#Bob Dishy
Explore tagged Tumblr posts
Text
19-year-old Liza Minnelli made her Broadway debut today in 1965 with “Flora, the Red Menace”.
21 notes
·
View notes
Text
My Boyfriend's Back (1993)
In today's review, I find out that being dead, might give you a new lease, on your love life. As I attempt a #positive review of the 1993 zombie rom-com, My Boyfriend's Back #AndrewLowery #TraciLind #DannyZorn #EdwardHerrmann #MaryBethHurt #JayOSanders
Growing up is hard enough, we have a sea of constantly changing emotions, bodies, and situations to navigate, and it can feel like you are a whole new person. Almost like coming back from a near-death experience gives you a completely new outlook. In 1993. A film that combined the teenage condition with a lot of EC Comics-style spookiness, a film known as My Boyfriend’s Back. Johnny’s dead, but…
View On WordPress
#1993#Andrew Lowery#Austin Pendleton#Bob Dishy#Cloris Leachman#comedy#Danny Zorn#Edward Herrmann#film#films#horror#Jay O. Sanders#Libby Villari#Mary Beth Hurt#Matthew Fox#Matthew McConaughey#Movies#Paul Dooley#Paxton Whitehead#Philip Hoffman#positive#Renée Zellweger#review#Traci Lind
1 note
·
View note
Text
~ Oh So Fly! ~
From the rockin’ street doves to the coo-l Capuchines We’ll pick and peck apart every piece of bird-based bling Warmers, collars, capes… Gramma’s cornbread cowls? You might as well go back home with your head in a towel!
~ A nonsensical poem I wrote on pigeons and their Fabulous! Bread! Necklaces! for the recent "Toasty Mart" bread x animals zine hosted by @bycmykae. Thanks for the pun fun-filled experience!
Shoutout to @katsuayumu too for making all the super cute and delicious pigeon character art for this piece :D
🕊 [ Read the full poem on AO3 or under the cut! ]
🍞 [ Read the free zine via itch.io! ]
Greetings! Salutations! Birds of a feather! Welcome to the Bread Derby, sisters and brothers! The name’s Pasquale and I’m your host for today— Colomba of keen eye for fashions of the day ~✦
It’s party pigeon time down here in the square Where every-birdy’s decked in their fanciest neckwear Where the have-its flaunt it! And the have-nots want it! Where upper crusts and lower crumbs clash in showers of grit!
From the rockin’ street doves to the coo-l Capuchines We’ll pick and peck apart every piece of bird-based bling Warmers, collars, capes... Gramma’s cornbread cowls? You might as well go back home with your head in a towel!
We’ll see who’s the boss in their oven-baked best! And who’s burnt toast that’s only good for lining nests! Beaks up and b-ready, we’re starting the show Coo! Here’s our first lady—let’s fluffin’ go!
———
Behold! This uppity—I mean, blue-crowned royalty: The Duchess of Dovershire, come to visit from her county With her pearl-tipped crest as though dipped in icing And draped with a most exquisite braided bread ring Such graze! Delicacy! (Maybe a hint of power?) The air and flair of fresh-milled flour—
“How do you do? Your reds and greens are lovely!” Hold up, did... she just say something to me? Why yes ma’am, thank you! I adore them too! It’s just avocado bruschetta, nothing too frou-frou~ She chortles, nods; then away she struts: A portly, pleasant presence in her posh, plaited doughnut.
———
Kerfuffle from the crowds! Cue the world’s favourite Frillback: Pop idol Pae-Dae, in a cushy cape of flatbread Luscious curls of feathers bronze all across his wings A dishy dove indeed: he’s every fledgling’s prince! His shuffling feet pause, his misty eyes find mine I wonder what words might leave a beak so sublime...?
“Wish I could sleep, Mister Host, but I’ll do my best Ask me about the dramas I’ve been filming without rest Or how everyone thinks my wings are hazelnut flakes...” Sigh, a celeb’s life! You can’t ever get a break I’ll interview you next week! Now go and catch some Z’s Your tortilla blanket should be cosy—but don’t let your fans see!
———
An emerald dove patters by, sleeves shimmering green Donning the airiest, fairiest sourdough I’ve seen: Scored like a flower, flour dusted like a lace veil Aw, she’s proud of it! Look at her bobbing tail~ “My name’s Paige Pidgerton, I baked it just today I hope to open my artisan beak-ery someday!”
