In the interests of Being a Better Person, I have decided to restrict my influence on unsuspecting Idiots to one post a day, lest familiarity breed contempt and you “all” (both?) get sick of the sight of me. This being Monday, I offer you the Forehead of the Week!
Many thanks to my friend Jugendsehnshoc for this Forehead - Jugensehsin is a man who knows a thing or two about beards, loud music, and quality beverages, but he knows nothing whatsoever about owning a name I can correctly spell. He also knows a mighty forehead when he sees one. Here we have: PHILIP SEYMOUR HOFFMAN:
PSH has always made me sort of uneasy. I don’t know what it is about him that fills my heart with dread.
Maybe it’s the fact that Philip Seymour Hoffman looks kind of like a person whose face would come into focus inches from my own when I regain consciousness after a long night of drunken foolishness, and find myself strapped to a table in some sweaty warehouse boiler room. “Shh, shh,” Philip Seymour Hoffman might say. “I’m not going to hurt you.” But the exacto knife in his hand tells a different story.
Maybe it’s because Philip Seymour Hoffman seems like the kind of person who might have all his teeth replaced with razor blades, if money and adherence to societal norms were no issue.
Maybe it’s because of what happened in Red Dragon. Proximity to certain former Big Bosses of the Day, direct or indirect, will leave the taint of terror on a person’s psyche.
Taint of Terror is the name of my Black Sabbath cover band.
All these completely rational observations aside, Philip Seymour Hoffman has one hell of a forehead. He wears it like a smug, sexually perverse accountant who MIGHT have a collection of human finger bones in his file cabinet, or he might not. That’s for him to know and you to find out.
Congratulations, Philip (may I call you Philip?) - you are the Forehead of the Week. Stop looking at me.