Indiana Poo and the Temple of the Alien Fecal Matter

Dammit, dammit, dammit. Saw Indy 4 last night. I actually THOUGHT about walking out. Isn't that wrong? It's good to know that Spielberg's human. I give it a 5 out of 10, just cause I'm still damn happy to see Indy on the big screen again, even if the CG was bad and the writing was worse and the plot was non-existent and there was no conflict and I never felt tense once. Ugh.
In other news----
This Just In--I've got an action figure named after me. Yep, I kid you not. My friend and fellow Ringling grad Mike Petrosky (Mic on the Mic) works at a toy maker in LA, and decided that a ripped, roided up army guy was going to be called 'Juice.' Now, does it help that 'juice' is a term for using steroids, and the figure has his shirt off and is ripped to shreds? Of course it does. But he could have called it LOTS of other stuff-Steve, Jim, Randy-but he named it after me! Thanks so much, Mic on the Mic.
So there I am. Glowing, shirtless, beret on. Almost like the lost member of the village people. Ol Juice, the red beret backup dancer that couldn't hack it. So I picked up a M-60 and decided to take matters into my own chiselled hands.
Here's a pic. Enjoy!