You’re a natural, miss, this here’s a work of art! But really, is that all you dream of deep inside your heart? She flusters, she flushes, her white headband askew The rosy eyes of a heroine’s fairytale come true! “Maybe... if I can’t bake for everyone in town Then at least for some-birdy I’m happy to be around.♥”
———
You hear them before you see them: Two lean, rugged doves Squabbling, squawking, crash-landing (on the) square from above “I told you to hurry, old man, now we’re late for the parade!” ‘Why don’t you stop by a corner shop again, you ingrate!’ Good day, gentlemen! I might have seen you somewhere, sir Aren’t you G.I. Low, that decorated war officer?
‘Some eye you’ve got, chap! Sharp as this one I’ve got left Better than my grandkid here who thinks he’s bloody EMS.’ “If this thumbdrive don’t reach later, I’ll be toast-er than my toast! Name’s Payload Swift, mister, I’m a racer turned pigeon post.”
(Aha! Do I sense a glorious generation gap? A question trap to set their wings and tempers aflap!) Living life in the fast lane? Your intake must be insane! Care to share with us your go-to holy grains?
“This grilled tuna sandwich melt from Leaven-Eleven’s Is the best thing since sliced bread—a taste made in heaven!” ‘It IS sliced bread, for heavens’ sake! See the junk this boy is eating? Not like this chipped beef on toast from back when I was serving It’s provisions! Nourishment! Blessings for the whole flock!’ “Yeah sure, if only you can eat it without a fork...”
———
A zig-zagging, a tango-ing, a high bird-song and dance A kererū, post-dine-and-wine, down on the bench in a trance That passé office plumage versus bland-as-heck handbag— Lady, your tastebuds are wrecked! And that fruit loaf’s a big red flag!
She waves her bottle—budget Pigeot Noir!—before my eyes “I’ve seen your shows on CooTube, you’re that real fly guy! That Nicobar fella who’s gone way up the pecking order...” Lady, your tastebuds are just fine! Ignore what I said earlier—
“Can you tell me how you’ve been eating every-birdy’s lunch? You’re now rolling in dough, but I’m just rolling off the branch... How can a common quill-pusher like me, Karolie Flee Fly to the top, eat all I want, and still be this carefree?”
Oh Miss Flee, let’s first put my inspiring haute coo-ture aside No matter what you’re doing, you should do it with pride! Push all the quills (and your bosses’ too) until you’re seen and heard But remember: there’s more to you than just this corporate bird!
Sure, your whites, greens and purples may not be the hottest stuff But if you’re a better you than yesterday then that’s good enough~★ That said, please just toss that brick of cursed candied fruit Get a loaf that tastes more chic! With marmalade to boot!
———
So there we go, folks—our roundup of this Derby: A true-blue cross-section of our bling-based society I’ve seen a future star baker, courier, wine connoisseur Stay inspiring, inspired and well rested, you youngsters!
Boast your bread-lace loud and proud, bake it till you make it The true slice-of-life is how you wear it and what you make of it! And to every-birdy else who’s stayed with us throughout— Beak thanks to you all! This is Col. Pasquale, signing out~♫
~ end ~
#toasty mart zine#zine#writing#poetry#pigeons#birbs#BREAD#art#shitpost#shitty puns#shitty trivia: i identify with the kererū best#happy reading!#contributor pieces#tangentials
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
i love romance (marcello mastroianni and bob dishy slow dancing in used people 1992)
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Columbo: The Greenhouse Jungle (1972)
This is a solid episode that plays with the series’ formula in interesting ways. The initial fake kidnapping plot provides some interesting character work for the guest cast while giving Columbo another cop for a partner gives the character a new dynamic that is interesting. Peter Falk remains excellent here and a returning Ray Milland makes for an effective killer. The supporting cast features some nice turns from Bob Dishy, Sandra Smith, and Bradford Dillman. The series’ strong visuals are continued here and the shadows and angles set this episode apart from its predecessors. This is a good episode that continues the series good quality.
4 notes
·
View notes
Text
Kate Bosworth and Jim Sturgess in 21 (Robert Luketic, 2008)
Cast: Jim Sturgess, Kevin Spacey, Kate Bosworth, Aaron Yoo, Liza Lapira, Jacob Pitts, Laurence Fishburne, Jack McGee, Josh Gad, Sam Golzari, Helen Carey, Bob Phillips. Screenplay: Peter Steinfeld, Allan Loeb, based on a book by Ben Mezrich. Cinematography: Russell Carpenter. Production design: Missy Stewart. Film editing: Elliot Graham. Music: David Sardy.
