So, I'm wearing a dead mans shirt.
Sounds kind of like the semi-surrealistic opening line of a movie with dialogue far to clever for itself; perhaps Tarrantino would write, and bitch about the way Tony Scott directed it.
Though I suppose if it were my story (and I guess it is really), I'd bitch about Tony Scott too. I mean what has HE done that didn't suck except "Top Gun". No I think in my dream world I'd throw Robert Rodriguez, Guillermo DelToro, and Frank miller in a room with a chainsaw, a .45, and a cattle prod. Whoever came out of the room alive would get the nod.
I'd put my money on Miller. He's just mean that way.
But I digress... back to the dead mans shirt.
An interesting story behind that really.
Well, not so much interesting, as slightly morbid, and otherwise banal, but a guy can dream can't he?
The grandfather of a friend of mine recently passed away. It so happens that my friend wasn't very much emotionally effected by this loss, though of course he wasn't uneffected, after all it WAS his grandfather just dying.
Anyway, it also so happens that said grandfather was a large man. My friend is tall, but not large. My friend also recieved a large number of shirts from his grandfathers posessions.
Thus, I get a call Saturday afternoon coming out of a movie house, "Hey Chris, I've got a bunch of 3X shirts sitting here from my grandfather, want'em".
Being the practical sort I figured, what the hell why not. He's dead, he doesn't need them anymore, and I've been meaning to pick up some new t-shirts.
...and so I am the recipient of about 15 reasonably high quality, and quite comfortable shirts; from a dead man.
Not quite as romantic as a dead mans gun, but more useful I think.
Oh and, hey man, thanks for the shirts.
