He-man in 2016. Ooooh, sounds weird.

Hey you guys!  Forgive the incoherence of this entry. But, you guys, you guys, this should be fun.  I have consumed enough champagne for this to be fun.  Why?  I’ll tell you why–and I’m pretty sure this will be a bad idea in the a.m.–because I am going to live blog He-Man.

The Big Man and I have decided to binge watch He-Man on this last night of 2015.  It just seemed appropriate.

I feel like Beastman drinks a lot of PBR.  Like, a LOT.

Does the Sorceress channel Jennifer Tilly? Or is it the  other way around?

Ram-man.  Tee-hee. Sorry, I will never be mature enough to handle that.

Why does this bird-lady have such big breasts?  And not the delicious fried kind.

All the villains on this show speak in the third person at some point. CREEEPY.  Vida doesn’t like  it.

Panthor is better than Battlecat.  There.  I said it.  We shall not speak of Cringer. I hate that cat’s guts. I KNOW it’s the same cat.  Shut up.

pan
YEEEAAHHH!!

 

He-man’s…vest, question mark?

Does that big-bo0bed bird have a navel?  Do birds have navels?  (I actually googled this.  They do not.)

No one sells He-man’s fur speedo-moccasin combo. Just that I’d menion that in case someone wants to get on it.

The Big Man just mentioned Quaaludes.  I’m….I’m not going down that road.

Ram-Man…hee-hee, again.

I might be Evil-Lyn.  Which is good, since I’ve mentioned dating Skeletor.

I don’t care for Man-at-Arms.  There, I said it.

I know Prince Adam is grown, but I feel like someone should have called CPS on Prince Adam’s parents a long time ago.  Like, they can’t even recognize their own kid in a metal vest and moccasins.  Quaaludes?

He-Man’s tan.  Orange is the new Eternia, amirite?

I just interrupted typing this to make sure my husband didn’t put Russell Brand on the TeeVee.  NO RUSSELL BRAND.  I don’t find him offensive, just unfunny.  (The Destroyer just asked, “Dad, what’s Russell Brand?  To which the Big Man replied, “Nothing you want to deal with.”)

I feel like Tila eats a lot of corn.  Without butter and salt. And not in popped form. Who does that?

I’m going to get a fur underwear-moccasin boot-combo IF IT KILLS ME.

And on that note, good night everybody and see you in 2016!  Which for me is in like, 3 hours of a champagne induced haze.  (Champagne so bad it’s actually Cham-pag-in.  Thanks, Zap Branningan.)

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