Dog Flashlight

Jun 19
Jun 19

Ashes

Sabotaging everything good I ever have sure makes me feel like a million bucks. Super glad that I make sure I never keep anything worthwhile around for long. 

I’m the worst. But so is she. So maybe we really are meant for each other. What a shame we’ll never have despicable children together.

It was never really love if this is how it ends. And since when does love end anyway?

Jun 17
Stupid feelings…

Stupid feelings…

Jun 13

I believe in myself. And I believe I would like more of you.

Jun 03
jizzmanderson:

Listen here motherfuckers. I’m about to drop some knowledge. 
You like the Avengers? Cool? Think Hunger Games is neat? Awesome. Bonkers for Batman? Bueno. I respect your right to choose a “favorite” movie. 
Just as I respect your right to be wrong as shit. 
I have three words for you, cinematic peons: BEDKNOBS AND BROOMSTICKS. This film can match and surpass any movie from the past fifty, nay, ONE BILLION years, beat for beat, blow for blow. Back when Louis Lumiere was carefully crafting the first motion picture camera, he was filled with a fiery purpose: to ensure that, one day, his good work would allow Bedknobs and Broomsticks to delight audiences across the world. When this piece of art finally sublimely slipped through projectors in 1971, Louis’ corpse cracked a bony and long-overdue smile. 
You scoff. 
Let me explain this to you more clearly. Bedknobs and Broomsticks has everything. Action. Adventure. Romance. War. Adorable children. Witches. Magic. Tap dancing. Musical numbers. Animated animals playing rugby. Angela “Murder, She DID” Lansbury. A MAGICAL TIME AND SPACE BENDING BED. 
Still not convinced? I’m not going to waste time trying to bring light to those who prefer the dark. Let’s just run through some comparisons:
You enjoyed the Chronicles of Narnia?
How about an equally valid civilization of talking animals, both in the sea AND on land, that is so full of motherfucking whimsy that it’ll make you throw up Peppermint Patties and rainbows.
You enjoy the romantic twists and turns of the Twilight series?
An apprentice witch who can’t master her passion. A conman fighting with his inner need to be noble. Three siblings who have been torn apart by humanity’s violence. How about a movie full of so many soap opera shenanigans you’ll wish you could go back in time and kill whoever invented feelings in the first place so you wouldn’t suffer the pain of getting your heart ripped out of your motherfucking CHEST. 
So you enjoyed the veiled correlation of the struggles between Harry Potter and the Dark Lord with the struggles of the Allies in WWII?
How about people using magic to fight ACTUAL FUCKING NAZIS. 
So you enjoyed the Chronicles of Riddick?
Ew, why?
There is no equal. There are no arguments. Bedknobs and Motherfucking Broomsticks is the best movie of all time. You disagree? I don’t give a shit. For everyone who does, welcome to the brotherhood. 
Substitutiary Locomotion, motherfuckers. 

Welp, I’ve never seen this movie, which seems to mean that I’ve been living a lie my whole life.

jizzmanderson:

Listen here motherfuckers. I’m about to drop some knowledge. 

You like the Avengers? Cool? Think Hunger Games is neat? Awesome. Bonkers for Batman? Bueno. I respect your right to choose a “favorite” movie. 

Just as I respect your right to be wrong as shit. 

I have three words for you, cinematic peons: BEDKNOBS AND BROOMSTICKS. This film can match and surpass any movie from the past fifty, nay, ONE BILLION years, beat for beat, blow for blow. Back when Louis Lumiere was carefully crafting the first motion picture camera, he was filled with a fiery purpose: to ensure that, one day, his good work would allow Bedknobs and Broomsticks to delight audiences across the world. When this piece of art finally sublimely slipped through projectors in 1971, Louis’ corpse cracked a bony and long-overdue smile. 

You scoff. 

Let me explain this to you more clearly. Bedknobs and Broomsticks has everything. Action. Adventure. Romance. War. Adorable children. Witches. Magic. Tap dancing. Musical numbers. Animated animals playing rugby. Angela “Murder, She DID” Lansbury. A MAGICAL TIME AND SPACE BENDING BED. 

Still not convinced? I’m not going to waste time trying to bring light to those who prefer the dark. Let’s just run through some comparisons:

You enjoyed the Chronicles of Narnia?

How about an equally valid civilization of talking animals, both in the sea AND on land, that is so full of motherfucking whimsy that it’ll make you throw up Peppermint Patties and rainbows.

You enjoy the romantic twists and turns of the Twilight series?

