Of course. As I become more rotten my clown shoes increase in size and glare.
And in the name of variety I have my trouser flies at differing levels - today will be half-mast.
For one night, not far from Hampstead Heath, I saw in a front garden a demonic figure with arched features and beams of lightningesque evil leaving his palms. He hovered and his torn cloak silently flapped. Okay I was on mushrooms plucked from Hampstead Heath, but I thought it unnecessary for...
I spent 42 years burying emotions or fighting my earnest to avoid them, and then had my son. It was agonising having to feel something, and is impossibly stressful to be bludgeoned by those despairing and loving senses.
But you have to be occasionally proud of what you've attempted to do...
An old friend of mine rogered Bungle. Had a one night stand and when chatting the morning after the revelation emerged. And no he wasn't wearing the suit at the time, and no he didn't rod Jane and Freddie.
The others listed have all been in shockers - Seymour Hoffman made every film he was in better, but he only had so much power to turn tripe to classic. Cazale didn't have that same domineering potency, but his anxious glare still sticks with me from Dog Day.