#it still sounds like a euphemism. thanks for your service i guess

[dasis]

George Carlin - Euphemisms

I don't like words that hide the truth.

I don't words that conceal reality. I don't like euphemisms, or euphemistic language. And American English is loaded with euphemisms. Cause Americans have a lot of trouble dealing with reality. Americans have trouble facing the truth, so they invent the kind of a soft language to protest themselves from it, and it gets worse with every generation. For some reason, it just keeps getting worse. I'll give you an example of that. There's a condition in combat. Most people know about it. It's when a fighting person's nervous system has been stressed to it's absolute peak and maximum. Can't take anymore input. The nervous system has either (click) snapped or is about to snap. In the first world war, that condition was called shell shock . Simple, honest, direct language. Two syllables, shell shock . Almost sounds like the guns themselves. That was seventy years ago. Then a whole generation went by and the second world war came along and very same combat condition was called battle fatigue . Four syllables now. Takes a little longer to say. Doesn't seem to hurt as much. Fatigue is a nicer word than shock. Shell shock! Battle fatigue. Then we had the war in Korea, 1950. Madison avenue was riding high by that time, and the very same combat condition was called operational exhaustion. Hey, were up to eight syllables now! And the humanity has been squeezed completely out of the phrase. It's totally sterile now. Operational exhaustion. Sounds like something that might happen to your car. Then of course, came the war in Viet Nam, which has only been over for about sixteen or seventeen years, and thanks to the lies and deceits surrounding that war, I guess it's no surprise that the very same condition was called post-traumatic stress disorder. Still eight syllables, but we've added a hyphen! And the pain is completely buried under jargon. Post-traumatic stress disorder. I'll bet you if we'd of still been calling it shell shock, some of those Viet Nam veterans might have gotten the attention they needed at the time. I'll betcha. I'll betcha. But.

But, it didn't happen, and one of the reasons. One of the reasons is because we were using that soft language. That language that takes the life out of life. And it is a function of time. It does keep getting worse. I'll give you another example. Sometime during my life. Sometime during my life, toilet paper became bathroom tissue. I wasn't notified of this. No one asked me if I agreed with it. It just happened. Toilet paper became bathroom tissue. Sneakers became running shoes. False teeth became dental appliances. Medicine became medication. Information became directory assistance. The dump became the landfill. Car crashes became automobile accidents. Partly cloudy bacame partly sunny. Motels became motor lodges. House trailers became mobile homes. Used cars became previously owned transportation. Room service became guest-room dining. And constipation became occasional irregularity. When I was a little kid, if I got sick they wanted me to go to the hospital and see a doctor. Now they want me to go to a health maintenance organization...or a wellness center to consult a healthcare delivery professional. Poor people used to live in slums. Now the economically disadvantaged occupy substandard housing in the inner cities. And they're broke! They're broke! They don't have a negative cash-flow position. They're fucking broke! Cause a lot of them were fired. You know, fired. management wanted to curtail redundancies in the human resources area, so many people are no longer viable members of the workforce. Smug, greedy, well-fed white people have invented a language to conceal their sins.

It's as simple as that. The CIA doesn't kill anybody anymore, they neutralize people...or they depopulate the area. The government doesn't lie, it engages in disinformation. The pentagon actually measures nuclear radiation in something they call sunshine units. Israeli murderers are called commandos. Arab commandos are called terrorists. Contra killers are called freedom fighters. Well, if crime fighters fight crime and fire fighters fight fire, what do freedom fighters fight? They never mention that part of it to us, do they? Never mention that part of it. And...and some of this stuff is just silly, we all know that, like on the airlines, they say want to pre- board.

Well, what the hell is pre-board, what does that mean? To get on before you get on? They say they're going to pre-board those passengers in need of special assistance. Cripples! Simple honest direct language. There is no shame attached to the word cripple that I can find in any dictionary. No shame attached to it, in fact it's a word used in bible translations. Jesus healed the cripples. Doesn't take seven words to describe that condition. But we don't have any cripples in this country anymore. We have The physically challenged . Is that a grotesque enough evasion for you? How about differently abled . I've heard them called that. Differently abled! You can't even call these people handicapped anymore. They'll say, "Were not handicapped. Were handicapable!" These poor people have been bullshitted by the system into believing that if you change the name of the condition, somehow you'll change the condition. Well, hey cousin, ppsssspptttttt. Doesn't happen. Doesn't happen. We have no more deaf people in this country, hearing impaired.

No ones blind anymore, partially sighted or visually impaired. We have no more stupid people. Everyone has a learning disorder...or he's minimally exceptional. How would you like to be told that about your child? "He's minimally exceptional." "Oohh, thank god for that." Psychologists actually have started calling ugly people, those with severe appearance deficits. It's getting so bad, that any day now I expect to hear a rape victim referred to as an unwilling sperm recipient. And we have no more old people in this country.

No more old people. We shipped them all away, and we brought in these senior citizens . Isn't that a typically American twentieth century phrase? Bloodless, lifeless, no pulse in one of them. A senior citizen . But I've accepted that one, I've come to terms with it. I know it's to stay. We'll never get rid of it. That's what they're going to be called, so I'll relax on that, but the one I do resist. The one I keep resisting is when they look at an old guy and they'll say, "Look at him Dan! He's ninety years young." Imagine the fear of aging that reveals. To not even be able to use the word "old" to describe somebody. To have to use an antonym. And fear of aging is natural. It's universal. Isn't it? We all have that. No one wants to get old. No one wants to die, but we do! So we bullshit ourselves. I started bullshitting myself when I got to my forties. As soon as I got into my forties I'd look in the mirror and I'd say, "well, I...I guess I'm getting...older." Older sounds a little better than old doesn't it? Sounds like it might even last a little longer. Bullshit, I'm getting old! And it's okay, because thanks to our fear of death in this country, I won't have to die...I'll pass away. Or I'll expire like a magazine subscription. If it happens in the hospital, they'll call it a terminal episode. The insurance company will refer to it as negative patient-care outcome. And if it's the result of malpractice, they'll say it was a therapeutic misadventure. I'm telling you, some of this language makes me want to vomit. Well, maybe not vomit. Makes me want to engage in an involuntary personal protein spill.

[mymoonagedaydream]

Only the Good Die Young (Part 1)

Summary: Coming home from college for the summer, you expected your days to be spent reading in your bedroom and sitting through tense to family dinners- but an old acquaintance had something else in mind for you

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Language, strong anti-religious sentiment throughout, harmful relationship with parents, irresponsible motorcycle healthy and safety measures, smoking

Author's Note: Something a bit different, why the hell not. This story is based around lyrics from Billy Joel's 'Only the Good Die Young'. What a man.

---

'Y/n! You look… healthy.' 

Those were your mother's first words as you walked through the door of your family home. Not saying how pleased she was to see you or asking how your flight was, but commenting on how you looked with her typical passive-aggressive euphemisms.

This was going to be a long summer. 

Initially you were adamant about staying at your dorm, even on your own. All you wanted was peace and space. Then your parents threatened to cut you off if you didn't come home, so here you were. 

You traipsed upstairs. Approaching your bedroom, you saw the bolt haphazardly screwed to the outside of the door. Your father had installed it when you were twelve, after he caught you watching ‘ungodly’ TV shows in the living room at midnight- Doctor Who. 

Your room had been redecorated. It looked fucking dreadful. You glanced up at the wall and a little bit of sick shot up to the back of your mouth when you saw a ‘live, laugh, love’ sticker plastered up there. 

A long, long summer.

---

Your first errand was grocery shopping. Wandering around the store, you grabbed everything on the list and headed to the checkout. Through the front window you saw billows of smoke blowing past, but you couldn’t quite see where they were coming from. 

As you stepped outside, you looked over to see a pretty big group of guys in leather jackets, most of them with cigarettes on the go. They were gathered around the corner of the building, the one you had to walk past to get home. You kept your head down, gripping your grocery bags tight and passing them as quickly as possible, when you heard one of them pipe up. 

'Well holy shit. Y/n?'

You turned towards the voice. James Barnes. 

The two of you went to high school together but, apart from the occasional stilted conversation and reluctant group project, you’d never really developed any sort of relationship. Besides, he always hung out with people your mother didn't approve of. 

And he was what, now? In a motorcycle gang? Figures. 

'Hi James. Good to see you.' You mumbled, breaking stride momentarily. His friends seemed to find that funny. 

'People call me Bucky now.' 

Nodding feebly, you gave him a polite smile before moving off again. You noticed that your face felt warm and your stomach was involuntarily tensing. Sure, he was much more handsome and charismatic than you remembered, but you had no idea why being in his presence was making you this nervous. You heard approaching footsteps and in a second he was by your side, walking next to you.

'You moving back to town?'

'No, just visiting for the summer.'

‘Are your parents still religious nut-jobs?'

You stopped and snapped your head round, in complete shock at the brazenness of his questioning.

'I'll take that as a yes.’ Without taking his eyes off you he pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, placed one between his lips and lit it. ‘Guessing you won't be having much fun this summer then.'

'Probably not your kind of fun.' 

He smirked and stepped towards you. ‘Man, you Catholic girls start much too late.’

‘I don’t think I asked for your opinion, James.’ It came out much softer than you anticipated, barely a mumble. Not the kind of back-off-or-else warning you were aiming for. He was really getting under your skin.

'You didn’t, but I’ll give you another.’  

You raised an eyebrow, watching him blow a cloud of smoke out over your head and chuckle at your expression. Against your better judgement, you waited for him to carry on.

‘I'd rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints.' He stepped closer again, bringing his lips close to your ear, and whispered. 'Cause the sinners are much more fun.'

---

You dropped the shopping on the counter. The whole way home you hadn’t been able to get James Barnes out of your head, hadn’t been able to stop picturing his smirk or imagining his warm breath tickling your ear. 

You wanted to know more about him, and if anyone had information it'd be your mother. She knew everything about everyone in this godforsaken town. Sitting down for dinner, you seized your opportunity.

'I saw James Barnes at the grocery store today.'

She abruptly dropped her knife and it hit her plate with a sharp clang, making you jump.

'You stay away from that boy.' She punctuated the words by pointing her fork at you. 'He's trouble. Him and his gang.'

You hated the way she spoke to you sometimes, like you were a child. You were in your twenties for fuck’s sake. 

'He seemed nice enough.'

‘That’s how it starts.’ Your father piped up. ‘Before you know it he’s got you hooked on drugs, living in a trailer, pregnant with his deviant child.’ 

And that was the end of that conversation. 

Being away, you’d almost forgotten how messed up your parents were. It was terrifying to think that you used to be just as bad. They had you completely brainwashed before you left for college and, even now, some of their intrusive religious dogma still lingered in your subconscious. 

---

Sunday. The priest was droning on about something but you weren’t concentrating, his dull voice just sounded like a janky old extractor fan whirring behind the altar. You stood, sat, stood, kneeled, sat along with everyone else like sheep being herded, singing and praying whenever prompted. This, every Sunday for ten weeks, was going to be torture.

An hour or so into the service, you felt yourself nodding off. Your shoulders relaxed and your head felt too heavy to be held up by your neck but, just as your eyes started to close, something startled you. Startled the whole congregation. The droning from the altar stopped and heads turned towards the door, where the disturbance was coming from. 

It sounded like a shuddering motorbike engine. Then another joined. In a couple of seconds the entire church was filled with an echoing cacophony of backfiring engines. 