An apprentice witch who can’t master her passion. A conman fighting with his inner need to be noble. Three siblings who have been torn apart by humanity’s violence. How about a movie full of so many soap opera shenanigans you’ll wish you could go back in time and kill whoever invented feelings in the first place so you wouldn’t suffer the pain of getting your heart ripped out of your motherfucking CHEST. 

So you enjoyed the veiled correlation of the struggles between Harry Potter and the Dark Lord with the struggles of the Allies in WWII?

How about people using magic to fight ACTUAL FUCKING NAZIS. 

So you enjoyed the Chronicles of Riddick?

Ew, why?

There is no equal. There are no arguments. Bedknobs and Motherfucking Broomsticks is the best movie of all time. You disagree? I don’t give a shit. For everyone who does, welcome to the brotherhood. 

Substitutiary Locomotion, motherfuckers. 

Welp, I’ve never seen this movie, which seems to mean that I’ve been living a lie my whole life.

Jun 02
How news really works. Although, now I just get all my news online through tumblr and reddit.

How news really works. Although, now I just get all my news online through tumblr and reddit.

May 31

INGLOURIOUS BASTERDS Fits Perfectly into Quentin Tarantino’s Movie Universe and Influences His Entire Filmography →

suicideblonde:

By now, most Quentin Tarantino fans are aware of the connections interlaced throughout all of his films. John Travolta’s Vincent Vega in Pulp Fiction is the brother of Michael Madsen’s Vic Vega in Reservoir Dogs, Harvey Keitel’s Mr. White worked with Alabama from True Romance, the plot basis for Kill Bill is described as the synopsis for a TV series in Pulp Fiction, etc.

Now the epiphany that Eli Roth’s character of Donny Donowitz aka “The Bear Jew” in Inglourious Basterds is the father of the movie producer Lee Donowitz in True Romance has inspired a truly mind-blowing theory that the rest of the films (chronologically speaking) in Tarantino’s filmography take place in a world where [Inglorious Basterds spoiler] World War II came to an end when Adolf Hitler was brutally murdered in a movie theater by the Basterds.

This initial connection was brought up in an article on Cracked, but a poster on Reddit (via David Chen’s Twitter) has more eloquently summed up what this means for Tarantino’s movieverse:

As it turns out, Donny Donowitz, ‘The Bear Jew’, is the father of movie producer Lee Donowitz from True Romance – which means that, in Tarantino’s universe, everybody grew up learning about how a bunch of commando Jews machine gunned Hitler to death in a burning movie theater, as opposed to quietly killing himself in a bunker. Because World War 2 ended in a movie theater, everybody lends greater significance to pop culture, hence why seemingly everybody has Abed-level knowledge of movies and TV. Likewise, because America won World War 2 in one concentrated act of hyperviolent slaughter, Americans as a whole are more desensitized to that sort of thing. Hence why Butch is unfazed by killing two people, Mr. White and Mr. Pink take a pragmatic approach to killing in their line of work, Esmerelda the cab driver is obsessed with death, etc. You can extrapolate this further when you realize that Tarantino’s movies are technically two universes – he’s gone on record as saying that Kill Bill and From Dusk ‘Til Dawn take place in a ‘movie movie universe’; that is, they’re movies that characters from the Pulp Fiction, Reservoir Dogs, True Romance, and Death Proof universe would go to see in theaters. (Kill Bill, after all, is basically Fox Force Five, right on down to Mia Wallace playing the title role.) What immediately springs to mind about Kill Bill and From Dusk ‘Til Dawn? That they’re crazy violent, even by Tarantino standards. These are the movies produced in a world where America’s crowning victory was locking a bunch of people in a movie theater and blowing it to bits – and keep in mind, Lee Donowitz, son of one of the people on the suicide mission to kill Hitler, is a very successful movie producer. Basically, it turns every Tarantino movie into alternate reality sci fi. I love it so hard.

May 27

quote I think that if I ever have kids, and they are upset, I won’t tell them that people are starving in China or anything like that because it wouldn’t change the fact that they were upset. And even if somebody else has it much worse, that doesn’t really change the fact that you have what you have.

— Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower (via alexand-ler)
May 27

WHEN YOU HEAR ONE PERSON IN THE AUDIENCE LAUGH.

whatshouldwecallimprov:

That one person is my target demographic.

May 24
pinthetailonthehonky:

Tilda, you’re my love. 

Apparently Tilda Swinton is the most amazing woman ever and I had no idea.

pinthetailonthehonky:

Tilda, you’re my love. 

Apparently Tilda Swinton is the most amazing woman ever and I had no idea.

