#not to trash talk my british rat man

[effervescentdragon]

I bet it was Jenson Button. He seems like the type to fall for a con :)

Leverage 4x13 - The Girl's Night Out Job

[jq37]

The Case File – Mice and Murder Ep 2

The Case of the Dismal Dinner

Summary

Welcome back to our flashback/Tisch fight already in progress where we learn what Daisy and Sly’s shared look was about while Rekha and Grant go for the proverbial jugular emotionally. It’s 12 years ago and Sylvester is tracking down a stolen diadem, the very same diadem that he sees Daisy swipe off the thief who has it (a jackal named Roscoe McCoy in case that matters). Sly swipes it back from her and, when she notices, she sniffs it down to his train car where he is sitting in the dark, waiting for her. He doesn’t turn the lights on, opting instead to dramatically strike a match to light his pipe, illuminating himself sitting in a big chair, holding the stolen item.

Daisy tries to bluff like she’s Virginia Chase, the owner of the diadem, but Sly knows that’s not true because he was hired by the real Virginia to track it down. Daisy is usually a better liar than this but she is insta-smitten by this figurative and literal fox and it’s throwing her off her game. But before they can continue their little tete-a-tete, they hear a gunshot ring out from Daisy’s room and know Roscoe and his guys are coming after her. Sly stuffs Daisy in a trunk before the boys show up and they actually seem a little impressed to meet him, him being a famous detective and all, but a Nat 1 deception means they hear Daisy being huffy in the chest and a fight/escape scene that Brennan takes over narration for ensues. 

After that, Sly and Daisy become close really quickly and partners in both senses of the word. Daisy tells him she’s an American PI and they work together on cases, travel the world, and become engaged within the year. But, the day before the wedding, when Sly is alone, he discovers all the documentation proving that Daisy lied about who she is, is actually a criminal, and has been using their partnership to sell information to other criminals.

She shows up and tries to pretend like she’s being set up but he replies, “You being duped is the only lie you’ve told I can’t believe.” He says that being with her changed him. He didn’t think he had it in him to actually love another person. He forgives her. He still wants to get married. Daisy is thrown by this reaction. She tells him she’s not gonna change for him and he might as well leave her. She’s being all unapologetic femme fatale about it but he gets the sense that under her bravado she’s low key pleading with him to give up on her. He doesn’t want to. He can’t. He still shows up the next day in his wedding tux. Daisy is nowhere to be seen. When he goes home, there’s a deerstalker cap on his porch and a note that just reads “-D”.

And we snap back to the present where Daisy is trying to figure out if she can take advantage of Lucretia’s fascination with the occult and all the rich vulnerable people present to make some money. Meanwhile, Sly has been totally rocked by seeing Daisy and is drowning his sorrows at the bar with Ollie, the otter bartender. Squire Badger (which is what I’ll be calling William) shows up and, in not so many words, threatens Sly for having not solved the case and making a fool of him. He says, “You’re not gonna rub my nose in this.” Move your nose then bitch, says Sly on a dirty 20 intimidation check. He’s sad about girl problems, not you! Squire Badger is scared off, but he looks like he knows something that Sly doesn’t. That someone is coming for him. 

Buckster (and Ian too btw) clocked the above conversation and sidles up to Sly at the bar. See, not only does Buckster know about Sly and Daisy’s history, he knew it was happening *while* it was happening. Sly used up all his cool swagger on the Squire so by the time Buckster shows up he’s a whole mess over Daisy. Buckster starts implying that maybe they can help each other out since they both dislike the Squire and with Sly’s Nat 20 Insight, they can totally clock each other’s double meanings perfectly. It’s a very cool game thing where Sly and Buckster are having an innocuous conversation about the weather or whatever but Grant and Sam are just saying what they mean. It’s like they’re having a telepathic conversation. Sly agrees that the enemy of his enemy is his friend and he’ll go along with Buck’s plans as long as he can keep his hands clean, even if he doesn’t really care for Buck himself. 

At the same time Gangie is in the kitchens getting fed (see the notes for a full list of kitchen staffers and other NPCs) and after the staff leaves, Gangie is told by Ambrose Harding (the Squire’s turtle valet) that there’s is business for him to attend to after dinner. 

Buckster talks to Lawrence Longfoot--the rabbit photographer from last ep who we learn runs a trash newspaper. He and Buck bond over being trash and he gets a pic of Sly and Buck together. 

Vicar Ian goes to talk to the Squire and basically tries to (openly) suss out whether the money was a bribe or a setup or what? Like, people are fully there (including the Lady Fawnbrook and her gossipy cat wife Tabitha). They snipe at each other a bit and then the Squire reveals that he’s talked him up to the Cardinal and the Cardinal agreed that he’s such a good vicar, he should be moved to Siberia. The decision has already been made and Ian doesn’t have the pull in the church to do anything about it. Yikes. 

