I love how gay people do it too. Just… really? You’re literally saying the same shit to bisexuals that straight people say to you, and you don’t see the hypocrisy?
this is an excellent time to talk about my home alone sequel idea
its 25 years later. a group of men track kevin down to an american-style suburban house deep in the jungles of cambodia. they stagger into his office, bruised and covered in feathers.
“you’re a hard man to find mccalister”
“not hard enough”
jump cut. a military officer is talking to a cia spook.
“you don’t understand. he’s the best. i saw him take apart a taliban kill team with nothing but the contents of a hardware store and a box of toy cars.”
cut to afgan desert. adult kevin in modern military gear presses a detonator. several cuts show a rube goldburg device launching paint cans into startled assassins via planks of wood.
cut back to dark office.
“he’s dangerous. unstable.” the spook says
intercut of a man trying to sneak up on maccalister when he steps on a rollar skate and falls down some stairs. there’s punji stakes at the bottom.
“that’s why he’s the best.”
lights cigar
cut back to officer talking to kevin
“your country needs you.”
“i needed my country, and it wasn’t there for me. why should i be there for her?”
cut to shady military black ops in the jungle, vietnam war style. kevin, in tiger strip special
forces camo, watches a helicopter take off and fly away. cut to inside.
the team, weary, sits in dejected silence, when one of them suddenly
bolts upright.
“MACCALISTER!”
cut back
“we need you for one last job. we’ve assembled an elite team.”
zoom on kevin’s face
“no. i work… alone.”
HOME ALONE 3
cut to man strapped to chair in dark room. kevin is in the background, fetching something. he circles around him, rubbing his hands together.
“you’re going to tell me what i want to know.”
“fuck you.” the man spits.
kevin claps his hands to either side of the man’s face. He screams.
COMING THIS CHRISTMAS
kevin watches a city burn. a man points a gun at the back of his head.
“no fancy traps to protect you here. what you got to say to that, maccalister?”
kevin whirls, disarms him, and kicks him off a balcony.
January 3-7: Baga, Nigeria2,000+ killed January 25: Mamasapano, Philippines 67+ killed January 30:Shikarpur, Pakistan 60 killed February 4: Fotokol, Cameroon 91+ killed March 7: Maiduguri, Nigeria58 killed March 20: Sana'a, Yemen137 killed April 1: Garissa, Kenya 147+ killed May 13: Karachi, Pakistan 45 killed June 1: Randi, Iraq 41 killed June 17: Diffa Region, Niger 38 killed June 17: Monguno, Nigeria 63 killed June 22: Borno, Nigeria42 killed June 23: Maiduguri, Nigeria 30 killed June 25: Kobani, Syria 146 killed June 26: Leego, Somalia70 killed July 1: Kukawa, Nigeria145 killed July 5: Jos and Potiskum, Nigeria69 killed July 10: Monguno, Nigeria43 killed July 17: Damaturu, Nigeria64 killed July 17: Khan Bani Saad, Iraq 100-180 killed August 7: Kabul, Afghanistan 50+ killed August 10: Diyala Province, Iraq50+ killed August 13: Baghdad, Iraq76+ killed September 20: Maiduguri, Nigeria 145 killed October 5: Baghdad, Iraq 57 killed October 10: Ankara, Turkey102 killed October 14: Maiduguri, Nigeria42 killed November 12: Beirut, Lebanon43 killed
And these are only the attacks with 40+ victims. Paris I stand with you, but I will not forget all the victims in other cities.
Dogs are the literal best and let me tell you why.
When my parents are out of town, my pup Remmy sleeps downstairs with me. I don’t mind because the basement is chilly sometimes and he’s a fuzzy little space heater. But he always does this weird thing and I didn’t figure out why until last night.
I’m a stomach-sleeper, while the rest of my family are back-sleepers. So Remmy has taken up this very different behavior with me (my family says he doesn’t do it with them). It always takes me a while to settle down, but when I do, Remmy takes his head off of his paws and rests it square in the center of my back.
