Two things made me furious about milk today. And yet, I love milk; few things match a refreshing cold glass of milk.
First time I yelled out loud in despise, second I clinched my fist in a wild, silent protest.
It started when I was half-listening to the TV morning-show, and they were reviewing films. The unbelievable idiot, so called movie-critic, Ronny Svensson* delivered his comments on the boipic Milk, with Sean Penn as Harvey Milk. He decides that the best thing to do so is to spoil the whole movie by giving away the full plot, end, and everything that happens in between. I don’t care if it’s based on a true story and “we all know what happened”. I didn’t. So fuck you, Ronny.
Second time was when I went to the coffee machine to have myself a lovely cup of coffee. And someone, (really hope it was the one before me, and not from yesterday) hadn’t rinsed the cup you use to steam and foam the milk in. Some weird milk-leftover was left there. Smudging the edges like a white whore.
God I’m glad I only sound upset.