YOU GUYS. Halloween is just around the corner! You know what THAT means: it’s time to scramble to put together the perfect Sexy [Whatever] costume. But what if all your friends are already going as Sexy Nurse, Sexy Nun, Sexy Cop, Sexy Zombie and Sexy Lisa Simpson? DO NOT WORRY. Everything is going to be okay, because my friends and I have pages and pages of ideas for you, courtesy of this lovely comic and an absolutely epic Facebook thread.
Are you ready for this?
If yes, click below (and click again) for embiggenation:
Note: I love Halloween. I mean, really. I LOVE Halloween. The sheer amount of work and creativity that goes into this unholiday is mindblowing and I enjoy it immensely. So even if I didn’t have a host of other issues with the “Sexy [x]” Halloween costume, the sheer consistent laziness of it would irritate me.
I was reading this letter, which is full of very emphatic and violent hate for a neighborhood kid with autism, and I was simultaneously nauseated by what this awful, cowardly woman said and assumed and the sheer number of exclamation points she used to emphasize the hate she was spewing.
I could do one of my usual rants about the shittiness of this woman’s attitude and method of handling the situation, but I think the kid’s mother handled it just fine. So to the next point: I don’t know about you guys, but this is pretty much how my brain filters the use of exclamation points:
Click for Enlargination:
Well, SCOTUS is drunk.
No, really. Obviously drunk.
Those of us who are not just keeping track of the Prop 8 decisions may have noticed the gutting of the Voting Rights Act and the funny idea that racism just isn’t an issue anymore. I guess nobody has stopped and frisked Clarence Thomas recently.
So, folks are dismayed and disappointed all over the internet, in my office, and probably in Dolores Park, too. But that’s probably because it’s raining, and Dolores Park in the rain is dismaying and disappointing. And of course everybody is worried about Prop 8–regardless of what the preferred outcome might be.
So, to everybody who is bummed out about bad SCOTUS decisions, look at this fucking cat.
This fucking cat is the cutest. He just wants to take his fucking giant, fluffy, polydactyl paw and rub it all over his fucking adorable face for you. This fucking cat is working it so hard to make you feel better about today. And today’s a fucking bummer. I mean, the fucking VRA isn’t worth the paper it’s printed on. Seriously, go fucking print that shit out. THERE. You just wasted some fucking paper.
So check it out. This cat’s name is fucking Thumper. He has a fucking RABBIT’S name. How fucking cute is that? He has fucking thumbs on his great big mitteny fuckng paws. His feet are practially fucking snowshoes. I have a fucking SNOWCAT. Thumper just wants to love you. When he rolls over and shows you his fluffy white belly, he wants you to fucking pet it. That fucking belly is not a fucking trap, and it’s so fucking soft you won’t be able to stop petting it. You would feel so much fucking better right now if you just cuddled up and listened to his fucking amazing purr, which gets louder and louder the more you pet him.
This fucking video has music, so if you are at work, wear some fucking headphones. And when you are feeling all pissed off about SCOTUS? Look at this fucking cat.
I am sitting next to my girlfriend watching An American Werewolf in London. She’s never seen it before, and I think it’s essential viewing. Canon.
And it’s just as awesome as the last time I saw it. And the time before that. Just as brilliantly and darkly funny as I remember it. Just as gorgeous. The initial transition scene still fills me with wonder and joy and respect. I still dig Jenny Agutter.
But I think I’ve now seen the movie too many times.
WHAT? WHY? You may yelling at your monitor right now. You might even have thrown your hands in the air in shock and horror. I hope you didn’t knock your water over. …I’m sorry.
Well, it’s that I’ve found myself fixating on things that never bothered me, before.
The first example is the wolfing out. We get to see how intensely painful and disturbing the transition to wolf is for David. And we get to see David transition twice. The first time he’s being stared at by a tiny, surprisingly upsetting Mickey Mouse figurine (what the hell is that doing in Alex’s flat, btw?). The second time it’s in a theater showing awful (but hilarious, of course) porn.
The make up is amazing. The artistry phenomenal. And I? I’ve spent at least 20 minutes wondering whether it would be worse to go through all of that while under the way-too-cheerful gaze of Mickey Mouse or while watching awful porn in a filthy theater.
In case you were wondering, I decided on the porn.
Yes, that took twenty minutes. YES, I AM TIRED.
But what really got me this time around was that scene in the theater. Not the porn or the transition, but Jack. Jack is talking. Jack uses all the letters. Jack says “schmuck”. But you guys.
Jack has no lips. Jack has no lips, you guys.
Jack has no fucking lips. Go ahead and say “schmuck” without using your lips. Say “werewolf”. Say “suspension of disbelief”.
I don’t have much more to say about this, except for to point out that I am watching a movie about a werewolf and his undead hallucinatory friend and the really unbelievable part for me is that somebody is talking without lips.
Deep Thoughts is brought to you by the letter Wine and the number Lots.