All Posts by Justin Klugh

Sure, we can pretend it's surprising that you're being incarcerated.
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You're about as much of an artist as a monkey that accidentally shits in the shape of a heart.
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Updating your status because its Friday night and the gang’s coming over for canasta?  Cut. I’m assuming this is done because the person in question thinks the general response to “Fifty cent Jello shot’s at O’Leary’s” is for all of her Facebook friends to nod pensively and say, out loud to no one, “My,...
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Oh, man. I can't wait to have sex again some day.
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Remember when Jack Bauer was a character, not just a guy who sprinted from set to set, explaining situations to people?  I used to wonder what the fall of “24” would like; how something so entirely, 100% bad-ass could become a waterfall of bullshit, plucking recycled plots and characters out of thin air and throwing...
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Dude eternally wearing a plain white T?  Cut. Its the age-old conundrum. Your torso’s not attractive enough for you to be taking your shirt off all the time, but if you don’t do it more often, you’re left with being a pasty white ghost all summer.  The “purposeful bedhead” and communications degree is telling...
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Oh, thank you so much, truck driver with a heart of gold who is always looking for “better routes” to save energy costs and bring the savings back to us, the customers.  This would all be so much more honorable and heartwarming if I hadn’t seen you on a Wrangler Jeans commercial 20 minutes...
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What started as a gritty look at an old school, bullseye-shootin’, catch phrase-spoutin’ sheriff taking on the white supremacists, drug runners, and other twisted shit going down in the bowels of Nashville has turned into a villain-of-the-week “Walker, Texas Ranger” with the missing character depth to prove it.  And there’s not even any roundhouse...
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Going to the tattoo parlor and coming back with a butterfly on your ankle?  Cut. “I’ve always wanted a tattoo,” you say.  ”I think it would be so cool, like Chad Kroeger.” You know this barely counts.  It’s one thing to coat your arms with snakes and demons and metaphors for band names.  If...
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It was early February at a Flyers-Devils game.  My friend and I were chortling at a poop/sex/talking animal joke of some kind while drowning deep in the nose bleeds. The place suddenly went dead.  One of the Devils was sliding on the ice, face down and motionless. A collective gasp and a piercing, lustful cheer...
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