Harvard has a very fine medical school, no doubt. But so do NYU, Penn, Johns Hopkins, UCSF, Columbia, Stanford, Duke, and the University of Washington, to name a few. And 21 asks us to believe that its protagonist, Ben Campbell (Jim Sturgess), is so set on going to Harvard's, and only Harvard's, that he will betray his friends, lie to his mother, and put his life in jeopardy to raise the money he needs to attend. He's already been admitted, of course. He has straight A's at MIT and a genius IQ. Moreover, he's an ideal candidate for financial support: He has a single mother and has to work part time. But according to the screenplay, there's only one scholarship available and it has scores of other applicants. So Ben will find himself roped into a card-counting system devised by a rather shady MIT professor of statistics, Micky Rosa (Kevin Spacey), who takes a group of hand-picked students and trains them in a foolproof system of beating the odds at the blackjack tables in Las Vegas. The premise is valid: Ben Mezrich reported on an actual MIT Blackjack Team in his 2003 book Bringing Down the House. But the makers of 21 aren't interested in the actuality of Mezrich's book, maybe because it involves a lot of boring stuff like mathematics. So they cobbled it into a routine con-game drama, with some Vegas glamour, a little romance, some snaky double-crossing, a little violence, and a moderately happy ending. The actual MIT team was mostly Asian, so there are some token Asians in the cast, but the movie's story centers on the good-looking white guy and the dishy blonde. That the Vegas casinos wouldn't spot this gang of pretty people as phonies defies belief. At best, 21 is a passable time-waster.
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
Night Driving
27. “I never thought driving around could be romantic” - @tetsunova Valentine's Day Prompt List
Fluff/Smut, M/M, Explicit Sexual Content: SAS Rogue Heroes, David/Mike
David had called Mike a dishy bastard and smiled flirtatiously at him because he did that with everyone.
It had been a pleasant surprise when he had purred "call me Mike" at him during their brief conversation in the middle of the New Zealand encampment raid. Made David's spine all tingly.
Now they were sneaking around Jalo like a couple of naughty school boys sneaking out of their dorm. Which, in a way, they were, except that David hadn't set foot in a classroom in years and Mike was scheduled to go on patrol anyway so only David wasn't really supposed to be here.
"I never thought driving around could be romantic" David leaned across to the driver's side as Mike brought the jeep out of base camp. He reached out and peeled up the bottom of Mike's shirt, lightly brushing his fingers across the exposed skin. Mike shivered involuntarily and said nothing, his eyes focused on the dark.
Once or twice a week, Mike liked to go out alone a little way from camp and wander around the dunes before coming back. It stopped him going stir crazy and helped keep his navigation skills sharp. In order to help prevent him from disappearing while on one of his excursions, David had insisted that he book them into the patrol schedule.
Eventually Mike found a place he liked and parked, cutting the engine and unbuckling his seatbelt. David was still leaning across, smiling at him, and he let Mike run his thumb along his jaw and gently cradle his chin.
The kiss that Mike pressed against David's lips was soft and warm. He opened his mouth wider; Mike tasted of peppermint toothpaste and whisky, and when he raked his hands through David's hair, locked them behind his head and pulled him in closer, David felt dizzy all the way down to his toes.
The night air was freezing so they weren't able to strip, although David did manage to slip his hands up and under Mike's shirt as he was pulled onto his lap.
He whined breathlessly as Mike began sucking kisses along his jaw and down his neck, as Mike's fingers loosened the first few buttons on David's shirt so he could reach his collarbone.
'..ah.. ah! Mike'
'Yes David, was there something you wanted?' Mike grinned against his shoulder and David shivered.
He reached between them and unbuttoned the fly on Mike's pants, slipping a hand inside.
'Oh nothing much, just thi-' David's jaw dropped and he glanced down to confirm that he was holding the right body part.
Mike's grin widened and he rolled his hips forward, causing David to let out a breathy whimper.
'Fuck me!'
'I was rather hoping we would' Mike chuckled.
David bit his lip and nodded enthusiastically.
'Mmhm, yes, just- Jesus Christ -let me just-'
David, trembling, took a deep breath and slid down between Mike's thighs. The corporal leaned back into the driver's seat as David fished him out of his pants.
David nearly drooled.
