citizens that enjoys having to inject pieces of reasoning here and there to wholly accept a writer's conclusions. It's fantasy-fiction. You must not allow for so many gaping holes in the foundation of your plot's most critical developments. Early on, Harry's wand ejaculates napalm on Voldemort's borrowed wand. Nobody, save a shrooming, likely hallucinated Dumbledore (who died, is dead, and shall remain as such, especially since he's not a real organism) can attempt to explain that throughout all 700++ pages. Voldemort's wand decides Harry is its master at the "climactic" end because our hero grabbed a handful of wands from some douchebaggy blonde kid a few weeks previous and totally forgot about it. Riveting. And, my favourite, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named decides to march back onto the battlefield during the final chapter after lifting the protective barrier around his final, and as such surpemely crucial, Horcrux, whilst draping said entity whimsically across his shoulders. Kicking names, taking ass. Or. Something.

Sure, there is inter-woven cleverness and gratifying finality throughout, but she certainly should have been more careful with the murky reasoning behind so many of the explanations and pivotal events. Apparently, there is a lexicon or somesuch encyclopedia of sorts coming out... (KACHING)... but then again, J.K. Rowling has got a billion plus in the bank... she'll be all right.