Someone at the back stood up and ran to the door. There was some shouting and laughing, but the noise eventually moved away, fading into the distance. Looking around, you saw a sea of indignant and sour faces. The tension hovering in the air was palpable.

‘And that,’ your mother hissed through clenched teeth, ‘is why you don’t go near James Barnes and his friends.’

You had to suck in your cheeks to smother your laughter, nodding insincerely at her words. James’ voice echoed in your head…

The sinners are much more fun.

---

A couple days later, one of your old friends invited you to a house party- or ‘board game night’ as you told your parents. Parties were usually a little out of your comfort zone, but you’d do anything to get out of their house for an evening. 

Wandering from room to room, you checked if there was anyone else there you recognised. Nope. You skulked to the kitchen and opened a can of diet coke. 

There was a hard tap on your shoulder and you turned to see James Barnes’ wide smile.

‘Hey there.’

‘Hi James.’ You muttered, taking a sip of your drink. ‘I heard your little stunt outside the church last week. You make a habit of that?’

‘Nope. Just thought it’d be nice to welcome you home.’ 

Interesting. That whole thing was for you? Your stomach started to flutter with excitement despite part of your brain screaming that he was probably just mocking you, flirting with you for a bet. To save any potential embarrassment, you went on the defensive. 

‘Gee, thanks. Are you and your friends always that obnoxious James?’

‘Ah y’know.’ He leant against the counter, folding his arms, still grinning at you. ‘We might be laughing a bit too loud, but that never hurt no one.’

You raised an eyebrow, feigning disinterest and doing everything you could to keep a lid on how excited his deep chuckles were making you. He bit his lip and your heart felt like it was going to leap out of your chest. 

‘And call me Bucky.’ He pushed himself off the counter, disappearing into the crowd.

Hours passed and you eventually realised that you weren’t really having a great time. Everyone around you was borderline hammered but you knew if your parents got a whiff of alcohol you’d be locked inside all summer, so you were stone-cold. 

You snuck out the back door, swiftly sliding it shut. Focusing more on what was happening behind you than in front, you managed to unceremoniously trample over someone’s feet. 

James, of course it was. Brilliant. 

He was leant against the wall, finishing off a cigarette. Chuckling, he held out the pack to you, but you shook your head. 

‘Leaving so soon?’ He grunted.

‘Yeah, not really my scene.’

‘Same here. Want to go somewhere else?’ Your heart stuttered at his question. You struggled to form a reply, gazing at him wide-eyed. He smirked and looked away. 'It’s alright, I know the deal. Your mother told you all I could give you was a reputation, right?'

You couldn’t hold back your excited smile anymore and his eyes lit up when he saw it. Shrugging faintly, your mind scurried around trying to find something witty and attractive to say. He dropped his cigarette butt and crushed it under his boot before slowly approaching you. Stopping a couple inches away, he smirked down at your dazed expression.

‘Come out with me tomorrow.’

---

You told your mother that you were having a day at the local library. You weren’t necessarily lying- you had no idea what Bucky had in mind, so anything was a possibility. 

He was waiting by the monument in the town centre, like he’d said yesterday. 

‘So,’ you said, prompting him to turn towards you and smile, ‘what are we doing?’

He held his elbow out and you snaked your hand through it. 

‘You’ll see.’

Much to your surprise, he took you to the fair. You wandered around, hand enclosed in his, talking and laughing for hours. He bought you a hot dog and spent ages trying to win you a stuffed giraffe, but his aim wasn’t great. You couldn’t hold back your laughter after he missed for the fourth time, so he picked you up, swung you around and shouted that he was going to sell you to the carnival. 

When both of you were tired and full, he walked you to the park, pulling you down next to him on a bench and wrapping his arm tight around your waist.

‘Thanks Bucky.’ You said faintly.

‘For what?’

‘Didn’t think I’d be having much fun this summer, but I had a really nice time.’

He smirked and scooched even closer to you, his firm thigh pressed against yours and his thumb gently stroking your hip. There was a comfortable silence for a few seconds before he muttered to himself.

‘It ain’t right.’

‘What?’

He sighed, brushing his chin against your hair. ‘Your parents. Catholics, man- they just built you a temple and locked you away. You’ve barely lived.’

‘It’s not all bad.’ You whispered, relaxing your head against his shoulder and angling your face up towards his. 

‘Maybe.’ Adjusting himself, he turned towards you and put his free hand under your chin. ‘But that stained-glass never really lets in the sun.’

He pressed his lips against yours. Your stomach flipped. His hand moved from your chin to cradle the side of your neck and his thumb brushed softly across your cheek. He pressed towards you more firmly, sliding his tongue along your lips. He tasted like cigarettes and candy floss. Your knees tensed and your thighs started shaking. He must’ve noticed, because you felt a deep chuckle vibrating into your mouth, but that only made it worse. You melted into him, just about steadying yourself by gripping the lapels of his jacket. 

He pulled away, letting your head fall into the crook of his neck, keeping a tight grip on your waist. 

‘Not bad for a church girl.’

---

‘What is this?!’ Your mother burst into your room, looking horrified and holding her phone out in front of her.

You squinted at the screen, it was a photo. You and Bucky holding hands at the fair. Shit.

‘Where did you get that?’ You muttered.

‘Angela sent it to me. She saw you there, with him.’

You stood from your bed, ready to plead with her. ‘Look, he’s a nice guy, he’s-’ 

‘He is a criminal. And if you think you’re seeing him again, you’re wrong.’ She turned and started to storm away. 

You felt anger bubbling inside, nothing like you’d ever felt before. Everything Bucky had said, his anger at your parents- he was right. You’d thought about it before, of course you had, but all you’d ever felt was a kind of defeated acceptance. Now, you were pissed.  

‘I am not a fucking child.’ You screamed.

She jerked to a stop. Slowly twisting round, you saw her face was filled with venom. ‘We’ll speak again when you’re ready to apologise.’ She hissed, slamming your door behind her. You heard it lock.

Wow, that felt good. Really good. You flopped down onto your bed. Your head was spinning but you were grinning to yourself, still half in disbelief. You’d never stood up to her like that before and you were starting to regret not doing it sooner. 

Your phone started buzzing- Bucky.

‘Hi.’ You sighed into it.

‘Come to the window.’

Your gaze darted to the far end of your room and you fumbled off your bed. After briefly scanning the skyline, your eyes flickered down to the backyard lawn. Bucky was standing underneath your window, holding his phone to his ear, beaming up at you.

‘Came to ask if you wanted to come out, figured I probably shouldn’t knock on the front door.’

‘So you break into the garden?’ You chuckled.

He shrugged and flung his free arm out. ‘It’s romantic.’

‘Sure is.’ You grinned down at him before remembering where you were. ‘I can’t Buck. One of my mother’s friends saw us together yesterday. I’m locked in.’

‘Man, you’re living with psychopaths.’ You nodded and gave him a disheartened smile. ‘Look, I know they’re your parents, but you really don’t owe them anything. Especially after everything they’ve done.’

His words echoed around in your head, slowly becoming more convincing as you considered them. Before you could respond, the light from the room below you switched on and Bucky was immediately illuminated with bright yellow light. Without missing a beat, he sprinted towards the fence and vaulted into next door’s garden. You heard a breathy ‘I’ll see you soon babe’ through the phone before he hung up.  

Your father ran out of the back door, pretty quickly deciding not to give chase. He looked up at you with anger in his eyes but you didn’t waver. You were already locked in your room for the foreseeable future, what else could he possibly do?

---

He could force you to clean all the floors in the house on your hands and knees, apparently. Scrubbing for hours and hours with him watching over you like a hawk. Your parents had pretty swiftly gone from strict but harmless religious zealots to borderline prison wardens. As soon as he left the room, you pulled your phone out and hammered out a message to Bucky. 

Will you come get me? I need out.

You stared at your screen, willing him to reply before your father came back. After what felt like ages, it finally buzzed.

On my way. Pack a bag.

You jumped up from the floor and sprinted up the stairs to your room, grabbing handfuls of whatever you could reach and shoving it into your backpack. You heard your father scurrying around on the ground floor before stomping up the stairs, shouting your name. Before he made it to your room, the faint rumble of a motorbike engine started in the distance and your heart jumped.

Running into the hallway, you pushed past your father without even looking up at him and scrambled down the stairs. You pulled the front door open and a wall of fresh air hit you, allowing you to take your first clean, deep breath of the day. Since you woke up all you’d been doing was huffing floor-cleaning chemicals.

Bucky came round the corner on his bike and you almost felt like bursting into tears. Waves of relief passed through every muscle in your body and you ran down the front steps to meet him.

You leapt on to the back of his bike, still in your pyjamas, and wrapped your arms around his waist as tight as you could. It felt like you were running entirely on adrenaline. Your parents were screaming your name behind you, but they were quickly drowned out by the roaring of the motorbike coming back to life. 

‘Shit, I’m not exactly dressed for a ride.’ You mumbled into his ear through your heavy breaths. ‘Don’t even have a helmet.’

You felt him vibrate with laughter as he gunned the engine and sped away.

‘Ah, don’t worry, you’ll be fine darlin.’ He raised his arm and flipped off your parents. ‘Only the good die young.’

---

Part Two

---

[fatechica]

Could you possibly give us a sneak peak at the next chapter?

Y’all, I feel so bad. So many of you have asked for this and I’ve just been super busy. So, to make up for it, here’s the whole first scene of the next chapter (I’m a fair bit beyond where this is, in case you were wondering). Hopefully, I’ll have this chapter out soon, but I don’t want to make any promises other than I’m working on it every day for as long as I’m able to. 

So, until then, enjoy this snippet!

________

When things fall apart, it’s almost always because of something small, something that seems – in the moment – inconsequential. The straw that broke the camel’s back, one step too far – always a small thing, never a big one. 

And, in this case, a small thing in the form of a flyer for the Winter Formal coming up in a few weeks, the weekend after finals. 

It’s a simple, unassuming flyer: pale blue, a little smaller than a regular piece of paper, with delicate cursive writing announcing “A Magical Winter Ball” above a picture of a Disney-esque castle.

El’s in the girls’ locker room before gym class and she catches the sight of the flyer out of the corner of her eye on her way to her usual row of lockers to change for PE. She halts in place, almost frozen to the ground as her gaze scans over the announcement, greedy eyes taking in the date and time, mind already whirling with dresses and hair and makeup….

And, most importantly, who she really wants to go with. 

El is moments away from reaching out and snagging the flyer with fingers that are just about to start trembling when someone comes up next to her shoulder. And it’s only because she sees the movement out of the corner of her eye that she doesn’t startle when a hand reaches out and taps her on the shoulder.

It’s Jen who’s standing there when El turns to look, a bright if knowingly mischievous smile on her face. “You gonna go?” Jen asks, gesturing to the flyer on the bulletin board. “Maybe with a date this time?” The wink Jen gives her makes it clear who she’s talking about. 

El resists the urge to swallow heavily, the lie of omission heavy on her lips. Max is still only person she’s told about Mike other than her dad – El hasn’t even dared to think of telling anyone else, the guilt of telling someone behind Mike’s back sitting sour in her stomach, even though she desperately wants to let the whole world know, loud and proud, that she and Mike are dating. 

(ok, so it’s a lot more than just dating, especially recently, and el is so head-over-heels in love with mike she can barely think straight most of the time. god, she never wants this to end.)