Before dinner, the rat butler catches Buck and asks if he has time to talk to Squire Badger. Buck agrees to go with him and he’s taken to the billiards room where the Squire is along with Harding and James Hawkins, Squire’s Hawk war buddy (a literal war hawk). Buck immediately puts his foot in his mouth by messing up the Squire’s title with his American ignorance of British peerage rules which annoys him, the elitism of it all. The Squire’s friends leave and then Buck starts talking about PR and how this whole situation has been bad PR for the Squire and it would be a shame if his PR got even worse. The suggestion of blackmail sends the Squire into a full honey badger don’t care style rage and he knocks TF out of Buck, flips the pool table, and then catches himself and scurries off. Daisy, Sly, and Gangie all hear this conversation from their positions in the house via the pipes running through the manor. Buck picks himself up and, on a 25, realizes that two of the mouse maids were hiding behind a curtain, hearing the whole thing (specifically, Edwina Thimble and Carolyn Dickory--oh like hickory dickory doc, BRENNAN) . They were playing hooky so he flips them a coin each and they all agree that no one saw or heard anything. “Two blind mice, see how they run,” he quips as they leave (sidenote, what a morbid nursery rhyme to exist in that world--to be fair, it’s pretty morbid as is).

Lucretia decides to turn the séance into a post dinner séance but still brings Daisy and Lars to see her occult room which is full of crap from, as Rekha said, “1800s Party City”. Lucretia does a hilariously vague read on Daisy and says that there’s something happening with her involving a man she knew or maybe still knows but she’s in her feelings about Sly so it kinda shakes her up. She tries to get Lucretia to charge for her “””incredible gift””” (so she can skim off the top of course) but Lucretia thinks it would be a misuse of her ~talents~. She does give Daisy an incredibly broad as to be useless even if magic exists blessing before she leaves. 

Once she does, Daisy scopes out the room (which she realizes must have been retrofitted for Lucretia and wasn’t previously a séance room) and sees that the one thing in the room that doesn’t really match the aesthetic is a giant portrait of one of the previous squire badgers. On a 24 she notices two things: (1) the painting has recently been restored with new paint and (2) the frame is bolted to the wall. She wants to check it out but Lars is right there so she makes a note to check it out later and leaves. 

Lars, being a very ride or die friend for Sly, bounds after her and basically calls her trash and tries to tempt her with garbage so she’ll lose composure and start chowing down. She drools at the sight but keeps it together and leaves. Lars runs off to tell Sly that they were a good good dog and gives him a full play by play. 

Gangie meanwhile is watching a small argument between the butler and Harding in the servant’s quarters hallway and he realizes that he’s being talked about in veiled language. The butler is questioning Gangie’s employment and Harding says that, as servants, they shouldn’t question their master and that Gangie is employed for reasons that Squire Badger is aware of and reasons he is not. Hmm. Gangie realizes that Harding knows about his past which is weird because Gangie’s criminal record doesn’t follow him. There’s no internet. So what reason would this guy have to know about him?

Gangie doesn’t like this and decides to dip and steal some silverware on the way out. Mrs. Molesley (who I’ll be calling Mrs. M from now on) helps him (lol I’m not entirely sure if she didn’t know what he was doing or if she’s just down with stealing) and says that she’s been working there since Squire Badger was in diapers (she was his nanny) and if anyone bullies Gangie, she’ll take care of them. She also offers to make him a sweater so he doesn’t get cold and she’s just so nice that Gangie has to say yes. He looks to make sure no one is around and gives her a dandelion he picked. Cute!!!

And now it’s time for dinner and our very first box of doom roll for the most terrifying encounter of all: how close you have to sit next to your bitter ex! This is of course for Sly and Daisy with higher than a 15 meaning they don’t have to sit next to each other and anything lower meaning they have to sit pretty close. It is the first BOD roll I’ve ever wanted them to fail (mmm, except maybe Adaine’s werewolf roll but that’s a different conversation). 

It’s in the 6-10 bracket which means they’re sitting across from each other (below that would have been them next to each other). Everyone is seated based on how on Squire Badger’s shitlist they are. So you have Ian at the absolute back. Sly to his right and Daisy on his left. The Buckster and Lars to the right and left after that. Then Armond (armadillo lawyer guy) and a snail guy because Brennan is a madman who cannot be stopped. Constance (Squire’s daughter) makes a toast to her dad wishing him well even though they haven’t always seen eye to eye (hmmm).

Buckster fills in Daisy on his confrontation with the Squire quietly enough that no one else hears. Daisy then turns to Sly and says she hopes they can be civil. Sly is like, “Sure Ms. DUMPSTER.” They’re the kind of exes who know exactly how to hurt each other but are also super open to being hurt. Emotional glass cannons is how Brennan describes it. 

