Maybe I'm freaking out about who's going to win the election. My main man Barack or oil drilling moose hunting mavericks. Maybe it's because I'm coming to a point in my life where I should be doing something and I can't figure out what the hell it is. Maybe I know what it is and it scares the shit out of me because of what I'll have to do. People here don't understand and I'm going to bum out a lot of people when I do it. I'll leave it at that for now.
On a lighter note I've been thinking a lot about who would be able to kick Robert Redford's ass. Now I should preface this by saying I love me some Robbie Redford. When you have a man like that he needs a counterweight. He needs someone who is an equal or at least someone he can spar with. The only few names that come up are Clint Eastwood and Gene Hackman. Maybe Robert Duvall on a good day. I watched the Last Castle for the first time last night and I must say it wasn't that bad. I want to say it was great but maybe I need to watch it again. The entire time I knew that James Gandolfini couldn't keep up with Redford. No way was Gandolfini going to be able to take him down, Redford is smarter and better than him. Now I could go on but I feel it would be rambling so I reiterate my initial question. Who do you think could kick Robert Redford's ass? I want to know because these are the things I worry about and I'm thoroughly entertained by the fact. I need feedback on this one folks. I can't do it without you.
Who thinks they got what it takes to kick this man's ass?
I don't know what I'm writing about anymore. Just help, I think I'm losing my mind.
What the fuck,
Martles
1 comment:
Paul Newman is the only one I can think of, rest his soul. Read this excerpt from "Robert Redford remembers Paul Newman" from time magazine
"Mostly I'll miss the fun we had. We played lots of pranks on each other. I used to race cars, and after he took this rare Porsche I owned for a drive, he began to get into racing. He had incredible reflexes, and he got really good, but he talked so much about it that I got sick of it. So I had a beaten-up Porsche shell delivered to his porch for his 50th birthday. He never said anything, but not long after, I found a crate of molten metal delivered to the living room of my (rented) house. It dented the floor. I then had it turned into a really ugly sculpture and dropped into his garden. To this day, neither one of us has ever mentioned it."
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