So, El decides the easiest thing to do in the moment is just not even acknowledge Jen’s question. “When did they hand these out?” El asks instead, honestly curious how she missed it. It’s only the first Monday back from Christmas break – not a lot of opportunities for El to have missed this bit of news. 

“They made an announcement during lunch – it was, like, so pretty and cool, too bad you missed it. But I guess that’s what happens when you don’t eat lunch in the cafeteria, like you normally don’t these days.”

“Oh,” is all El can say. Because, yeah, she’s been having lunch away from the cafeteria more and more these days. And especially today, where eating lunch was just a tiny fraction of what she spent the lunch period doing. 

Naturally, this makes her thing of exactly how she spent most of the lunch period and it takes everything she has to keep her breathing stable as her face starts to heat up and her stomach goes all floaty and squirmy. Her body tingles with the memory of Mike’s touch, of the way he made her feel as they lost themselves in each other, spurred on by the excitement of doing it at school, need in every fiber of their being. 

God, El’s surprised she’s still at all coherent after that. 

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Jen says with a low giggle, rolling her eyes all the while. “If you decide to go, though, let me know, yeah? I think a bunch of us are going to go as a group.”

At that, El smiles. “I’ll keep that in mind,” she says.

Jen gives her another wink and trills her fingers at El in a bubbly wave before she turns to go get ready for gym. 

El turns to take one last look at the flyer before she goes to do the same, but stops at the flash of red hair that comes into view. Max is standing there, clearly having overheard El’s conversation with Jen, and the grin on her face with the way her eyebrows are arched give away her teasing intentions.

“Yeah, come to think of it, you and Wheeler were nowhere to be seen at lunch today,” Max says grin growing more and more shit-eating by the second. “So, spill it, what hidey hole did you two find to bang in? Might file it away for me and Lucas to use later, as long as it’s not too weird.”

El’s eyes widen and she panics at just how loud Max is speaking, even though her tone is no louder than normal (panic doesn’t like to listen to reason, after all). “Max!” El yells through a whisper, rushing forward to grab the other girl by the wrist and pull her aside so they can talk in low tones. “Don’t say it like that!”

This is clearly the wrong thing to say as it just makes Max even more inspired to troll her. “What, you don’t like ‘banging’?” She taps her lips with her finger, pretending to think. “Hmm, how about… fucking – no, wait, too crude. Having sex? Eh, too clinical.” A light goes on in Max’s eyes. “Oh, I know! Making love,” she says with a sing-song teasing rhythm. “That’s just the right kind of mushiness for you.”

El wishes she could control the flush that’s searing into her cheeks, and her inability to do so only makes her blush harder. “Max, please.”

“Hey, if you’re old enough to do it, you’re old enough to talk about it,” Max says as she crosses her arms loosely over her chest. 

El lets out a desperate sigh. “God, please, I’m begging.”

At that, Max’s nose crinkles in over-dramatic disgust. “God, ew, you do not have to quote your sex life with Mike to me.” El glares at Max hard enough that El’s almost surprised that Max doesn’t wither on the spot, but Max just laughs at her. “Ok, ok, I’m stopping, sorry. It’s just too much fun to tease you, Ellie.”

“Gee, thanks,” El says, voice dry and deadpan.

“You’re welcome, don’t worry about it, happy to be of service,” Max says as she and El start heading towards the lockers. “But, seriously, you never said where you and Mike disappeared off to so you could boink like rabbits.”

El feels like she’s reached a point of superior maturity because she gracefully and primly ignores Max’s crude jibe. “The A/V room, if you must know.”

Max lets out a low whistle, brows rising in amused shock. “Damn, right on school property? That’s bold.”

El shrugs. “Mike has a key and, well….” She can’t manage to keep the beginnings of a smile off her face and El doesn’t even try to fight it.

“Get it, girl,” Max says with her own sharp grin. “Just remind me to never walk past the A/V room during lunch.” 

Yeah, El’s completely lost the battle to control the smile on her face. “Oh, it’s not that bad. We’ve figured out how to be quiet.”

Max shudders. “Oh god, please don’t – I do not need to imagine you two doing it. Man, this must be what karmic payback feels like.”

“Serves you right,” El says with an arched eyebrow as she goes to her usual locker. 

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. No need to rub my face in it.” Max rolls her eyes and settles at the locker a couple over from El. “So, you two gonna go to that winter ball thing?”

“Dunno, maybe.” El shrugs her shoulders, trying to project a nonchalance she doesn’t exactly feel. Because the actual answer to Max’s question is hopefully, that she desperately wants to go despite only having known about the dance’s existence for less than 5 minutes. She wants to be swept up in the romance of an evening out, of going on a date to a dance with her boyfriend and not have to hide it away from their friends and classmates. 

Max snorts. “Yeah, that sounded convincing. You’re transparent, Hopper.”

El lets out a sigh and her shoulders slump. So much for nonchalant, she thinks as she opens a locker and starts dressings for PE. “You know how he is with school dances. Plus we still haven’t talked about telling other people yet.”

“Yeah, because you’re too busy going at it like rabbits,” Max says. “It’s like you two ghosted us over Christmas break. He that good in bed, huh? Never would have thought little Mikey Wheeler had it in him.”

El hates that she’s blushing, but she can’t even bring herself to deny any of Max’s words. Because everything she said is true. 

With the exception of a few days – namely Christmas and the days around it – Mike and El spent every day of Christmas break together, just the two of them, getting up to a whole lot of not good that involved exactly zero clothing, bouncing back and forth between each other’s houses, mostly lucking into having one house or the other empty at any one time. The hours melted into one another, all the time they spent together alone, and it had been just about the most magical experience of El’s life. 

Coming back to school had been a rude awakening and El resents a little (a lot) that she can’t just lay in bed with Mike all day, snuggling and talking and kissing and then more once those things are no longer enough to satisfy the need and passion that seem to live just a few heartbeats away. And the stolen half an hour she was able to spend with Mike during lunch was just not enough to fill this new void in her life.

When El doesn’t respond, Max seems to take that as her cue to continue speaking. “But, whatever – if you two want to spend all your time shacking up, that’s your choice. Just as long as you wrap it before you tap it, if you know what I’m saying.” The grin on Max’s face shows her sheer and utter delight at getting in as many sexual euphemisms as  possible and El unintentionally rewards Max’s effort by blushing fiercely.

“We’re safe,” El all but mutters under her breath. “But thanks for the concern.”

“Oh, I’m not concerned – I just don’t want a front row seat to the Hawkins version of ‘16 and Pregnant’, thank you very much,” Max says as she shuts her locker. “Don’t be white trash, Ellie dear, is all I’m asking.”

El rolls her eyes and shuts her own locker. “I’ll try.”

Max lets out a low chuckle. “Good, see that you do that.”

Together, the two make their way out to the gymnasium to wait for PE to start. And, the entire time, El can’t stop thinking about the Winter Ball and how she so very much wants to go with Mike.

But she just doesn’t know if he’d be willing to go with her.

[bladekindeyewear]

Boots Reads Homestuck Epilogue(s) Part 10 - Candy Part 1 again

I was told that finishing the epilogue MAY make me feel better by some with opinions, with some vague hints that the ridiculous start of Candy may have underlying reasons, so now that I’m awake again (though my stomach is roiling a bit again) I’m gonna take another crack at it.

Alright, so I was also hinted that this Candy part ends with a different cliffhanger, so maybe those two will cancel out?  That’s my hope anyway.

Reading page 1 again since I didn’t finish the very tail end of it... alright, so WHY IS ROXY CRYING again????  Was she just PRETENDING that she didn’t know it might turn out bad for John if he went at the end of the last one?  Was there some weird mind-rewriting going on?  Is the crying a symptom of this whole thing potentially being an our!Callie fanfic and she knows what’s being dodged??  Don’t know.

Alright, let’s have him save Gamzee and... is Vriska going to get saved in this version?  Or is that descent into the black hole without seeing what happens her well-deserved comeuppance while only the ghost version of Vriska truly figured out how to be happy?

==>

Dirk acknowledges him when he zaps back, but it’s YOUNG Dirk so hopefully there isn’t any stupid Meat stuff going on.

...Yeah, Gamzee immediately being repentant is weird as shit.  Maybe he Chucklevoodoo’d Callie into escaping him into this whole candied mess so he could start shit, I dunno.  That or this isn’t really Gamzee or someone’s manipulating him or etc etc etc.  The hint I got earlier was that if I thought Calliope wanting to bring Gamzee back and everyone just rolling with it was a little out of character, there are “reasons”, so I’m just going through all of this under the assumption that some emotion-manipulating weirdness is going on regardless.

Oh shit, Gamzee’s going to start recounting his character reasons for doing bad stuff in a surface-hope of justification and understanding.  All the characters immediately recognize how painfully groanworthy this is going to be.

GAMZEE: AnD sUcH iS wHy I’m GrAbBiNg HoLd Of My RePeNtAnCe As FiRm AnD sErIoUs As I wOuLd A wHoRe’S tItTy!

Yeah, that really encapsulates how “serious” all of this is.  And of course, John’s not having any of it.

Yeah, Terezi wouldn’t have any of it either, remotely.

Something feels different, but he can’t put his finger on it.

Hm.  The aforementioned manipulation-weirdness?

==>

Okay, so it’s kind of Dirk who notices something different and is cancelling his stupid villain plans, got it.

Volatility of causality, huh?

(I’m going to be going through these parts a little faster than the Meat section, unsurprisingly.)

==>

Okay, Rose and Kanaya, are we gonna cure her substance abuse or--

With all the distance between them lately,

God damnit, have Dirk’s manipulations extended that far OFFSCREEN or is this legitimate character distancing???? Because either is BAD.  >:(

Right, now that the plot and “relevance” has been sidelined over to a different timeline, Rose can now breathe easy free of her condition.  And whichever parts of her condition were, perhaps, IMPOSED on her.  Fuck.

I’m going to try my fucking best to cling to this, hope I can carry on a memory after this is over that DOESN’T imagine Rose trapped in a fucking existential dying villain coma with a hard fucking cutoff that promises nothing is ever coming to resolve it ever.  (Or Jade in a somewhat-similar sidelined situation, or Jane doomed to fuck herself over and everyone else too, or...)

What’s slipping away instead is the feeling that any of it mattered at all. Was she insane to be so consumed by such lofty concerns, and is she only beginning to experience clarity today, for the first time in ages?

Yeah, you’re no longer in a timeline of Light and relevance.  And that’s not so bad, which is something you never expected to be true given your derision of the concept.  Void is pretty goddamn alright.

--Oh right, the illness and substance abuse probably caused plenty of distance between them.

KANAYA: There Was A Feeling I Couldnt Shake That Something Terrible Was Going To Happen To Us KANAYA: Something That Neither Of Us Could Stop KANAYA: A Powerful Outside Force That Would Take You Away From Me KANAYA: And I Couldnt Stop Myself From Thinking That Maybe KANAYA: Maybe That It Would Be For The Best ROSE: Kanaya... KANAYA: I Can Now See That This Is Completely Ridiculous

For some reason, this doesn’t settle my stomach much?  It’s clear Andrew wove this in here so that if you read Meat first, you’d be able to acknowledge readily how this diverged in a way the characters kind of recognize, and... I’m not sure what I’m even saying.  It’s like there’s hope that this is TRYING to take the bad taste out of my mouth, but I don’t believe it overly much.

ROSE: What a relief, considering that we are both going to be young and magically fit literally forever.

