Every teenage boy wanted to rip off the schoolgirl skirt she effortlessly debuted in the music video for 1998’s “Baby One More Time,” while every teenage girl (and some boys) dreamt of wearing it. Did she know this? Did it make her feel powerful? What did she even want?
Nothing can be taken lightly, nothing can be forgotten — writers are composed of a thousand flowing, surging concepts and ideas, each one spawned from a single sideways glance.
Finally, someone’s taking comedy gold and mining it.
Glub glub glub. A gurgling noise fills the air while Rick leans with his back against the black and silver pump, waiting for thirty or so gallons of gas to fill up his old Cadillac limo.
Now we have jobs, and bills, and real responsibilities that make all of that feel like some kind of fever dream.