Mike was easily pushing double digits, and so thick David couldn't wrap his fingers around. He was half hard already; David licked a stripe across the tip and Mike twitched, hands clenching reflexively.
He couldn’t fit the entire cock in his mouth but he did his best, bobbing his head as he swallowed it down. He moaned as it hit the back of his throat, and pumped the shaft as he gently fondled Mike's balls with his spare hand.
Mike tasted amazing and he smelt even better, a heady mix of musk and something refreshing and sharp. David tried to angle his head so that his stubble wouldn't rub against Mike's inner thigh, but firm fingers gently tugging his hair forced him back into range.
After a few minutes David became aware that he was the only one making any noise. Was Mike enjoying this at all? He hadn't said anything, and his cock was rock-hard.
David glanced up; Mike's mouth hung open, silently gulping down air as he gripped David's head with sweating hands. His eyes were shut and his face was flushed, the redness rolling down his throat and underneath his collar.
David's own cock strained in his pants at the sight and he sped up, putting both hands behind Mike's knees and letting his jaw loosen so Mike could fuck into his mouth.
A squeak forced itself out of Mike, like he couldn't contain it any longer, then-
'I'm coming'
Mike made to pull away but David smacked his leg and swallowed him deeper just as Mike spilled down his throat, back arching. David did his best to lick him clean and Mike pulled him up by his shirt and kissed him.
'I can blow you in return, or I can fuck you'
'I thought you'd never ask'
David ignored his aching cock as he bent down onto the passenger seat.
'Hands on the door' Mike said, gruffly. David did as he was told, glancing over his shoulder as Mike slid his pants down around his knees.
'Did you bring the-' David hissed as Mike rubbed a cold, lube-slicked finger between his cheeks and over his hole.
'Shush, just breathe sir' Mike gingerly fingered the edge of David's rim and the incredulous expression David was wearing melted away for a second.
'Sir? Now?!'
'Why not?' Mike adjusted the angle of his hand and pushed. David choked on a groan as Mike leveled out at his knuckles, pulled out, and slid back inside.
Mike bit his ass as he buried a fourth finger inside and it was all David could do not to come right then. He was desperately hard and leaking precome all over himself, and he was dimly aware that he could touch himself if he needed but he couldn't make himself move, and there was spit dribbling down his chin, and then Mike removed his fingers and pushed his cock inside.
Two fingers. Three had David sobbing intermittently between ever-louder moans, and high pitched keeing whines that he hadn't known he could make.
David was bouncing now, hands gripping the side of the truck, stifled screams muffled by Mike's beret he had shoved between his teeth. Mike reached around and draped a hand loosely around the base of David's cock, just tight enough to provide some friction but not enough pressure for David to rub himself off on. It felt like exquisite torture.
Mike pumped David's cock properly in long, fast strokes as he gripped his hip with his other hand and pulled him back onto him, bottoming out. The sudden surge of pressure on his prostate made David scream so loudly his voice cracked; his legs seized up, his vision blurred, and he felt himself freefall over the edge.
Mike held him upright as he finished, his face buried in the middle of David's shoulder blades. Breathless and shaking, they stayed sitting together until David found the strength to clamber off Mike and clean himself off with a small rag.
'Excellent patrol' he wheezed. Mike held out a flask of water towards him and David offered a nip of rum in return. The two men swapped refreshments and smoked as they sat back, watching the stars.
10 notes
·
View notes
Text
youtube
Judy Berlin (1999) - End Scene - Madeline Kahn & Bob Dishy
Fav comment:
There are times that such a walk is the longest walk, and saying hello is the hardest word to say. But following those times comes the unexpectedly welcome realization that the walk wasn't really that far, and that there's amazing relief in saying hello.