Wait, so they DID find a way to extend their non-ascended friends’ lifespans to practical immortality?  Jane’s Life powers?  Something else?

==>

yay jade.  more extended dave metaphors.  calm down stomach.

JADE: i never thought id be thinking of you as my weird nerd friend by the time we were in our twenties

Heheheh.

DAVE: yeah well i never thought youd be like the premiere woo girl on the planet

Had to look up what a “woo girl” was.

Yes Jade go flirt them to death

What she’s planning isn’t a seduction. It’s a public service.

Pff

(And yeah, she’s being pushy but at least she doesn’t go DIRK FAR about it.)

DAVE: its incredible hes driven at least ten people off the site by creating thinly veiled parody accounts of their usernames

Oh my gosh, Karkat’s good enough to ANDREW HUSSIE them?!???  :D

That’s incredible.

Karkat knows damned well what a husband is. He’s been force-fed enough bad movies from Dave to pick up any human euphemism you could name. He still plays dumb sometimes, for comedic effect, to irritate his friends, or simply to avoid a topic of conversation altogether.

Yeah, it was always pretty clear that about HALF of the trolls pretended not to understand something human that they knew about just for comedic effect and they knew it.  :)

It would be pretty easy to mistake his reaction for arousal, so it’s understandable that Jade is extremely surprised when Karkat snaps his jaw shut and chomps down on her hand.

PFFFFHahahahah :D

And yep, Jane cancelled her run at Dirk’s direction.

DAVE: lets all just thank whichever christ was responsible for making whatever decision resulted in her deciding not to do that

*nod nod*

JADE: well i hope she gets a better hobby JADE: there are a lot of less ominous things she could do with her time KARKAT: WHAT, LIKE FUCKING HER WAY THROUGH HALF THE POPULATION OF EARTH C?

Jade pinches his ear and twists hard, smiling pleasantly.

JADE: get fucked karkat

Yeah, this is about the level of violence/threat I’d expect from Jade when anyone slut-shames her for perfectly acceptable behavior.

==>

There is almost no crime on Earth C, and so almost no one locks their door.

Huh.  I guess post-scarcity might do that.

Alright, we get to see Jane being less of a fuckass.

Dirk was the one person on Earth C who took the state of the locksmith industry with the seriousness it deserved.

Pffff

JAKE: Thats my theory at least. Maybe its tommyrot but i have faith that dirk will be back. After all where is he going to go?

Good question that wasn’t answered in Meat, so of course Jake says it here obliviously.

JAKE: I must admit i am rather half rats at the moment. JANE: You’re what? JAKE: Haha sorry that was a pretty obtuse way of putting it wasnt it. JAKE: What i mean to say is that ive been powdering my hair quite a bit today.

Andrew is SO good at making Jake sound completely incomprehensible.

...Ouch, Jane, don’t drink so hard! D:

The “morbs”??

JAKE: Dirk has that manner about him does he not? JAKE: A way about him that makes you feel like whatever you do as long as it does not involve him it doesnt count for dick.

Yeah, fuck Dirk.

Hm... is the absence of relevance affecting them, or some other manipulation? It’s not just the LACK of Dirk’s manipulation.

JAKE: Except of course for that time when you were under mind control and had me trussed up in your lair as you pontificated villainously about using me as a breeding stud to create a blood lineage for your incumbent corporate space empire.

A fate Dirk seems to agree with, judging by Meat.  Let’s sidestep that fucking entirely, thank you.

...yeah, I didn’t expect Jake’s response to be any less oblivious than exactly that.

==>

So why DID Callie bring Gamzee back, anyway?  Is there some secret use for him in mind?  Was she manipulated into it?  Maybe BY Gamzee?  Hm.

...alright, priestly with followings.  That ain’t good.  Is he aiming for Clown President MK2?

Everything Callie and Roxy have done and said in this Candy section so far seems creepily contrived, possibly by design.

...okay did they have some kind of weird agreement? Like, “okay John is gonna make his choice, and if he chooses to stay i try dating him instead of you, Callie”???  That’s... no that can’t be it.  Roxy’s NEVER acted THIS oblivious before.  What’s she playing at?

GAMZEE: mY fUcKiN *gUy*. :o) JOHN: ... GAMZEE: My DuDe AnD mY nInJa AlIkE. GAMZEE: mY *hOrN* dOoOoG. JOHN: ... GAMZEE: mY hOrN tO tHa MoThErFuCkIn DoG. ;o) JOHN: waiter! help!

I’m imagining Gamzee now as a sweaty and homeless, unkempt Guy Fieri.

Yeah, this doesn’t look like it’ll be fun.

==>

...Swifer Eggmop.  ¬_¬”

There’s a third member of their social group who definitely hasn’t arrived at the conclusion that his power and influence should be meted out responsibly either. Neither of them speak his name, however. For some reason, it feels like a shadow passing over the sun. A brief spike of pain flickers through Rose’s head, a bolt that strikes between her eyes and splinters out. There is color and light behind it. A vision that tears through the material reality in front of her and gives her a brief glimpse into a parallel reality where things are very different.

Yeah, fuck Dirk.

...Pff. Yeah, Rose WOULD mimic the record-scratch gesture.

Don’t invoke “never seeing Vriska again” like that, you’re really tempting fate.

Heh, Rose is finding some Light in the darkness, wanting to do something that’s meaningful on an expressive level with this Vriskgrub business.

Hm... why is my stomach a little less uneasy?

I sure hope it stays that way.

==>

KARKAT: OH MY GOD, ARE THE MECHANICAL GLUTES ON THAT BILLBOARD ACTUALLY PADDED WITH PLUSH TO MAKE THEM MORE LIFELIKE?

Heck Yes

...Yes, touch the butt, Karkat.

Jade, pouting a bit, glides in between them and uses her Space powers to teleport Dave’s phone out from the center of his traumatized palm and into the pocket of her sweater.

Hm!  So she still has teleportation abilities over a limited range even without her Green Sun boost, that’s nice.  :D

After all, where would these two pitiful beta boys be without her?

Oh my fucking god stop being Dirk, Jade.  And never use that narrative language again, even in your head.  Heck, even if Dirk’s the one WRITING this still, don’t even think CLOSE enough to think those words.

...yeah this sounds like an Active player class taking things slightly too far.

Thank you, Karkat, for drawing the consent-line in the sand.  Looks like Jade’s backing off a little.

--hold on, wait, Dave kissed him? He did, so why is-- let me read back up--

Dave doesn’t answer. She answers for him by leaning down and planting a dry, affectionate kiss on Karkat’s cheek.

Okay I misread this line earlier.  Jade kissed Karkat when neither of them were looking and is BLAMING Dave.  Hmm.

Alright, Dave ollies outie.  Karkat tumbles down some hillstairs.

Jade could probably catch him. Actually, she could easily do it, but it doesn’t seem like the kind of favor you should do in a fledgling kismesissitude.

Thaaaat’s a little presumptuous??

JADE: well i guess im eating grub spaghetti alone JADE: *again*!!!

:C

I’d be sadder if you didn’t bring it down hard upon yourself but

:C

==>

Yeah, John, better clear up this Callie business because it’s muddy as heck why Roxy would just drop everything to try things out with you.

Ah, we’re bringing up the gender identity thing on this side too, hm?

More serious talk, this is good, reading reading...

The glasses clink together clumsily, and water gets all over the complimentary breadsticks.

Oh no.  This had better not be Olive Garden.

ROXY: no one else has ever made me feel like this

--not Calliope???

What the heck is even going on.

Dave’s coming for some bro help it looks like.

==>

It’s hilarious how much Dave is freaking out about this, and how completely in-character it is.

JOHN: holy fucking shit. JOHN: there’s a gay snooze button? DAVE: yeah man theres a gay snooze button JOHN: wow.

I love these two’s conversations

......wait, Dave’s been holding off on kissing Karkat because of what he thinks JADE might think???? D:

JOHN: i almost managed to forget that she was trying to fuck you and karkat.

Pfffffffff  :D

Yep.  I love it being put so bluntly.

Reading on... yeah, for some reason I also always figured that the end result of a nice three-way relationship between those three people would be Jade and Dave essentially both just glomming onto Karkat more than each other?  Hm.

JOHN: i mean... it doesn’t sound... JOHN: *canon*?

...I hope you’re just talking about his coin flip explanation and not DaveKatJade.  >:(

John wonders when talking to Dirk has fixed anything for anyone.

Nod nod.

She grins up at John with shimmering, adoring eyes. They’re reflecting every star in the sky, all for him.

Seriously, what the hell.  Is Roxy hypnotized?  Putting on an act?  A voidy act??

I’m not doubting that Roxy COULD feel that way about John, I’m doubting the suddenness and the way Calliope is being deliberately ignored in the situation, which is so goddamn obvious that JOHN is uncomfortable about it.  There’s something seriously strange going on.

It itches at the back of his head, the idea that he might have just fucked up Dave’s entire life.

D:

Alright next post after a bit of breakfast.

[neverwatchedonepiece]

594-595: "Formed! Luffy and Law's Pirate Alliance!" and "Capture M! the Pirate Alliance's Operation Launches!"

After seeing what the Strawhats are really like and realising what he’s got himself into, Law has longing visions of the apocalypse.

That look on Law’s face.

You all know the one I’m talking about.

The one that started as a sweatdrop and morphed into a full-blown look of: I deeply regret this but am in way too deep to back out now.

I watched that scene three times. Pure gold.

If You Keep Telling Everyone About Our Plan, Maybe

So I think I misjudged Trafalgar Law.

Maybe.

Still not one-hundred percent certain Law does not have another hidden agenda but... I am about seventy percent on board with the fact he has good intentions. At the moment. Like Robin said, pirate alliances are marked by betrayal, so this could change in future. (But I don’t want it to. I like Law as a good-ish guy.)

Like Nami, I was also was not expecting Luffy to accept so quickly. Maybe at the end of the arc, I thought. Have no idea why I even entertained that daft idea. This is Luffy we’re talking about. 

Law sold it as best he could without giving Oda’s entire plot away. “I’m not saying we can beat the Yonko right away. There is a chance, if we do it step by step. What do you say?”

Luffy’s daft but not an idiot. He asked Law to which Yonko he was referring. I’m guessing that was important because I honestly can’t see Luffy going against Shanks unless something really serious puts something between them. I was pretty damned interested in Law’s answer, so when Oda used that favourite trop of his: a sudden howling blizzard carried away Law’s voice, I laughed like a drain and cursed Oda and his teasing ways.

Fine. I get it. I won’t know at least until after this arc.

I also liked Luffy’s reasons for accepting Law’s offer of alliance. One, it sounded like fun. Two, he thought Tra-guy was a good guy. And three, even if he wasn’t, he had his Strawhats, who had spent the last two years training to become stronger (with the implication they could kick Law’s ass if the misbehaved).

This totally won over the Strawhats. They sort of melted into a puddle of giggling, flattered, enraged goo. Law was standing there staring like, “Wtf are these people?”

Still, as a gesture of goodwill, he unshambled all those who were able to be restored to their bodies. I am guessing is because of plot. Chopper and Franky are back to normal (Chopper had to leave with Law for a reconnaissance mission to Caesar’s lab). However, Nami and Sanji are now inhabiting each others’ bodies (because Sanji was not nearby to be restored to his own. I’m guessing you’ve got to be in Law’s Room).