May 24
wellthatsadorable:

humansofnewyork:

I love that in an age of iPhones and Playstations, this little guy is rocking a bus-on-a-string.

A drizzly day is a good day to take the bus out for a walk.

NBD, just my wife with our future son and dog. My son’s Batman shirt must be dirty.

wellthatsadorable:

humansofnewyork:

I love that in an age of iPhones and Playstations, this little guy is rocking a bus-on-a-string.

A drizzly day is a good day to take the bus out for a walk.

NBD, just my wife with our future son and dog. My son’s Batman shirt must be dirty.

May 24
:’)

:’)

May 24
Slothkiss.

Slothkiss.

May 13
dyinginback:

lack
For a brief spell, Emerson began seeing one of the Cunningham sisters on the edge of town. Emily was the youngest of three sisters, whom the town knew mostly as the girls with their hearts in jars. This was, in part, what drew Emerson to her in the first place. Snaking a hand up her dress and feeling the flesh give slightly beneath her ribs when pushed up, at the depression beneath them. Emerson knew by now that Adelaide wasn’t returning. Knew that her abrupt leaving was an escape. That’s a different story, one Emerson has been telling his entire life.
Emerson and Emily, a girl with her heart in a jar. The other sisters had their jars on display on the mantle. Emerson would look between the two, trying to guess which belonged to which. They looked like any other heart—wooden chambers carved from ghostwood, cracked from age and heartbreak. Silver chains slunk from the top ventricle to the bottom of the jar, shurred up in piles like dead snakes. There were only the two on the mantle.
‘Where’s yours?’ asked Emerson one day.
‘Elsewhere,’ said Emily, and turned back to her chores. 
In bed, she let his fingers rest on the scar between her breasts. He asked if it had hurt and she replied ‘What do you think?’ Emerson left most mornings to return to his father’s farm. There was lumber that needed chopping, a horse that needed tending to. There were other distractions. He found also that Emily never smiled, not even on accident. This bothered him for no particular reason.
One night, one chill night, as they huddled for warmth beneath Emily’s sheets, she whispered ‘The river. I threw it into the river. My sisters, they can put theirs’ back in if they want. I don’t care how weak I get, I never want it back.’ Emerson, at a loss for words, made a humming sound. ‘Did it hurt?’ she asked him.
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘There isn’t a night you don’t mumble Adelaide in your sleep. I figure it must take a lot of pain for that sort of thing to happen.’
Emerson shrugged and tightened his grip on her hips. The wind picked up, the windows shook. Morning was a long way off.
(Photo:  Dyrk.Wyst)

dyinginback:

lack

For a brief spell, Emerson began seeing one of the Cunningham sisters on the edge of town. Emily was the youngest of three sisters, whom the town knew mostly as the girls with their hearts in jars. This was, in part, what drew Emerson to her in the first place. Snaking a hand up her dress and feeling the flesh give slightly beneath her ribs when pushed up, at the depression beneath them. Emerson knew by now that Adelaide wasn’t returning. Knew that her abrupt leaving was an escape. That’s a different story, one Emerson has been telling his entire life.

Emerson and Emily, a girl with her heart in a jar. The other sisters had their jars on display on the mantle. Emerson would look between the two, trying to guess which belonged to which. They looked like any other heart—wooden chambers carved from ghostwood, cracked from age and heartbreak. Silver chains slunk from the top ventricle to the bottom of the jar, shurred up in piles like dead snakes. There were only the two on the mantle.

‘Where’s yours?’ asked Emerson one day.

‘Elsewhere,’ said Emily, and turned back to her chores. 

In bed, she let his fingers rest on the scar between her breasts. He asked if it had hurt and she replied ‘What do you think?’ Emerson left most mornings to return to his father’s farm. There was lumber that needed chopping, a horse that needed tending to. There were other distractions. He found also that Emily never smiled, not even on accident. This bothered him for no particular reason.

One night, one chill night, as they huddled for warmth beneath Emily’s sheets, she whispered ‘The river. I threw it into the river. My sisters, they can put theirs’ back in if they want. I don’t care how weak I get, I never want it back.’ Emerson, at a loss for words, made a humming sound. ‘Did it hurt?’ she asked him.

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘There isn’t a night you don’t mumble Adelaide in your sleep. I figure it must take a lot of pain for that sort of thing to happen.’

Emerson shrugged and tightened his grip on her hips. The wind picked up, the windows shook. Morning was a long way off.

(Photo:  Dyrk.Wyst)

May 10
oof.

oof.