So I’m thinking, “What’s the point of that? It can’t be comfortable. It cranes his neck in a funny way, and besides, every time I breathe his head goes up and down. That’s a weird thing.” So I formulate a hypothesis, and test it.
Last night, I got comfortable, Remmy put his head on my back, I waited a while, then I held my breath. It took him a while to react, but when he did, he fuckin lost it. He started whining and yipping, and repeatedly licking my face and hands. And I was like oh my god.
Conclusion: my dog noticed that I slept in a way that was different from the rest of my family, thought “that kid is gonna die” and made sure that I never stopped breathing in the middle of the night.
Dogs are fuckin smart as hell. What a wonderful animal.
I think I’m
not the only one feeling this weird trapped feeling today, feeling sick and
overwhelmed but unable to stop reading, reblogging. Trying to understand when
there is nothing to understand.
I live in
the middle of it. 19 people died in front of the bar I go drinking twice a
week, and my friend the barmaid was hidden behind the bar for two hours. One of
my best friend lives rue Bichat and heard the gunfire from his window. I know a
family trapped in stade de France. I should have been drinking in Republique at
8PM yesterday, where they started shooting.
Yeah I get
it. We are freaking out.
But please,
stop spreading only the bad stuff. Stop the pictures and videos of bodies in
the street, of yelling and blood. Stop talking about refugee’s hate, and
islamophobia.
Talk more
about the people that yelled in the street the number of the code to their flat
when victims where running everywhere to bring them to safety. The man that
opened the window of his flat to victims of the Bataclan stranded on the roof.
Talk about
the man that went back to help a stranger pregnant woman, and the kid that was
carried to safety by a total stranger worried he could be trampled by the
crowd.
Talk about
the social media, the hashtag #porteouverte to get people out of the street and
#voyageavecmoi to help people afraid to travel alone because of their
religion/skin color.
Talk about
the taxis that stayed in the street, bringing people home for free all night,
and the bus drivers that helped evacuate the Bataclan.
The people
crowding the blood centers, so much that Paris now has to send them back home.
The people
in their home, terrified and in shock, and only waiting for the possibility to
crowd the street and show them that we are afraid but not broken, and together.
There are
handfuls of people that will take out of this tragedy all the bad lessons, the
wrong evidences.
But please
don’t talk about them. Talk about the fraternity and the love of the scared,
scarred, ones in Paris. Because we are so many, and we won’t give up
One time I used my retail voice on a coworker and she was like, “Don’t use your customer voice on me, I know you’re dead inside like the rest of us, it’s just frightening and weird”
The other day I asked for a table for two in my customer voice and the waitress squinted at me and I cleared my throat and said “Sorry, still in service mode” and she dropped hers and we swapped stories about our day and my boyfriend was like “You two just became two entirely different people in like .5 seconds…”
I can be bitching up a blue streak about a customer-from-hell while the store is empty, and when the phone rings swap over to my retail voice practically in mid-sentence. I even have managers and salespeople from other stores in the chain fooled into thinking I’m infinitely friendly and helpful, and my manager’s husband thinks I’m one of the most professional people in the store. One assistant manager’s daughter dubbed me Perky-Pants because she mostly dealt with me over the phone, and was shocked to the core when I dropped an F-bomb at her graduation picnic.
The acting required in the service industry is beyond the pale. My cousin freaked out when she came to see me at work because I was all smiling and nice while helping someone who was asking inane questions and who basically forced me to walk them to the product and put it in their fucking hand but I was nice as pie until I turned around to walk away and my demeanor changed back to normal and I muttered “what a fucking moron” under my breath as I got back to my cousin. She just looked at me shocked and said “no wonder you’re so exhausted when you get home.”
this is actually referred to as emotional labor in criminology, and is considered one of the hardest forms of labor
The art of bullshit is strong in the service industry
This is the dumbest thing to nitpick but the phrase “real UFO” bothers me any UFO is a real UFO as long as it’s unidentified and flying because that’s what those words mean weather or not it’s an alien is a different matter it could be a pancake someone threw real hard as long as you don’t know that’s what it is it’s a UFO