Law was also not keen on the experiment kids. They were a pain. A liability. Forget about them. He’d heard from Caesar they’d been drugged. Chopper and Nami protested. They knew about the drug. They had already decided to take the kids back to their families. Law revealed the World Government have been trying to turn people into giants for hundreds of years. Why? In order to manufacture soldiers to increase their military might.

Apparently, Caesar wants to perfect the process first and outsmart Vegapunk and the World Government. (Okay, so Caesar is not still working for the WG after all. Is he that wealthy he can fund himself or is another faction bankrolling him? Maybe the Yonko Law is talking about defeating?)

Law was still unconvinced helping the kids was a good idea. “Are you willing to stay here alone?” he asked Nami.

Luffy, the Best Captain, jumped in. He would not leave anyone behind. If Nami and Chopper wanted to help the kids, he was fine with that. Sanji felt responsible for the Samurai Guy too. So Luffy would stay with them.

Usopp was so funny here. He leaned over Luffy’s shoulder and gave Law some Strawhat Context. “You think an alliance is a cooperative relationship just for some common goal, don’t you?” 

Um... yes, Law answered.

Ha. Well Luffy’s idea was different. It’s like being friends to him. And if Law was thinking of taking control, it would not be that easy. Once Luffy feels sure about something He Will Not Back Down. His selfishness, Usopp said, was as formidable as a Yonko. (”That must he hard,” Luffy said. xD)

At that point, I think Law reached his Strawhat Saturation Point. These people were like freaking aliens to him. But whatever. He’d agreed to an alliance. So he laid out his plan of action. While the rest of the Strawhats took care of the samurai, he would go research the drug behind Caesar’s back. He needed the Strawhats’ doctor. Chopper was strapped to his hat. xD

Then, when that was clearly undignified, his back.

Before Law left, he issued a warning. Caesar wanted the Strawhats and the G-5 Unit dead. Until Caesar gets what he wants, he will not stop attacking. If any info leaked about him being on Punk Hazard, Caesar would lose his perfect hiding place. This is high stakes stuff for Caesar. He will fight tooth-and-nail to win. Not only that, he is a Logia type Gas Gas Fruit user who owns weapons of mass destruction with a 300 million bounty. Law cautioned anyone who couldn’t use haki to stay away from him.

Useful intel to have, to be honest. Thanks, Law.

And it was thanks to the conversation that I now know Zoro and Sanji can also use Haki. Did I miss that or is that completely new thing?

After that, came the part of the episode that was my Absolute Favourite. I definitely did not see this coming. Before Law left with Chopper, Luffy said, “So we’re gonna kidnap the Master, right?”

“Not for any money,” Law said. “To raise havoc.”

Despite the Strawhats asking, he would not tell them what lay ahead before they even successfully kidnapped Caesar. Focus on the job at hand. He would spill all later. Then said, rather ominously, “When we get Caesar Clown, things will move whether you like it or not.”

Ooooooooooooooh....

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH.

Now this is a juicy nugget of plot. I also do not think this has ever happened in One Piece: defeating the arc villain in order to kidnap him, use him as a catalyst and trigger some nefarious skullduggery in the New World with a view to taken down a Yonko.

Caesar Clown must be really something. I guess if he is an inventor and purveyor of weapons of mass destruction, his services will be in demand within certain sections of the OPverse. 

This is cool. I was a bit miffed when I realised this arc would end quickly as it has been great so far. You guys were right. This is an intro arc that seems to lead on to bigger things involving Trafalgar Law’s crazy idea.

Also, I cannot wait for Chopper to lay eyes on Caesar Clown for the first time. Chopper is gonna have to exercise some wicked self-control to not smack him for mistreating those kids. Chopper also asked Law an interesting question: if Law was so strong and could reach Caesar Clown that easily (because Law had just Roomed himself round to the lab’s back door), why could he capture Caesar himself?

Law deflected, as he always does. “I cannot because of a problem I have. That’s why I need help from you guys.”

A problem? Must be a pretty big problem. 

And by the way, where are your crew, Law?

I am making myself suspicious again.

I need to just believe in Law, like Luffy does. Because the arc villain is making a move.

And That Move Is Called Smiley

Smiley.

Cannot get over that. xD

Caesar, you crack me up. 

He’s probably one of those deranged scientist types who give their hellbeast creations adorable names. Everyone flees from the tentacled abomination that is Mr Binky Sparkle-Pants. Everyone knows Candy Smoochy Schmoo will devour your soul.

This one is called Smiley. Smiley is a sentient, hill-sized conglomeration of incredibly toxic waste left over from the chemical explosion four years ago. Caesar gleefully explain to Monet that when he escaped custody and returned to Punk Hazard about three years back, he did not purify the island of the poison gas (*the* only good deed he had left to his name!) I mean, why would anyone do such a wasteful thing? All that poison lying around? That H2S gas he had invented that killed everything on the island in second? It’s Free Real Estate, right?

What he did was (probably) use his Gas Gas Fruit (thanks for the confirmation, Law!) to gather all the leftover poison gas and compress it into a monster, which he secured in a vault on the burning half of the island.

And he called it Smiley. xD

I guess Caesar has a sense of humour?

At any rate, this squamous behemoth was unleashed by the gang of unfortunate fodders who were trying to break into a vault at the end of the last episode. I knew they’d meet a sticky end. I just didn’t know how sticky. 

They tried to call their wonderful Master to report they were being killed by a poisonous monster. 

Sympathy? In MY Laboratory? Get the FUCK OUTTA HERE!

But Caesar was in the lab, heard the DDM, was all like, “ugggggh, so needy!” He told his main minion not to pick up the call. Why? The fodders would just be screaming “Help, a monster is killing us! Save us!” How annoying, right?

And you know what else was annoying? The amount of visitors. Ugh. So many. Caesar seems to work in euphemism a lot because all he said was, “You can stop gathering test subjects now. We have enough.”

I’m guessing that’s code for “these freeloading Strawhats and Marines have overstayed their welcome. Time to die!” He had a jolly good lol to himself while Monet studied quietly in a corner (she must have learned to block out the cackling by now or she would get zero work done).

Caesar’s knowledge of how to manipulate human nature was summed up when he said, “People tend to forget tragedies in no time!” That is harsh but true. He knew sooner or later what happened in Punk Hazard would be forgotten by the majority, leaving him free to practice his wicked experiments with impunity.

He really is a piece of work, eh?

As of now, Smiley is currently oozing towards Caesar’s lab. Zoro, Sanji and Brook saw it approach on the horizon. 

They found Kinemon, by the way! His torso fell into the lake and sank like a rock because he’s a Devil Fruit user. Because of that, the rest of his parts became super weak and he almost froze to death. If Zoro hadn’t found him, he’d be dead. At least he’s finally grateful for the Strawhats’ help. I wonder what he’ll say when he finds out they’re working with Law, the guy who slashed him up? I wonder what Zoro, Sanji and Brook will say when they find out Luffy’s working with Law?”

It won’t be a secret for long, they way Luffy’s going on. xD

NO, WE DON’T HAVE A SECRET PLAN AT ALL. WHY DO YOU ASK?

While Law was sneaking round the back door with Chopper and Smoker and his crew were battling to seize Caesar’s ship, Luffy had a Big Idea. Back at the camp, he whispered to Robin and Franky, the Strawhats who would go with him. (I’m assuming Nami and Usopp are guarding the kids and waiting for Zoro, Sanji Brook and Samurai to return.)

Smoker was having a tough time. Fighting in someone else’s body was difficult. Poor Tashigi kept turning to smoke at random and couldn’t turn back. (You know what? If this wasn’t such a serious situation, it’d be well fun to have a go in a Devil Fruit User’s body!)

Then Luffy arrived with a literal BANG! He cannoned into the snow right at the front door of Caesar’s Lab and roared, “SHOW YOURSELF, MASTER! WE WILL KICK YOUR ASS AND KIDNAP YOU!”

I swear the impact from Law’s facepalm was heard as far as Raftel.

Trip Advisor Review: Punk Hazard

“Arrived on island. Was welcomed warmly by hotel proprietor. Accommodation was clinically austere but the bar was well-stocked. Woke up one morning and I was a centaur. Not pleased. Proprietor maintains he has no recollection of how this happened. Only other guest remains tight-lipped. Refused refund. One star. Would not recommend.”

[who-talks-first]

Out of the Sun

(I apologize for the length of this one, but I could not find a good way to break it up.)

Masterlist

Part 16 - 2,131 words - rated PG-13

Ellra never neglected her duties regarding the cappa, of course. They were still hers. She cared for them and milked them regularly and monitored their wellbeing on her datapad when she wasn’t able to check on them in person. But she was thrilled to participate in the general upkeep of the Resistance in whatever little ways she could.

When she spent time watching the ships, she would end up in conversation with pilots, techs, droids, everyone really, and so she made friends, contacts. People learned of her desire to be useful in more than just one way.

First the mechanics started teaching her small tasks she could do to help them, like soldering wires or fastening panels back into place once work was done. She learned more and more simply by watching them. Between this and watching tutorials on her datapad, Ellra was quickly on her way to being the base’s newest mechanic.

Poe Dameron was surprised early one morning to see Ellra sitting on top of an X-wing, listening to an older mechanic patiently explain how the T-70’s split engines were more efficient than the round engines of the T-65B, the model he repaired for the Rebellion thirty-five years before.

BB-8 rolled up behind him and beeped curiously.

“Ellra,” answered Poe, nodding towards the conversing pair. “She’s learning about starfighters.”

BB-8 beeped and whistled, looking up at Poe.

“I don’t know. Seems like a good opportunity, doesn’t it, buddy?”

In a moment, a service droid rolled up to the X-wing and called away the mechanic, leaving Ellra typing notes into her datapad and nodding to herself.

“Are you going to be a mechanic, Ell?” called Poe, approaching the ship.

“Poe! Hi!” she said, maybe a little too eagerly. “Hi, BB! Guess what I’m doing?”

“Smelting gold?” ventured Poe, looking around curiously. “Renovating barns?”

“Silly. The pilots and mechanics are teaching me how to fix spaceships!”

Ellra jumped down from the craft, knees bending beneath her to absorb the impact.

BB-8 beeped something encouraging.

“Thanks! I’m excited to be truly useful to the Resistance. If I get good at fixing ships, maybe I’ll be comfortable enough someday to try flying them, just like Poe said!”

She was surprised at herself. She had become so relaxed and comfortable around these people she could babble about her hobbies and experiences and didn’t think for one second she was being annoying or weird.

“I’m proud of you,” said Poe, clapping her shoulder encouragingly. “I think you can do anything.”

“I just can’t get over how amazing the X-wings are. Their size, their power, their history…” said Ellra, drifting off dreamily as she looked up at the ship upon which she had just been sitting. “I can’t wait to fly one.”

“Do you want to sit in my cockpit?” Poe blurted suddenly.

Ellra turned to look at him and blinked curiously.

“Is that a euphemism?” she asked, trying to match his famous flirty smile.

“Do you want it to be?” he didn’t hesitate to retort.

The gratuitously sensual gaze Poe shot Ellra was more than she could handle and instead of being embarrassed she burst out laughing an obnoxious laugh she didn’t think herself capable of. It reminded her of Ilya’s boisterous laugh.

“I’d actually love to sit in your X-wing, Poe,” she said when she calmed down, the realization sinking of what that meant. “May I?”

“Yeah, I have a few minutes,” he said. “Do you?”

“A few,” said Ellra, biting her lip in anticipation.