0 notes
Text
Robert Scheerer’s 1969 ABC TV version of ARSENIC AND OLD LACE starred: Helen Hayes, Bob Crane, Lillian Gish, Fred Gwynne, Sue Lyon, Bob Dishy, and Jack Gilford
53 notes
·
View notes
Text
John Arnold DeMarco is a man who believes he is Don Juan, the greatest lover in the world. Clad in a cape and mask, DeMarco undergoes psychiatric treatment with Dr. Jack Mickler to cure him of his apparent delusion. But the psychiatric sessions have an unexpected effect on the psychiatric staff and, most profoundly, Dr Mickler, who rekindles the romance in his complacent marriage. Credits: TheMovieDb. Film Cast: Don Juan DeMarco: Johnny Depp Dr. Jack Mickler: Marlon Brando Marilyn Mickler: Faye Dunaway Dona Ana: Géraldine Pailhas Dr. Paul Showalter: Bob Dishy Doña Inez: Rachel Ticotin Doña Julia: Talisa Soto Dr. Bill Dunsmore: Stephen Singer Sultana Gulbeyaz: Jo Champa Woman in Restaurant: Marita Geraghty Detective Sy Tobias: Richard C. Sarafian Grandmother DeMarco: Tresa Hughes Don Alfonzo: Carmen Argenziano Rocco Compton: Tommy Lister Jr. Mariachi Singer: Selena Quintanilla Judge Ryland: Gilbert Lewis Don Antonio: Franc Luz Maitre D’ (uncredited): Lorenzo Caccialanza Film Crew: Screenplay: Jeremy Leven Producer: Francis Ford Coppola Producer: Patrick J. Palmer Director of Photography: Ralf D. Bode Editor: Antony Gibbs Casting: Lynn Kressel Production Design: Sharon Seymour Producer: Fred Fuchs Costume Design: Kirsten Everberg Original Music Composer: Michael Kamen Original Music Composer: Robert John Lange Storyboard Designer: Rick Newsome Characters: Lord Byron Executive Producer: Michael De Luca Co-Executive Producer: Robert F. Newmyer Co-Executive Producer: Brian Reilly Co-Executive Producer: Jeffrey Silver Choreographer: Adam Shankman Stunt Double: Lisa Comshaw Movie Reviews: talisencrw: I realize that I gave this too many marks, but if there’s anything I have realized about cinema, it can best be said by a line that I watched, performed by Jean-Louis Trintignant, where he stated (and I paraphrase), something like, ‘I can’t remember the movie, but I can recall my feelings’, and that sums up nicely why I feel the way I do about the movie. It’s an interesting idea acted well by very good actors (a lot of people dismiss Marlon Brando’s work here, but I don’t think it’s that bad, honestly). If anything, the problem here is the movie doesn’t know where to go after it’s decent start. Reno: **He who says every woman is a mystery to be solved.** One of the earliest films for Johnny Depp and very surprising. Thematically, the film is for the grown ups, but well made without too much sexual exploit. That means you can comfortably sit and watch with your family. This is not actually about Don Juan, but kind of ‘The Fall’. I mean the flashback reveals everything and remains as a mystery. The story follows a man who himself declares the real Don Juan DeMarco, the greatest lover of the world. So he ends in a psychiatric centre for the treatment after trying to commit suicide. A doctor who is on the verge to retire set to treat him and when the DeMarco narrates his life story, the doctor too inspires to reinstate his romantic life. The remaining narration tells how they work out to solve the issue once for all. Not a masterpiece, but kind of interesting drama, particularly for how the film characters were drawn. And the story was built cleverly, till the final scene by giving out the viewers a positive message that worth living life to love and to be loved. So if you opt it for the title, not a bad choice, since the theme remains about the love, even the person you are looking for is not present. More like it is a metaphor, when it comes to the real Don Juan and the one in this film. Like people say god is everywhere, the love is as well and so the version/personality of Don Juan in every person. Johnny Depp was so good, an ideal person to play the title role. Marlon Brando was too great, in a simple way. The rest of the cast was not bad, but the entire film focused on these two than anybody else. It’s been nearly 25 years since it came out, but I feel a remake would be not a bad idea with changes in the script. Todays writer and directors are clever at doing that, but it should come fr...
0 notes
Text
Dream state yields deep sleep personifications
Upon lying supine - eye shutter lids
into the land of Wynken, Blynken, and Nod, where the sandman beckons and bids
dead to the webbed wide world, yours truly immune to wakefulness
despite being tasered courtesy cattle prod, or struck by lightning hurled
by the invisible hand of God inert as a cow pattie or blocky clod.
While surrendering into deep slumber
recollections harken back to the following nursery rhyme;
Rock a bye baby on the tree top,
When the wind blows
the cradle will rock,
When the bough breaks
the cradle will fall,
And down will come baby,
cradle and all.
Scant minutes elapse before I drift off
into the subconscious land of sleep (while android counts/
dreams of electric sheep to make sure none went missing) lethargic fatigue yours truly cannot slough after buzzfeeding my belly
and satiating thirst for knowledge
from respective culinary,
viz sans surfeit smorgasbord and savoring meaty mixed morsels
erudite literary trough
slogging thru most famous works courtesy Arthur Evelyn Saint John Waugh storied titled such as early satires, Decline and Fall,
and A Handful of Dust,
the novel Brideshead Revisited,
and the Second World War trilogy
Sword of Honour, which substantial tracts
terrific tomes, I have yet to read,
but nevertheless immensely admire.
