emmabergstrom
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who needs a shirt? 
Miscellaneous Picture Mix #28
- Thread starter BonoFox1
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The friendliest place on the web for anyone that follows U2.
If you have answers, please help by responding to the unanswered posts.
If you have answers, please help by responding to the unanswered posts.
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Bonogirl777
Blue Crack Addict
yes, looks like he's going to throw up
Well, he looks a little like me actually. Doubled over from stomach pain.
I hope to God he isn't. 
Bonogirl777
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Harley.GirlU2
Rock n' Roll Doggie VIP PASS
Well, he looks a little like me actually. Doubled over from stomach pain.
gosh, i hope u feel better soon, like i said in the other thread.
Bonogirl777
Blue Crack Addict
gosh, i hope u feel better soon, like i said in the other thread.
Thanks.
I just don't want Bono to have the intense pain that I do!
emmabergstrom
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Soooo cute!
Harley.GirlU2
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Yes! No one should 
Harley.GirlU2
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Bonogirl777
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OP
OP
BonoFox1
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OP
OP
BonoFox1
Blue Crack Supplier
have you seen this one?? look at Bono's shirt . It' s just.... ehmmmm....
I can't find an adjective to describe it
Bono's shirt is a bit transparent
OH BONO!!!
Edge
What is Adam wearing?
OP
OP
BonoFox1
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Bonogirl777
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Edge chest
Harley.GirlU2
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Harley.GirlU2
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i was just wondering...
can Larry be agent Smith?
can Larry be agent Smith?
lauramullen
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^ looks like he's in pain
btw cute smile at the end
Maybe he ate too much and has gas pains.
OP
OP
BonoFox1
Blue Crack Supplier
^ looks like he's in pain
btw cute smile at the end
I don't think he looks like he is in pain
lauramullen
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He leans like that a lot in pictures.
OP
OP
BonoFox1
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OP
OP
BonoFox1
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zuropa_fit
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Agent Smith... or a member of the cast of Reservoir Dogs?
Reggo
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Reservoir Dogs 
Mr...erm...Ha, he gets to be Mr Black.
Take that, Harvey Keitel.
Mr...erm...Ha, he gets to be Mr Black.
Take that, Harvey Keitel.
OP
OP
BonoFox1
Blue Crack Supplier
ANOTHER FEZ HILL POSE!!!
panaramic
panaramic
OP
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BonoFox1
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----BONO GETS SHIFTED TO SPORTS----
The lead singer for U2 adapts to a new career as a New York Times sports columnist.
Ben Greenman
guardian.co.uk, Monday 2 February 2009 18.00 GMT
Article history
Bono, the lead singer of U2, was hired by the New York Times as an op-ed columnist late last year. His first piece, which ran on 11 January, was about Frank Sinatra. After mixed reactions, his editors decided to reassign Bono to other sections of the newspaper. He began his rotation in Sports yesterday, with this column about the Super Bowl.]
Once upon a yesterday...
I'm in an American house in an American city. Voices are raised in passion, hands are raised in same: hoarse voices, rough hands, American men in this American house. Chicken wings rise from the table and fly upward, tiny Icaruses, hot even before they draw near the sun. The television is on, and on the television is football. Not just football, but American football. And not just American football, but one glorious upjut of football: the Steelers against the Cardinals in Super Bowl XLIII.
Everything in America is Super: Superman, Supermarkets, Superglue. What is super is profound, not superficial. If a football season is a song, the Super Bowl is the part where I tilt my head back and bellow with a full throat. Critics would call it the crescendo. In "Beautiful Day," it occurs around the three-minute mark.
Football is a fascinating game. The helmets are strapped tight; the shoulders are padded, as are the knees and thighs and the thrumming facts of life between them. In this American house, these American men cheer for these gladiators and, in cheering, become gladiators themselves. The two teams are from Pittsburgh and Phoenix, and just as there is fire in the tiny wings of chickens that nourish the American men in this American house, there is fire in the names of these two cities: that which forges steel in one case, that which that gives new birth to a bird of myth in the other. And there is fire in the hearts of these warriors. They go to battle, not knowing if they will prevail.
The football is kicked high in the air, caught. I am just an Irish stranger in the midst of this refining fire, and so I do what an Irish stranger would do: Watch. Well, watch and take some chicken wings. It is said that they are even more delectable when dipped in bleu cheese. They spell it "blue" in the American manner, these American men in their American world. Hold on. Let me wipe my hands.
Wipe them clean of falseness.
The falseness of weakness and cowardice.
Of fear of what cannot be known.
A game is played to win or to lose. It is life because we cannot predict it precisely.
Before the game, weeks before, when the fire of the Steelers and the Phoenixes was not even yet a spark, I was at home in Dublin, drinking a glass of wine, looking at an American painting made by an American master. Only the wine was French. (American wine? Are you kidding? I have my limits.) So I was looking at this American painting by this American master, there in Dublin, feeling the strangeness of my Irishness, the strangeness of my stardom, the strangeness of wealth and privilege and the unquenchable desire to save the world. What can save the world? Can an American abstract painting save the world? Or is a painting just a game? An abstract painting is an attempt to capture motion without imprisoning it, to capture and to liberate.
