Weenie Enema: Terri Schiavo Update: Still Dead

I swore on Bette Midler's life that I would continue my soundtrack countdown today, rather than drown in a self-imposed exile of immaturity over the fact that nobody but me ever contributes to this technological haven of incredibleness. no matter.
6. All Dogs Go to Heaven.

Haha, I found a picture of a Wendy's toy from 1989. <3.
This movie had at least one astounding song that the orphan sings in an attic, but I haven't seen this masterpiece in years. I do remember though that I was reminded of that amazing scene in the end when Itchy leads a pack of wild dogs down the streets of New Orleans when I was at the dog run and this pug named Sir Henry Piglet III started a mass canine revolt. I thought it was the greatest thing I had ever seen until I saw Mr. 50 Cent in a Burger King. Think about that for a moment, if you will:

oops. wait.

His boobs look fake.
I'm sorry, I'm venting about the A cup and the B cup again. Meh. But he's dumb as bricks, there's really no denying that.
He was in this:

I was really close to putting a picture of Lil Kim there, but I've already surpassed my tasteless quota for the day. Oooh yeah. The list.
7. Jurassic Park

There are three things going for this movie. One of them is the John Williams score with "Journey to the Island," which I tried to convince the scrawny fuckstick that manned the PA system in high school to play when I came up to bat, but since he was a fuckstick I was stuck with the Baha Men. Number two is Joe Mazzello, the subtle sex symbol in this movie.

Fucking find me someone that could look that hot after being roasted on a high voltage fence. There was legitimately a period of about two months in 1995 where the idea that Joe wasn't going to marry me would leave me in unspeakable depressions. We were meant to be. Then he went to USC, got a Facebook account and WON'T FUCKING FRIEND ME. Hiss. If I wasn't so intent on impregnating myself with his seed, I would forget all about him.
I think he actually got geeky after puberty, so maybe this is for the best.
Number three is that fucking amazing dinosaur that spits ink in Newman's face. I have been trying to find a picture of that thing for months, but to no avail.
The last three soundtracks are irrelevent, for I am exhausted. I had to talk to a realtor who had guano breath today, which always takes the life out of me. Besides, I can't concentrate when I have that hunky sex kitten from Jurassic Park in my head.
Before I go, it's time to honor the only good thing about France: their chocolate bulldogs!