Jonathan Banks Has Had Jack Of The Emmys Heat, Drops Multiple F-Bombs

It is bloody hot in Los Angeles today.

With the temperature hovering around the 38 degrees celsius mark, this is suddenly posing an issue to the myriad of people dressed in heavy woollen suits strutting their way down the red carpet in preparation for the Emmy Awards.
Now, ordinarily this would be sort of OK if all the red carpet entailed was a smile, a wave, and a quick stroll into the comfort of the air-conditioned Microsoft Theatre where cold drinks are plentiful and butt-sweat is minimised.
But you’ve gotta stop. And talk. And pose. And stop and talk. And talk some more. And pose again. And stop and talk. And talk. And talk. And pose. Talk. Pose. Talk. Pose. Stop. Stop. Dying. Dying. Dead.
Jonathan Banks, playing beautifully into the grumpy old bloke role which he has been typecast into, has had enough of it.
Wielding a portable fan like his life depended on it and taking full advantage of Yahoo‘s censorship-less internet dwelling, Banks worked with profanities like he was Picasso and they were a palette of oils.

Nobody fucks with Mike Ehrmantraut. Not Leonel Salamanca. Not Gaff. Not the goddamned weather.
via Uproxx.