I'd like to see a monster throw down with America in general. Putting the little bastard in New York is just Abrams' way of saying it couldn't survive a hit from a nuclear weapon ( Read more... )

Hey. Music is embedded. I can't stop it from auto-loading. You have until the end of this sentence to kill your sound.
Vaguely No Country For Old Men. Just a little. Surely I'm the last person to hear it ( Read more... )

Three in the morning and I'm stalking through the house like some long legged beasty. The power is out, but what with the plasma-dynamics playing outside, I barely need it. The cats have escaped the emergency shelter yet again, and since the fella on the weather channel was forecasting end-of-days shit before the television stopped working, it ( Read more... )

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Prisoner inmates doing the Haruhi dance. Let me repeat that. Prison inmates doing the Haruhi dance. Here the cons at the Cebu Provincial Detention and Rehabilitation Center in the Philippines strut their stuff - snipers, spotlights and all! Word has it that this is just practice, so they aren't, you know, quite where they need to be. The warden is ( Read more... )

Recipe for a wonderful night:
Step One: Go see No Country for Old Men.
Step Two: Drive home, get out of your car.
Step Three: Find yourself beneath an open, star-filled sky.

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When there is no more room in Hell... Alvin and the Chipmunks will sing Vertical Horizon.
...oh, sorry. Alvin und die Chipmunks.

In general, an act. A farce. Seeing what shouldn't be, and adopting an expression fit to imitate what we have seen on television. I look on without expression, feel the predictable swells prompted by music and flatness of effect as the Reverand speaks ( Read more... )

Who wants a Kindle?
This guy.

Also... KITTENS!

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Terry FUCKING Pratchett has FUCKING Alzheimer's.