Poe led her across the main hangar to the T-70 that stood out the most. In addition to a few mechanical modifications, it was painted a vivid orange and black. Ellra recognized this as the fighter that led the maneuvers a few days before.

The pretty paint job was scuffed up here and there and a couple of panels had recently been hammered out.

“This is yours,” said Ellra, turning to look at Poe. It wasn’t a question. It was barely a statement. More like an exclamation of awe.

“Black One,” he said, wheeling a ladder up to the side as BB-8 whistled loudly.

The little droid spun quickly in place before feigning being knocked over, chirping and beeping while he did so.

“What did he say?” asked Ellra.

“He said you wouldn’t believe the adventures we’ve had in this baby.”

She laughed. “I couldn’t imagine.”

Poe stood beside the ladder, looking hopeful.

“Oh, am I supposed to…?” she mumbled, pointing up.

He nodded and held out one hand for assistance. She laughed the hand off and climbed.

“Throw your leg over and climb in,” she heard Poe say as he climbed the ladder behind her.

The seat squeaked lightly as Ellra settled in.

“Spirits,” she breathed.

The interior of the cockpit was black. The control panel in front of her was far more expansive and complex than she had imagined when looking from a slight distance. Her legs disappeared under the panel as she relaxed her posture.

Poe leaned over the side of the cockpit, his arms resting on the edge in front of him, his face close to Ellra’s as she took in the sights.

She pointed shyly at the controls.

“May I?”

The smile on Poe’s face almost stopped her heart.

Ellra let the fingers of her right hand trace over the flight stick in her lap. She didn’t dare touch any of the toggles or buttons, but she felt the controls in her hand.

“It’s so real,” she whispered.

“As real as it gets,” quipped Poe, smiling as he watched her.

BB-8 whistled agreement below.

Ellra closed her eyes and breathed.

She felt the spirits whisper things to her that made her heart race. An acrid, burning smell entered her nostrils and stung the back of her throat. In her mind’s eye, she saw Poe’s face, screwed up in concentration and…pain? She saw an explosion. She heard BB-8 tweet in fear. She heard Snap laughing through a crackling comm. She heard Poe cry out triumphantly.

“Ell?” she suddenly heard through static and she snapped her eyes open.

“Poe!”

A bead of sweat rolled down her cheek and Poe watched it nervously. It took a moment for him to say, “Are you Force sensitive?”

“What?” gasped Ellra. “I am not. I don’t even believe in the Force.”

Poe blinked nonchalantly.

“I think you’re Force sensitive,” he said simply, changing the way his weight rested on the ladder. “I’ve only seen that once before.”

“I am not Force sensitive,” she reiterated, crossing her arms on her chest; the burning scent lingered as she breathed heavily.

“Then what the hell did I just watch? What happened to you on your first morning here? What is that you keep doing?”

Ellra sunk back into the seat, not quite ready to share the information with Poe, uncertain what his reaction would be. She looked back on her experience watching the two Y-wings. She looked down at Black One’s flight stick in her lap and thought about how vividly she saw Poe struggling to keep the ship under his control.

“I don’t know,” she quietly admitted to her folded arms.

“You don’t know?” he repeated.

“My people believe in listening to the spirits,” she explained. “We can sometimes feel things, understand things the spirits wish to convey. But lately… Lately I don’t just feel things, I see and hear them as vividly as if I was there. It started the night you saw me watch the Y-wings take off.”

Poe listened silently before looking down at BB-8. He reached across the control panel in front of Ellra and pressed a button.

Ellra looked over her shoulder at BB-8 now in the astromech socket behind the cockpit. She smiled.

“Oh, hi, little friend.”

BB-8 whistled excitedly at her.

“I want to make sure I follow: Lately, you see and feel other people’s experiences,” said Poe, folding his arms on the edge of the cockpit again, resting his chin on them and fixing his eyes on Ellra. “Particularly pilots’,” he added.

Ellra nodded solemnly. “Just glimpses,” she amended. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me?”

Poe shook his head. “Nah. I really think you’re in tune with the Force. It sounds like everything I’ve ever heard about it, down to touching certain objects.”

BB-8 beeped a confirmation.

“Father never prepared me for this,” deadpanned Ellra, staring into nothingness.

Poe chuckled.

He put his hand on her shoulder and said, “I don’t think it’s something you need to worry about. I think, if anything, it may be useful. Especially when you decide to learn to fly.”

When Ellra met Poe’s gaze she was surprised by how comforted she was by the look in his dark eyes. She felt safe in ways she didn’t understand.

“Thanks,” she whispered, giving him the gentlest, most sincere smile she had.

Poe moved to climb down the ladder.

“Hey, Poe,” said Ellra, leaning over the edge of the cockpit to look at him.

“Yeah?”

“What’s the smell in here?”

“Smell?” he repeated.

“It’s not engine fuel. But it burns my nose. Like an explosion?”

Poe smirked as his feet hit the ground.

“That’s space,” he said, looking up at her.

“Space?” she repeated.

“That’s what space would smell like if you could breathe out there.”

“Wow…” she whispered in awe. “I smell space…”

BB-8 whistled and booped animatedly.

After another moment of contemplation, Ellra climbed out of the cockpit.

Poe must have been waiting for her back to be turned because he suddenly said, “I’m leaving tomorrow.”

She wasn’t sure what to say, but she suddenly felt her heart beating in the back of her mouth and climbing down the ladder was made difficult by her slippery hands.

“I wanted you to know so you didn’t worry,” he said, his voice almost apologetic.

On the ground, Ellra turned to look at him.

“I think I’ll worry anyway, Poe, you’re my best friend,” she said, doing her best to maintain eye contact.

An indignant beep interrupted whatever Poe was about to say.

“You and BB-8, of course,” amended Ellra, bending down to pet the droid as he rolled out from under the ship. “When will you be back?” she asked, rising.

“The general gave us – that is, my new squad and I – a secret mission to run. We only have a general idea of where we’re going and what we’re doing, so I can’t say for sure. But we shouldn’t be gone more than a few days,” said Poe, feigning nonchalance, his hands in his pants pockets. “I asked Connix to keep you apprised. So you didn’t worry,” he quickly added.

Ellra couldn’t keep the pleased smirk off her face. Poe matched it and said, “Don’t get a big head or anything.”

“How could I not?” she said, playfully nudging his arm.

Her face fell as uncertainty suddenly gripped her and she found her hand clutching the sleeve of Poe’s jacket where she had just nudged him.

“May I give you a hug before you go?” she asked, using every ounce of strength in her body to ensure her voice didn’t crack.

“I wouldn’t have left without one.”

Ellra leaned up and wrapped her arms around Poe’s neck and felt his strong arms around her waist. BB-8 gently rolled against their legs.

Pride and embarrassment both told Ellra not to get too lost in the embrace, but fear and something else told her to go all-in. She let herself bury her face in the collar of Poe’s jacket and squeeze him tightly. To no one’s surprise, he squeezed back.

Deep in her silvery curls, soft enough no one, even BB-8, could hear, Poe whispered, “I’ll come back.”

Ellra wasn’t even aware that she breathed, “I’ll be waiting,” against the side of his neck.

“Alright, that’s enough!” cried one of the mechanics.

The pair let go and tried not to dissolve into embarrassed laughter.

Ellra knelt down to wrap her arms around BB-8 now.

“Be safe, my darling little friend, ok?” she said softly. “And please keep this goofball safe.”

BB-8 whistled proudly and beeped something affirmative.

Ellra beamed as she planted a kiss on top of BB-8’s dome.

“Wait, he gets a kiss?” gasped Poe in mock indignation. “I only got a hug!”

Laughing gently as she rose to her feet, Ellra said, bolder than ever before, “What if I promise you one when you get back?”

Poe froze.

Ellra chewed her lip but maintained a coy smile as she gazed up at him.

“I’ll hold you to it,” he said playfully after regaining his composure.

BB-8 whistled in agreement.

As Poe walked away with BB-8 rolling loyally at his side, Ellra smiled to herself, wondering how her heart could feel so full while she still felt so afraid.

[husid]

Uncle Huey’s 2019 Oscars Post!

A confession: I love the Oscars. 

A confession, extrapolated: I am an unabashed Oscars fanboy, who legitimately looks forward to the Academy Awards all year long. I love the opening montage where the host skewers self-righteous Hollywood stars, I love the cringeworthy banter of presenters pretending to have a non-scripted conversation (as if they were actual actors!), I love the montages reminding us why we should keep liking movies, I love seeing which recently deceased actors (it’s always the actors) cause people to break the “no-clapping-until-the-end” rule during the In Memoriam clip (Hollywood’s version of “you can only bring Valentine’s Day Cards to class if you give one to everybody”), I love the wildly reactionary vitriol thrown towards the Academy every time they make a decision about anything, I love the Academy reacting one-year too late to everything, I love the politics, I love the self-seriousness, I love the acceptance speeches in which you can tell the actor deeply resents his or her family, I love seeing the loser shots and trying to decide whether they’re legitimately happy for the winner (spoiler: they’re not), and I love seeing the same tired, rehashed Twitter jokes about how long the Oscars telecast is. 

Reading back through that paragraph, I realize how disingenuous my love for the Oscars sounds, but I do love the Oscars, if for no other reason than I really fucking love movies. And while I’m no critic, I do fancy myself a semi-educated film buff, and with that, as well as an uncredited extras role in The Flintstones In Viva Rock Vegas! that I ask that you indulge me in the first annual Hu’s the Boss Oscar Preview!

In the interest of full disclosure, this is where I tell you that I’ve only seen 11 of the movies nominated (Avengers: Infinity War, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, Black Panther, BlacKkKlansman, Bohemian Rhapsody, The Favourite, Isle of Dogs, Roma, Solo: A Star Wars Story, Spider-Man Into the Spider-Verse, A Star Is Born), but whether it’s the utter predictability of some films (Green Book), or familiarity with a director’s work (Vice), I feel reasonably confident in my admittedly underinformed predictions.

You might have heard that the Oscars will not have a host this year, for the first time since 1989, and we all remember how that went! (I was 2 years old, I definitely don’t remember how that went, but the internet does, and yikes, it wasn’t good. Side note: I’d sooner tell my own grandmother that her matzo ball soup was overseasoned than do anything horrible enough to warrant Julie Andrews calling me an embarrassment in an open letter).  How did we find ourselves in this predicament? Blame the Academy. Well, also the internet. Maybe Kevin Hart too. President Obama as well. Let me explain. 

While in office, Obama had the opportunity to sign an executive order mandating that Amy Poehler and Tina Fey host every major awards show, but failed to do so. Given President Trump’s current feelings towards S&L, it feels like that window has closed. The Oscars are generally hosted by a mainstream comedian, and this year was shaping up to be no different, with Kevin Hart signed on to host. But then the unthinkable happened. The internet internetted, and found that Hart had performed some homophobic material back in 2009 and 2010. The backlash got real loud, real quick, and the court of public opinion sentenced the Academy to 10 years without Kevin Hart as host, with the possibility of parole once we realize that every comic who started writing before 2010 has included something homophobic in one of their sets. So you can blame Kevin Hart, whose jokes were clearly offensive; you can blame the Academy for either not vetting their host, underestimating the research capabilities of internet denizens, underestimating the outrage of the general public (hard to imagine, given the public reception of most of the Academy’s decisions of late), or, depending on your viewpoint, bowing too easily to internet outrage; or you can blame the outraged, for not understanding the evolution of standup comedy, or for making a stand when one may not be warranted.

