The only time women have called their husband their "hubby" past 1982 is when they're not real women.  The sure sign that there isn't actually a woman on the other end of a spam sex email or craigslist personal ad is something to the effect of, "My hubby says my ass is getting too big and won't want to fuck me for now but maybe you'd like to play while hubby is out of town on business?"

Obviously written by someone who would want to come across such an offer, but who knows that it will never come true because they're the ones pulling the levers at Oz.  Sad in a way.

I saw a user film review on Netflix today and the "woman" referenced her "hubby".  I couldn't help but think it was an overweight, furry Armenian credit card porn scam artist who had become stuck in his online character even when not on the clock as a swindler.

 The word "hubby" makes me kind of ill.  Like the thought of eating a warm tuna sandwich inside an adult bookstore.

What's in my queue?  Go ahead and judge me Silverlake.  I know that the sample in "Paper Planes" is from The Clash's "Straight To Hell", I haven't showered for two days, and my Vans are dirty.  I'm making an effort.  Don't give me that look because I haven't seen a few key films but secretly I'm looking forward to my 86th viewing of The Last Boy Scout more than anything else.  Except for the first one, it's the best Die Hard movie. 

1. Casino Royale

2. Hard Eight

3. Basquiat

4. Sid & Nancy

5. Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels

6. Leatherheads

7. Better Off Dead

8. The Last Boy Scout

9. Tango & Cash

10. Barfly (unknown availability)

Go Stallions!