Football captures motion. But football is not an abstract painting. It is a concrete one. Can it save the world?
Now shift the scene from Dublin back to the American house with the American men, back to the Super Bowl. As the game goes on (as legs churn and in doing so churn the facts of life between them), this room of fire heats up even more. It does not matter who wins or who stars or even if I understand the rules at all, the "downs" and "fumbles" and "red zone." We are all in a red zone, a zone of excitement and enchantment, a zone of hope where we cannot predict precisely and so require our hope to keep us warm. There is nothing cool in the room, save the blue cheese. See: I can spell like an American, too.
The lead singer for U2 adapts to a new career as a New York Times sports columnist.
Ben Greenman
guardian.co.uk, Monday 2 February 2009 18.00 GMT
Article history
Bono, the lead singer of U2, was hired by the New York Times as an op-ed columnist late last year. His first piece, which ran on 11 January, was about Frank Sinatra. After mixed reactions, his editors decided to reassign Bono to other sections of the newspaper. He began his rotation in Sports yesterday, with this column about the Super Bowl.]
Once upon a yesterday...
I'm in an American house in an American city. Voices are raised in passion, hands are raised in same: hoarse voices, rough hands, American men in this American house. Chicken wings rise from the table and fly upward, tiny Icaruses, hot even before they draw near the sun. The television is on, and on the television is football. Not just football, but American football. And not just American football, but one glorious upjut of football: the Steelers against the Cardinals in Super Bowl XLIII.
Everything in America is Super: Superman, Supermarkets, Superglue. What is super is profound, not superficial. If a football season is a song, the Super Bowl is the part where I tilt my head back and bellow with a full throat. Critics would call it the crescendo. In "Beautiful Day," it occurs around the three-minute mark.
Football is a fascinating game. The helmets are strapped tight; the shoulders are padded, as are the knees and thighs and the thrumming facts of life between them. In this American house, these American men cheer for these gladiators and, in cheering, become gladiators themselves. The two teams are from Pittsburgh and Phoenix, and just as there is fire in the tiny wings of chickens that nourish the American men in this American house, there is fire in the names of these two cities: that which forges steel in one case, that which that gives new birth to a bird of myth in the other. And there is fire in the hearts of these warriors. They go to battle, not knowing if they will prevail.
The football is kicked high in the air, caught. I am just an Irish stranger in the midst of this refining fire, and so I do what an Irish stranger would do: Watch. Well, watch and take some chicken wings. It is said that they are even more delectable when dipped in bleu cheese. They spell it "blue" in the American manner, these American men in their American world. Hold on. Let me wipe my hands.
Wipe them clean of falseness.
The falseness of weakness and cowardice.
Of fear of what cannot be known.
A game is played to win or to lose. It is life because we cannot predict it precisely.
Before the game, weeks before, when the fire of the Steelers and the Phoenixes was not even yet a spark, I was at home in Dublin, drinking a glass of wine, looking at an American painting made by an American master. Only the wine was French. (American wine? Are you kidding? I have my limits.) So I was looking at this American painting by this American master, there in Dublin, feeling the strangeness of my Irishness, the strangeness of my stardom, the strangeness of wealth and privilege and the unquenchable desire to save the world. What can save the world? Can an American abstract painting save the world? Or is a painting just a game? An abstract painting is an attempt to capture motion without imprisoning it, to capture and to liberate.
Football captures motion. But football is not an abstract painting. It is a concrete one. Can it save the world?
Now shift the scene from Dublin back to the American house with the American men, back to the Super Bowl. As the game goes on (as legs churn and in doing so churn the facts of life between them), this room of fire heats up even more. It does not matter who wins or who stars or even if I understand the rules at all, the "downs" and "fumbles" and "red zone." We are all in a red zone, a zone of excitement and enchantment, a zone of hope where we cannot predict precisely and so require our hope to keep us warm. There is nothing cool in the room, save the blue cheese. See: I can spell like an American, too.
Elann
War Child
I don't know what to think about that...
Shifted to sports
Shifted to sports
OP
OP
BonoFox1
Blue Crack Supplier
TOUR POSTER????
last unicorn
Blue Crack Addict
I don't know what to think about that...
Shifted to sports
That article is a SPOOF.
They are mocking Bono's column on Sinatra.
Rosebud
Rock n' Roll Doggie ALL ACCESS
THANK GOD I seriously thought that was real for a minute, and I laughed until I cried!
phew.
Rosebud
Rock n' Roll Doggie ALL ACCESS
U2Girl posted this link over in WTAHAN. 2 new pics on this website!
Deirdre O'Callaghan
Go to Portfolio, then Music, and U2 are the first two pics shown.
Deirdre O'Callaghan
Go to Portfolio, then Music, and U2 are the first two pics shown.
last unicorn
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