Two days ago somebody suggested the moderately unreasonable notion that Julia Roberts has reduced herself to feasting on the heads of orphaned children. Now I know what you're thinking. This blog used to be family-friendly, before I mentioned that. Well, it might be a valuable family policy to read my blog together with your parents so you can discuss thematic elements like this as they come up, on a case-by-case basis. I want families to be stronger, and this might just be the way to do it. I have an expanded outlook, is what I'm saying, and let's hope I know what I'm doing.
Anyway. I heard that, thought it sufficiently singular, moved on, and proceeded to have the weirdest dreams I have ever experienced that very night. It even flowed over into last night. I'll leave it up to your imaginations and parental discretion to figure out how far down this rabbit-hole you want to go. As you can imagine, things got weird. Fast.
Anyway, not only did America's Sweetheart have a cameo the last few nights, but so did a couple of my friends who are about to leave on missions, and it bummed me right out to wake up and realize they were still about to leave and not having zany good times with me at Julia Roberts' Orphanage and Coincidentally Cannabalistic Soup Kitchen. Dreams: where dreams and faceless innocents go to die.
Like I said. Downright bizarre.
Fun fact: she kindly took the time to explain to me why she wasn't in Ocean's Thirteen. It was something dull, like not supporting or wanting to glorify grandiose heist schemes any more. Or a scheduling conflict, I forget.
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