Nonsense posted:

It's good knowing Frankie is very interested in a sport filled with people ready and happy to run his rear end over, and car sports enthusiasts will defend his murderer lol

Crow Jane posted:

Speaking of...

Crow Jane posted:

Speaking of...

Cream-of-Plenty posted:

Was the calling to start collecting bridge tolls?

Alan Smithee posted:

In case you guys were feeling jealous

http://www.usmagazine.com/celebrity-news/news/frankie-muniz-911-call-girlfriend-is-going-crazy-2011192

then again some of you are into the having a girlfriend at any cost thing

Benedick Cuckold posted:

dman that's sad

i wonder how dewey's doing these days

Secks Cauldron posted:

His last acting credit is from 2010. I guess he decided to retire or get a normal job or something.

Alan Smithee posted:

In case you guys were feeling jealous

http://www.usmagazine.com/celebrity-news/news/frankie-muniz-911-call-girlfriend-is-going-crazy-2011192

then again some of you are into the having a girlfriend at any cost thing

Say Nothing posted:

WeLandedOnTheMoon! posted:

Pussy Destroyer

Jabe posted:

who dat. looks a bit like my ex

Jabe posted:

who dat. looks a bit like my ex

Jabe posted:

who dat. looks a bit like my ex

Jabe posted:

who dat. looks a bit like my ex

WeLandedOnTheMoon! posted:

Pussy Destroyer

Cream-of-Plenty posted:

Frankie Muniz rolls up to a little hipster shithole called "The Stink", where his band is playing. He's in some kind of desperate-for-approval sports car that's been gay'ed up with skirt lighting and dragon decals that he and his "car expert" friends undoubtedly applied themselves in Muniz's garage, which is really just a glorified warehouse for storing expensive tools that Muniz has no idea how to use. The "conversations" these people have here are intolerable: Two or more manchildren reciting half-remembered Wikipedia entries about drivetrains and timings, selling them off as their own thoughts in an effort to wear the other person down through obstinance.

Muniz stalls the car several times before finally getting it to limp and lurch up to the curb. When he climbs out, he covers his face with a hand--even though nobody is paying attention to him and no camera flashes are there to blind him--and runs inside. He's wearing shredded acid-washed jeans and a t-shirt that says something about impeaching Obama.

Twenty minutes late, he scrambles up onto the stage where the rest of his band already is, tripping over cords and equipment, obviously growing angry and flustered. You can tell that he subscribes to the rear end in a top hat-logic of if I don't acknowledge anybody, it's like they aren't even here. But then somebody from the audience heckles him and he spins around and screams at one of the fifteen to twenty people watching them from the darkness until his voice breaks. And the noise...the noise he makes with his drums is the worst sound imaginable. He hits the drums so hard with his sticks that it's as if he's trying to shatter one or the other--they crack and make sharp, uneven sounds as bits of wood are shaved off of them. It's not long before he's drifting off on his own warped concept of time, losing himself in this violent rampage he's subjecting his drums to. The singer grinds his teeth; the guitarist looks genuinely concerned. Should we say something? Should we stop?

"Why bother?" a wiser person may ask. "Let's fly this plane into the mountain." Get it over with.

Bang-BANG!-CRACK! His gigantic, beet-red head snaps back and forth, and you'd swear it could break off at any moment, hurtling into the crowd and killing some hapless onlooker.

But we would only be so lucky.

Afterward, a diminutive Frankie Muniz--obviously shrunken by heavy sweating until he is barely three feet tall--stalks over to the bar and commands the bartender to give him an entire glass of "the most expensive bourbon imaginable". Then, searching for an audience, he raises the glass to his lips and begins gracelessly chugging the liquor. It isn't long before he's gasping and gagging, with his face turning purple as he forces himself to continue until there is nothing left. By the end of it, syrupy saliva runs from his mouth; he teeters on the edge of vomiting. "Did I do good?" he might ask...if he weren't so proud. "Did I make all of you plebes proud?"

A few minutes later he's screaming, "I'm an adult! I AM A MAN!" over and over again while he half-stomps-half-waddles around in his wet, torn, acid-wash jeans and pounds his flimsy chest, where his iron-on Obama is smeared with vomit. He even throws a punch at somebody six-times his size and dislocates his thumb in the process. His band members seem reluctant to claim him at first, but under significant pressure from both the staff and customers, they acquiesce. A sort of shared shame descends upon the crowd, as if they trapped watching wretched individuals who are--for reasons beyond our comprehension--forced to claim a pair of poo poo-stained pants in front of the entire world.

"Go home, Muniz," one of them says, forcing his car keys back into his hands. "Your car's out front." They push and prod him until he's outside--it's like corralling a blind cat. And then he is outside, alone, in the night. He falls into his car and turns the engine over. Again, it lurches and jerks forward until he can successfully get it out of first gear, at which point it launches off into the darkness.

Secks Cauldron posted:

His last acting credit is from 2010. I guess he decided to retire or get a normal job or something.

Benedick Cuckold posted:

Life is unfair........

*sound of door slamming shut*

vyst posted:

HJO went the Val Kilmer route after fame I see.

1gnoirents posted:

I just have to say she is sexy. like everything is adding up but there is some nth quality here that makes me want to spooge

Dead Precedents posted:

So did Edward Furlong.

Red Suit posted:

I like him as Sora in Kingdom Hearts because I'm a manbaby.

Al Nipper posted:

beard absorbs 3 dmg