So submerged, mired, bogged, et cetera
within the realm, where extravagant small scenes thrive within the body, mind, and spirit electric
(captivation with closest state
constituting dead weight) ofttimes lingers long after
emerging from slumber
perhaps being rudely awakened
by the following unexpected figment.
Most unpleasant to wake
from a clangorous start,
whereby nerves frazzled,
and getting forcibly
sprung loose and unwound untimely woke out theta sleep what...the... creaking, effing,
hashtagging, jump/kickstarting, pinteresting, and screeching re: sound emanating from suspected garden gnomes,
until I finally came round up to their impish ways and means
whimsical fancies to propound
unleashing an unexpected raft
of musings upon the cyber sea indicating masculine pronoun he him his after first shot
of high test coffee
(prepared by the missus she/her),
to start the day subsequently the wife found me reading the screaming headline news today oh boy,
whereby all manner
of political talking heads expound, when debt ceiling comes crashing down
raising capitalistic pandemonium sense and sensibility drowned spelling partial/total government shutdown point middle finger at dented prez clown. Hard to believe remembrance of things long passed into scores of yesterday's ago,
nevertheless still faintly reverberates within the windmills of my mind.
Case in point being the following
reasonable rhyming vignette.
The night of my spectacularly exhausting seventh birth, I dreamt about an amazing fictitious place, and taint nope pull lace on Earth cozily warm like a wood burning hearth, where embers snap, crackle, and pop with mirth best show in shutterfly REM hmm...memory wool worth (at least for near future) stayin alive whiskey indeed no comparison, dip pin dive ving into subconscious realm, and drive ving devotees mad, 'specially when bing a barf hull lie ("FAKE"), thus wide awake temper aerily perhaps til five (more minutes), when
(laugh-in) Ruth Buzzy's hairstyle as bee hive honey combed noggin will cease to jive, and crown jewel will suddenly seize gnome hatter, hatter how hard I strive to stay awake for no particular rhyme, nor reason won during, how far
this chap can push himself to break king point, which presently me make foolish poem just to slake hungering need to slather palaver which yukon leave or take,
since essentially nary a clue handy dan dee blues - zee drew pea senseless blather basically (AWOL) din flue zee brooked stream of consciousness writing whatever zaps glue pee bobbing sponge with grayish cerebral cortex hue cranking out words as they snap, crackle and pop to this Jew dishy us scribe of Schwenksville knew
dulling in an attempt to splash unexpurgated lunacy gobbledygook, yes sigh hug gree quite loo pee, yet this long (in the dent chord tooth) fell cue Horton hears a Who, he experiences silly (NOT solid) milk chocolate state ready to moo myself to cowardly pose new
matter, an unusual burst of energy recharged ordinarily inactive cerebral queue, hence maximization left no time to rue rationality upended in frenetic attempt to spew until...capacity to type another poem sputters, a dog send to you and all otter readers within the webbed whirled wide human zoo!
0 notes
Photo
Columbo (S02E02 - The Greenhouse Jungle)
#peter falk#bob dishy#columbo#they were in love here#lighting someone's cigarette is something that can be so intimate...#*cigarette cigar etc.#j#yes the scene following is a scene of all time but this scene proceeding that scene of all time i wld argue is also a scene of all time :o)#the double take wilson does bc he's heard so much about columbo and knows exactly what he needs#columbos tiddie scrach the backwards tie the look he gives wilson bc he doesn't know who the fuck he is yet#the intensity and concentration of wilson lighting his idol's cigar and the little nod he does afterwards like of course i am honoured to li#to light your cigar sir i look up to you so much
169 notes
·
View notes
Video
tumblr
this clip is just one bit after another. columbo getting mistaken for a regular guy. the strangely tense cigar lighting scene. columbo immediately falling down the side of the hill and cracking a joke about it. it’s all there
#video#columbo#70s#season 2#episode 2#s2e2#the greenhouse jungle#peter falk#bob dishy#remind me later to edit this with gta 'WASTED' on it#also your daily scheduled screenshot post is coming soon. i just got sidetracked by video clips#sgt wilson
724 notes
·
View notes
Text
75 notes
·
View notes