I’ll leave it to you to draw your own conclusions on who’s to blame for Hart not hosting, but I can tell you who’s to blame for there the absence of a host, period: Critics. Not since Billy Crystal hosted the Oscars for a 73rd consecutive time has any host be universally lauded. The host isn’t funny, the host is too mean, the host is too sophomoric, the host disappears for extended periods of time, etc. It’s been a thankless job for years now, and that was before a dissection of your extended comedy catalog became a prerequisite. Personally, I’d love to see the hosting job go to an up-and-coming comic and let them roast Hollywood for a bit. It would be a way to take the self-reverential mask off of Hollywood for a couple hours, and provide a massive opportunity for an up-and-comer. But ratings dictate that stars and stars alone must host, so I’m not holding my breath.

Ok. That sound you just heard is me jumping off my soap box. Back to movies.

“The field is wide open this year” is a great way to build up buzz for an awards show, but when it comes to Best Picture, it’s also a euphemism sugarcoating the fact that there were truly no great movies this year. Personally, I think nearly every contender has at least one seriously fatal flaw, and that, coupled with the rare lack of a huge late PR push for one movie above the others (a la The King’s Speech, The Artist, Argo, Birdman, etc.) mean that “wide-open field” isn’t just lip service, it’s true. Just not for the best reasons. Still, it makes for an exciting awards show, if you’re into that sort of thing, and probably means that the Academy won’t be on the hook for buying into one film’s hype and looking terrible for it down the line (Shakespeare In Love over Saving Private Ryan, The King’s Speech over The Social Network, Birdman over Boyhood, etc.). But these things aren’t always predictable, and maybe in ten years we’ll be talking about what an underappreciated movie Vice was in 2018.

Now on to the awards, where I’ll give my two cents on each nominee for Best Picture, then a brief thought on each subsequent category declaring my best guess for the actual winner and my personal favorite. In the interest of full disclosure, I’ve watched the Golden Globes and the SAG Awards, and usually pay a lot of attention to movie/Oscars buzz, but I’ve generally tried to avoid Oscar prediction articles for the sake of this post. Again, I don’t claim to be a film critic, but I do have lots of opinions on movies, so take everything with a grain of salt. To further highlight any conscious or subconscious biases I have,  I’ve put the films I have seen in bold in each set of nominees.

THE OSCAR GOES TO

Best Picture

Nominees:

Black Panther – A wildly entertaining and legitimately good movie, but it’s not even the best Marvel movie ever. This feels more like an acknowledgment from the Academy that it respects superhero movies, than a legitimate contender for best picture.

BlacKkKlansman – Given the wild true story the movie is based on, it probably didn’t even need Spike Lee’s direction to shine, and yet I left somewhat underwhelmed. Everything was solid, but very little really stood out, aside from costume design and a few warranted but ham-handed references to our current political climate.  Spike is one of the most provocative filmmakers of the last quarter-century, but with a story that I expected he’d be able to knock out of the park, I didn’t fell like I gained an interesting perspective or was shocked by anything; a rarity for one of his films. Maybe that’s more reflective of the times we live in, or maybe I just set unfair expectations for Spike, given the subject matter. Either way, despite enormous potential, this had all the trappings of a good-but-not-great movie.

Bohemian Rhapsody – Rami Malek’s performance and the final Live Aid scene alone catapult Bohemian Rhapsody into this year’s contenders. Unfortunately, that was all that was Oscar-worthy about this movie. The rest was a by-the-numbers music biopic that tried to pack way too much into 133 minutes. It’s no wonder this movie took so long to get made and so many writers/producers/directors/actors were involved and uninvolved at one point or another (Sacha Baron Cohen was originally slated to play Freddie Mercury), because there’s a lot to untangle between  the rise and “fall” of the band, Mercury’s sexual awakening, and his HIV diagnosis, all while the real-life remaining members of the band did their best to ensure that we got a PG-13 version of Queen history devoid of any real dirty laundry. The final result was a watered down, factually dubious mishmash that doesn’t go deep enough in any direction to have a true lasting impact. Those music scenes though, still make it one of the best music biopics ever filmed.

The Favourite – Of all the Best Picture nominees, the Favourite and Roma were easily the least digestable for mass market audiences. Period pieces aren’t for everyone, especially ones that have little in the way of plot, and take place exclusively on the grounds of an 18th century British palace. But the Favourite managed to be thoroughly entertaining thanks to top-notch set design, Oscar-worthy performances by Olivia Coleman, Rachel Weisz and Emma Stone, sexual intrigue and two hours of steady, if a bit slow, mischievousness. 

Green Book – I have not seen it. Obviously the reviews are positive, but no one has yet convinced me that this movie isn’t entirely formulaic. I haven’t seen this movie, but I’ve seen this movie, and I’m pretty sure it’s fine.

Roma – A beautiful movie about an underrepresented social class in an underrepresented era in an underrepresented country. It’s shot well and acted well, and the camerawork makes up for a meandering plotline. It probably is the class of this category, but I can’t help but think that it might be 15% worse if it wasn’t shot in black and white. That was clearly a conscious choice by writer and director Alfonso Cuaron, who, between Gravity and Children of Men, among others, has more than proven he knows how to make a film beautiful, regardless of subject matter. But the Artist won Best Picture for its two-part gimmick of being black and white and silent, and I’m not entirely sure that Roma’s colorless palette shouldn’t be considered gimmicky as well.

A Star Is Born – The most classic Best Picture fodder on this list, by leaps and bounds, and not just because previous versions of this movie have been nominated for Best Picture, among a host of other awards. But Hollywood loves a movie about the entertainment business, not to mention a story about underdogs and redemption. This was a really well done movie across the board, and while I thought the Grammys scene was a little over the top, I now realize that was an integral scene to the previous three versions of the movie, so its inclusion is a lot easier to justify here. Aside from the acting, which was exceptional across the board (Andrew Dice Clay!), I think the most impressive part about this movie was that it was a big-budget film about superstardom, yet managed to feel very intimate, and resisted using tired crutches of story narration/plot forwarding by way of TV/radio news reports or newspaper headlines – something Bohemian Rhapsody was unable to pull off.

Vice – I have not seen it, which is odd, because of every movie nominated, it’s probably the most up my proverbial alley. The initial mixed reviews were a part of my missing it, though I imagine my love for Adam Mckay’s masterful balance between humor and the depression of irresponsibly-wielded power in the Big Short and Succession (to say nothing of his comedy genius displayed in Anchorman, Talladega Nights, Step Brothers et al.) would make me a more likely candidate than most to appreciate Vice. Alas, that’s all I’m able to really opine on.

Will Be: If there wasn’t a strong anti-Netflix bias in the Academy, as has been reported, I would go with Roma, but I fear that the safest choice here is Green Book, and in the absence of anything truly groundbreaking, that’s going to be the pick.

Should Be: I’m on the fence between Roma and A Star is Born. To me, Roma’s lack of plot and failure to explore its main character in depth separate it from A Star is Born, which really has no obvious flaws.

Actor in a Leading Role

Christian Bale – Vice

Bradley Cooper – A Star Is Born

Willem Dafoe – At Eternity’s Gate

Rami Malek – Bohemian Rhapsody

Viggo Mortensen – Green Book

Will Be: Having only seen two of these movies, it’s hard for me to make a real educated guess, but it’s also hard to imagine that Rami Malek won’t be rewarded for flawlessly playing one of the most eccentric entertainers in music history. All I know for sure is that Willem Dafoe will not be winning.

Should Be: Malek. Malek’s apparent real-life persona is shy and understated –essentially the exact opposite of Freddie Mercury’s – making his transformative performance that much more jaw-dropping.

Actress in a Leading Role

Yalitza Aparicio – Roma

Glenn Close – The Wife

Olivia Colman – The Favourite

Lady Gaga – A Star Is Born

Melissa McCarthy – Can You Ever Forgive Me?

Will Be: Glenn Close. When an actress from a movie you’ve never heard of keeps racking up awards, it’s a pretty safe bet the Academy will follow suit.

Should Be: I’m going to stick with Close, given how much consensus this pick seems to have. Of the movies I saw, I think Colman and Gaga are both very worthy. I can’t quite figure out Aparicio’s nomination. Given that she had never acted before, she was incredible, but the lack of dialogue and depth that the script afforded her puts her performance in stark comparison to the other women on this list. Close is the biggest lock in any of the acting categories.

Actress in a Supporting Role

Amy Adams – Vice

Marina de Tavira – Roma

Regina King – If Beale Street Could Talk

Emma Stone – The Favourite

Rachel Weisz – The Favourite

Will Be: Amy Adams. This is a really tight race that could legitimately go to anyone. With five very deserving nominees, the biggest differentiator is the fact that Adams has been nominated for an Oscar five times before, with no hardware to show for it. In situations like this, the Academy has shown it’s not above the unofficial lifetime achievement award.

Should Be: I’m a huge fan of every actress in this category, though my two favorites – Adams and King – are nominated for movies I haven’t seen. Given that, my pick would be Emma Stone, who portrayed innocence, quirkiness, resourcefulness, wittiness, ruthlessness and helplessness in one winkingly dry performance. Weisz was just as game from an acting perspective, but the script gave Stone a lot more to work with, making her performance more memorable.

Actor in a Supporting Role

Mahershala Ali – Green Book

Adam Driver – BlacKkKlansman

Sam Elliott – A Star Is Born

Richard E. Grant – Can You Ever Forgive Me?

Sam Rockwell – Vice

Will Be: Mahershala Ali. The Academy loves him, and with good reason. In a tight race, the fact that Rockwell deservedly won this award last year for Three Billboards probably disqualifies him. Elliott was exceptional in A Star Is Born, but had a considerably smaller role than the other actors on this list. I thought Driver was good, but not Oscars-good, and obviously I haven’t seen Grant’s performance, but the buzz is very positive, despite being in a movie that not a ton of people saw. There’s definitely a cynical side of me that thinks Ali is the most justifiable selection among all the minority Oscar acting nominees, and its hard to imagine there aren’t at least some voters who are still trying to erase the scars of #oscarssowhite (to say nothing of minority representation over the course of film history) by essentially casting a vote for inclusion. But ultimately he may just be the best choice in a tight category.

Should Be: Ali. I’ll be rooting hard for Elliott, both because he tends to be my favorite part of any movie or show he’s in, and because it’s nice to see the older guys finally win one. Since Ali and Rockwell already have a statue, there may be some sentimentality votes going his way, and his career in mainstream American cinema spans much longer than fellow elder statesman Grant. Again, I haven’t seen Green Book, but I know Ali is as game as any of the actors in this category, and had the biggest role of anyone in the category. That’s good enough for me.

Directing

Spike Lee – BlacKkKlansman 

Pawel Pawlikowski – The Cold War

Yorgos Lanthimos – The Favourite

Alfonso Cuaron  - Roma

Adam McKay – Vice

Will Be: Alfonso Cuaron. There’s talk of this going to Spike as a “my bad” award from the Academy for never having even nominated him for best director (not giving him even a nomination for Do the Right Thing borders on criminal). But he did receive an honorary Oscar from the Academy in 2015, and that, coupled with BlacKkKlansman being just a good movie make me feel like this isn’t Spike’s year. Vice is a very hype-typical movie that isn’t getting much hype, and Cold War is the only movie on this list not nominated for Best Picture. That leaves Roma and the Favourite, and the Academy has proven it loves Cuaron’s work, not to mention Roma is the most unique, visually stunning film on this list, which are usually two of the major criteria for this award.

