So my parents just found out about my fourteen year old brother smoking weed because they found this on his window ledge. So in the middle of a huge lecture my dad decides to open the Baggie and smell it to see how strong it is. He immediately starts crying with laughter. THIS NIGGA HAS BEEN BUYING AND SMOKING FUCKING OREGANO. FUCKIN ITALIAN HERBS. SON. I CAN’T. I CANNOT. I CAN’T DO THIS.
This isn’t funny. That’s the gateway drug to a full blown marinara addiction. It’s good this was caught before this kid started hanging out at Olive Garden and sucking on every breadstick he can find to score another hit.
IT GOT BETTER.
[on her acting method] To you it looks emotionally straining, but I don’t get emotionally drained, because I don’t invest any of my real emotions. I don’t take any of my characters’ pain home with me, I don’t even take it to craft services. I’ve never been through anything that my characters have been through. And I can’t go around looking for roles that are exactly like my life. So I just use my imagination. If it ever came down to the point where, to make a part better, I had to lose a little bit of my sanity, I wouldn’t do it. I would just do comedies.