Friday night of this week, my friend, DF, got a bowl of Paomo at what I determine to be a very good Chinese restaurant. Upon receiving the brothy meat with breed, he noted that the smell was something between garbage and vaginal. He ate three quarters of the bowl and when we walked later in the night, he kept logging higher levels of dream-like status. Barring the full range of after-effects, 7 Chinese Brothers was sort of like the soup: smelled rank, I ate it anyway, and left feeling sort of tired.
Comedy? This one was reaching for dolorous, had a few risible moments a la the man and his dog plot line, and then wound down.
Comedy? This one was reaching for dolorous, had a few risible moments a la the man and his dog plot line, and then wound down.