Should Be: Cuaron, for all of the reasons listed above, but I wouldn’t be upset with Lanthimos taking it.

Adapted Screenplay

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs

BlacKkKlansman

Can You Ever Forgive Me?

If Beale Street Could Talk

A Star Is Born

Will Be: I really have no clue on this one, but I’m confident that The Ballad of Buster Scruggs and If Beale Street Could Talk are the first two out. The remaining three are all unlikely to win in the other major categories so voters might simply choose their favorite of those three to ensure they win something. If that’s the case, my guess is the most popular among them is A Star Is Born.

Should Be: I won’t rehash my thoughts on BlacKkKlansman again, and I haven’t seen Beale Street or CYEFM, but when considering adapted screenplays, I like to vote based on degree of difficulty jumping from the source material to the screen. That’s why A Star Is Born falls short for me, given that it was adapted from three previous versions of ultimately the same movie. To me, that makes the writer’s job easier, not harder. I definitely have a Coen Brothers bias, so my vote goes to The Ballad of Buster Scruggs, which managed to take a collection of short stories written over the course of 25 years and transform them into a series of visually stunning, dialogue-rich (aside from Tom Waits’ story) vignettes that somehow formed a (great) movie.

Original Screenplay

The Favourite

First Reformed

Green Book

Roma

Vice

Will Be: First Reformed is getting buzz for this award, and it might be a way for voters to give some gold to a movie than many felt was snubbed in other categories. My take is that if voters loved the screenplay so much, it would have been nominated for those other categories. So the most likely pick here is Roma, a movie about an upper-middle-class family in Mexico City with a relative dearth of dialogue or plot lines that somehow ends up being as captivating as any other movie this year.

Should Be: I thought The Big Short’s screenplay was incredible, so if Vice is comparable in both style and quality, I’m sure I’d love it. But critics are saying otherwise, so I’m going to go with The Favourite, whose screenplay managed to make a thoroughly beguiling and darkly humorous film out of what could easily have been just another dry period piece.

Foreign Language Film

Capernaum – Lebanon

Cold War – Poland

Never Look Away – Germany

Roma – Mexico

Shoplifters – Japan

Will Be: We can pretend Cold War has a chance, but the award has all but been handed to Roma already. If it’s the only movie on this list that managed to be worthy of a Best Picture nominee, logic would dictate that it’s the only movie worthy of winning Best Foreign Language Film

Should Be: Having only seen Roma, I don’t have any great insights to add here, but I’m still confident in saying it deserves this one.

Best Animated Feature

Incredibles 2

Isle of Dogs

Mirai

Ralph Breaks the Internet

Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse

Will Be: Despite winning two of the last three years, Pixar doesn’t have the stranglehold over this category that it once did. In most years, Incredibles 2, Isle of Dogs or Ralph Breaks the Internet would have a great shot to win, but this is simply Spider-Man’s year.

Should Be: I liked Isle of Dogs, but Spider-Man was probably my favorite movie of the year, and quite possibly the best. Sorry Pixar.

Cinematography

Cold War

The Favourite

Never Look Away

Roma

A Star Is Born

Will Be: Roma. Sweeping cityscapes, countryscapes and beachscapes (are those things?) + historical time period + black and white = Oscar.

Should Be: Roma. Sweeping cityscapes, countryscapes and beachscapes (are those things?) + historical time period + black and white = Oscar.

QUICK HITTERS

Production Design

Black Panther

The Favourite

First Man

Mary Poppins Returns

Roma

Will Be: Roma

Should Be: The Favourite

Costume Design

The Ballad of Buster Scruggs

Black Panther

The Favourite

Mary Poppins Returns

Mary Queen of Scots

Will Be: The Favourite

Should Be: The Favourite

Death, taxes, and a Victorian(ish)-era drama winning Best Costume Design are the only certainties in life.

Visual Effects

Avengers: Infinity War

Christopher Robin

First Man

Ready Player One

Solo: A Star Wars Story

Will Be: Avengers: Infinity War

Should Be: Ready Player One

This pick is based entirely on the trailer and my 1980s and 90s nostalgia.

Original Song

All the Stars – Black Panther

I’ll Fight – RBG

The Place Where Lost Things Go – Mary Poppins Returns

Shallow – A Star Is Born

When a Cowboy Trades His Spurs for Wings – The Ballad of Buster Scruggs

Will Be: Shallow

Should Be: Shallow

Along with Roma winning for best Foreign Film, this is easily the biggest lock of the night. It’s also a really good song.

I don’t really have anything of substance to add for the rest of the categories, and if you’re somehow still reading, you’re probably not anxiously awaiting my take on all the documentary shorts I haven’t watched.

Happy Oscars Night, everyone! Looking forward to seeing you again next year, when we’ll get to predict the winners of the Academy’s new categories:

Worst Performance By A Best Actor/Actress Loser At Time of Award Announcement

Most Terrifying-Looking Live-Action Genie

Best Performance By People Trying to Bring Matt Damon Home

The Wes Anderson Lifetime Achievement Award for Contributions to Whimsy

Worst Acting Performance by a Musician Who Now Thinks He/She Can Act Because of Lady Gaga

Worst Singing Performance by an Actor Who Now Thinks He/She Can Sing Because of Bradley Cooper

Best Use of “That Guy” (Andrew Dice Clay!)

[cyberii]

I don't like words that hide the truth. I don't words that conceal reality. I don't like euphemisms, or euphemistic language. And American English is loaded with euphemisms. Cause Americans have a lot of trouble dealing with reality. 

Americans have trouble facing the truth, so they invent the kind of a soft language to protest themselves from it, and it gets worse with every generation. For some reason, it just keeps getting worse. I'll give you an example of that. There's a condition in combat. Most people know about it. It's when a fighting person's nervous system has been stressed to it's absolute peak and maximum. Can't take anymore input. The nervous system has either (click) snapped or is about to snap. In the first world war, that condition was called shell shock. Simple, honest, direct language. Two syllables, shell shock. Almost sounds like the guns themselves. That was seventy years ago. Then a whole generation went by and the second world war came along and very same combat condition was called battle fatigue. Four syllables now. Takes a little longer to say. Doesn't seem to hurt as much. Fatigue is a nicer word than shock. Shell shock! Battle fatigue. Then we had the war in Korea, 1950. Madison avenue was riding high by that time, and the very same combat condition was called operational exhaustion. Hey, were up to eight syllables now! And the humanity has been squeezed completely out of the phrase. It's totally sterile now. Operational exhaustion. Sounds like something that might happen to your car. Then of course, came the war in Viet Nam, which has only been over for about sixteen or seventeen years, and thanks to the lies and deceits surrounding that war, I guess it's no surprise that the very same condition was called post-traumatic stress disorder. Still eight syllables, but we've added a hyphen! And the pain is completely buried under jargon. Post-traumatic stress disorder. I'll bet you if we'd of still been calling it shell shock, some of those Viet Nam veterans might have gotten the attention they needed at the time. I'll betcha. I'll betcha.

But. But, it didn't happen, and one of the reasons. One of the reasons is because we were using that soft language. That language that takes the life out of life. And it is a function of time. It does keep getting worse. I'll give you another example. Sometime during my life. Sometime during my life, toilet paper became bathroom tissue. I wasn't notified of this. No one asked me if I agreed with it. It just happened. Toilet paper became bathroom tissue. Sneakers became running shoes. False teeth became dental appliances. Medicine became medication. Information became directory assistance. The dump became the landfill. Car crashes became automobile accidents. Partly cloudy bacame partly sunny. Motels became motor lodges. House trailers became mobile homes. Used cars became previously owned transportation. Room service became guest-room dining. And constipation became occasional irregularity. When I was a little kid, if I got sick they wanted me to go to the hospital and see a doctor. Now they want me to go to a health maintenance organization...or a wellness center to consult a healthcare delivery professional. Poor people used to live in slums. Now the economically disadvantaged occupy substandard housing in the inner cities. And they're broke! They're broke! They don't have a negative cash-flow position. They're fucking broke! Cause a lot of them were fired. You know, fired. management wanted to curtail redundancies in the human resources area, so many people are no longer viable members of the workforce.

Smug, greedy, well-fed white people have invented a language to conceal their sins. It's as simple as that. The CIA doesn't kill anybody anymore, they neutralize people...or they depopulate the area. The government doesn't lie, it engages in disinformation. The pentagon actually measures nuclear radiation in something they call sunshine units. Israeli murderers are called commandos. Arab commandos are called terrorists. Contra killers are called freedom fighters. Well, if crime fighters fight crime and fire fighters fight fire, what do freedom fighters fight? They never mention that part of it to us, do they? Never mention that part of it.

And...and some of this stuff is just silly, we all know that, like on the airlines, they say want to pre- board. Well, what the hell is pre-board, what does that mean? To get on before you get on? They say they're going to pre-board those passengers in need of special assistance. Cripples! Simple honest direct language. There is no shame attached to the word cripple that I can find in any dictionary. No shame attached to it, in fact it's a word used in bible translations. Jesus healed the cripples. Doesn't take seven words to describe that condition. But we don't have any cripples in this country anymore. We have The physically challenged. Is that a grotesque enough evasion for you? How about differently abled. I've heard them called that. Differently abled! You can't even call these people handicapped anymore. They'll say, "Were not handicapped. Were handicapable!" These poor people have been bullshitted by the system into believing that if you change the name of the condition, somehow you'll change the condition. Well, hey cousin, ppsssspptttttt. Doesn't happen. Doesn't happen.

We have no more deaf people in this country, hearing impaired. No ones blind anymore, partially sighted or visually impaired. We have no more stupid people. Everyone has a learning disorder...or he's minimally exceptional. How would you like to be told that about your child? "He's minimally exceptional." "Oohh, thank god for that." Psychologists actually have started calling ugly people, those with severe appearance deficits. It's getting so bad, that any day now I expect to hear a rape victim referred to as an unwilling sperm recipient.

And we have no more old people in this country. No more old people. We shipped them all away, and we brought in these senior citizens. Isn't that a typically American twentieth century phrase? Bloodless, lifeless, no pulse in one of them. A senior citizen. But I've accepted that one, I've come to terms with it. I know it's to stay. We'll never get rid of it. That's what they're going to be called, so I'll relax on that, but the one I do resist. The one I keep resisting is when they look at an old guy and they'll say, "Look at him Dan! He's ninety years young." Imagine the fear of aging that reveals. To not even be able to use the word "old" to describe somebody. To have to use an antonym. And fear of aging is natural. It's universal. Isn't it? We all have that. No one wants to get old. No one wants to die, but we do! So we bullshit ourselves. I started bullshitting myself when I got to my forties. As soon as I got into my forties I'd look in the mirror and I'd say, "well, I...I guess I'm getting...older." Older sounds a little better than old doesn't it? Sounds like it might even last a little longer. Bullshit, I'm getting old! And it's okay, because thanks to our fear of death in this country, I won't have to die...I'll pass away. Or I'll expire like a magazine subscription. If it happens in the hospital, they'll call it a terminal episode. The insurance company will refer to it as negative patient-care outcome. And if it's the result of malpractice, they'll say it was a therapeutic misadventure. I'm telling you, some of this language makes me want to vomit. Well, maybe not vomit. Makes me want to engage in an involuntary personal protein spill.

- George Carlin.

[shrlke]

it's almost pride month so shout out again to the phrase "queering them into oblivion"