Lame and probably unnecessary spoiler alert: Contains plot points from The Core and Deep Blue Sea, which, if you haven't seen them by now, you probably don't want to, anyway, which is fine, because, really, they aren't that good.
The scene thus far: Lloyd sits in uncomfy chair in living room, watching HBO's 11:30 a.m. showing of The Core, a bad-science end-of-world piece of cheese referred to at ChezLloyd'n'Rina's as Neil LaBute's The Core, due to the presence of the beauteous Aaron Eckhart. Bakerina, in the midst of baking muffins and toaster cakes for three weeks' worth of weekday breakfasts, takes a little break and joins him on other uncomfy chair in living room. On screen, Hilary Swank pilots space shuttle.
Bakerina: Okay, so nothing *too* bad is going to happen to the shuttle, because Hilary Swank is on it.
Lloyd: Right. She has to last at least close to the end of the movie. She's not at that point yet where she can die close to the beginning.
Bakerina: Like Samuel L. Jackson.
Lloyd: Right. [pauses for a moment] Man, Laurence Fishburne would have pulled that shark's guts right out. [makes gesture of pulling innards out of great white, with accompanying raaaaaaaaa noise]
Oh, Jarrett, I know that hovering-dust phenomenon well.
Lloyd (that would be the spouse) likes to watch movies on the weekends, although he’s not one for staying inside on a nice day; we both share the legacy of that parental war cry “go out in the fresh air and play!” This weekend was pretty gray, cold and miserable, so it was a good weekend for movie-watching.
Kimberly, it’s not that Lloyd has anything against Sam; he just finds Fishburne to be a scarier presence on screen. That said, my mom gave me Season One of Pee-Wee’s Playhouse on dvd, which of course features Fishburne as Cowboy Curtis, and Lloyd and I have been going to town with the Matrix jokes: “Well, golly, Pee-Wee, I’m taking you to see the Oracle! Yew are the One!” We are such simple tools. We also have our own version of Ensign Expendable, which we call Ensign Ricky after a joke on Family Guy. If we happen to run across an 80’s slasher flick (oh, god, they’re still out there!), we also take bets on who dies when, based on the Virgin/Slut Index. Anyone bare-breasted within the first 10 minutes of the movie, you know they’re toast.