My son is strongly attached to "The Spongebob Movie--Search for Squarepants." Josh hasn't fully mastered adverbs--he doesn't see that "very" often requires an additional adverb--so his statement of protest is slightly malformed. "I very want to see this movie!"
Josh enjoys any discussion of undies, toilets, gassiness--his zeal is such that he doesn't just laugh. After laughing, he turns to you to make sure that you, too, have seen and appropriately valued the potty joke. He is especially fond of Patrick Starfish, who wears a skimpy loincloth under an immense belly. At times, Josh's delirium causes him to stand up out of his theater seat and do a kind of celebratory bouncing dance. (We've seen "Spongebob" twice; the second time, we braved faux-blizzard conditions, though the public school system had officially "thrown in the towel.")
Clearly, Josh has inherited certain dominant alleles from his biological father, who can't get enough of "The Naked Gun." In Marc's ideal script, Liam Neeson hugs his pet dog while Pamela Anderson distributes yummy turkey scraps. But--with heat-sensing binoculars--we perceive the scene in a different way. It seems that Neeson is making love to the dog, while the dog performs an act of cunnilingus.
That's my week so far.
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