Buckster is given a note by Harding from Squire Badger and, once dinner is over, he takes Daisy off to the side to read it. Gangie follows, unseen. Ian, who recently prayed to God and got not super clear results goes to talk to Luecretia to see if maybe ghosts can help him instead. She is, as usual, not super helpful but does rush out to get her very necessary ritual dagger and declares to everyone that if anyone sees a ghost they have to tell her. As she says this, there is a flash of lightning and, through the window, Sylvester sees just for a moment the form of his nemesis, Fletcher Cottonbotton (who is by the docks).

Anyway, Buckster reads the note. It’s a document from the Squire selling his interest in BB Industries (Buck’s oil company) to Hazel Hogswallop who is another small shareholder in BB Industries. But, in doing so, it names Josiah Jackrabbit (one of his competitors) her proxy which means he’ll be able to vote on things (and with a lot of power with all that stock).  The contract was written in fresh ink which means (1) it was probably written after their fight and (2) hasn’t been mailed yet (I smell a heist attempt). Buck rolls insight on the writing (mastermind rogue ability) and with a 27 senses that the Squire has gone off his rocker. This isn’t going to make him any money. Josiah doesn’t have enough liquid cash to pay him what this is worth. And the thing with Hazel would have taken time to set up. This has been in the works for a while and he’s been sitting on it until the time was right. And he senses, like Sly and Gangie did earlier, that someone besides the Squire is pulling the strings. 

Then Gangie suddenly hears Constance’s distressed voice through the pipes from upstairs: “Father you’re possessed! You’re a mad man! This will never work. Speak of this to me never again.” And she slams the door (Buck, Daisy, and Gangie all hear). Constance comes downstairs and Squire Badger follows, looking upset. Mrs. M checks in on him too see if he’s eaten and he kind of gruffly has her follow him (along with Mr. Harding) into the drawing room.

There is a scream. Something drops. Silence. Footsteps. A door opens. Then a voice, “My God!”

Everyone rolls initiative. Ian moves first and, upon hearing all the commotion, gathers everyone together to go towards the sound (interesting choice but sure). Daisy recognizes that the scream heard was Mrs. M but barely knows who she is. She goes towards the commotion anyway. Gangie also goes towards the scream. Buckster grabs his gun (well he says “weapon”, but it’s gotta be a gun, right?) and makes like he’s following her but actually hides. Lars and Sylvester go towards the scream. 

With everyone gathered, Ambrose opens the door. Inside they see Mrs. M, her hands covered in blood (my guess? From trying to stop the bleeding), kneeling on the ground over the dead body of the Squire. The room is a mess and stuff is scattered everywhere. There is a bloody knife in the Squire’s hand and a stab wound over his heart. Ms. M, who is distressed as hell, says there was something wrong with him. There was a flash, and she looked down and he was stabbing himself. Everyone thinks this is suspicious as hell. She was the only one in the room. Everyone looks to Sly, the famous detective who is not in the presence of a murder case in progress. What does Sly say? “Lady Lucretia. I’ve seen a ghost.”

Case Notes

I have to acknowledge how ON FIRE Grant was this episode. Like everyone was. Buck was great with the Squire. Daisy and Lars sniping at each other was fun. But man Grant had so many good lines. The “move your nose”. The heartbreak with Daisy (ugh, so sad!) And that blackout line!!! I am biased towards foxes as you can see from my avatar so I am very here for this great fox rep.

Based on the way their staredown went last ep I kinda thought Daisy was the wronged party but ugh. Slyyyyyyy. He forgave herrrrrrr. And he still went to the alter. Daisy how you could youuuuuuu?

Also, sigh, Fox and the Hound. I keep getting hit with these after the fact. 

I loved Rekha’s “Of the Chase Sapphire’s?” improv.

That racoon/mink line was so sleazy. Weird compliment but Brennan is good at being animal-racist. Sidenote, Daisy makes a comment about being careful being a fox in England which I presume is a ref to fox hunting and like the implication of that are como se dice troubling. 

Here are all the new NPCs for this ep and here’s a full NPC guide that also includes the list of names Gangie gave Buck which Buck shares with Daisy this ep.

And on that topic I can’t get over the concept of a married couple named Millie Molton and Mollie Milton. Like, did they get married solely for the bit???

The best Ian-ism of the ep was him talking about getting rejected from Siberia. Poor guy.

Fave OOC moment was everyone at the table getting aggressively patriotic in response to the Squire being dismissive to Buck. There is nothing funnier than someone singing a purposefully overwrought version of I’m Proud to Be An American. 

“It’s 2020 for us bitch!”

The moment Mrs. M said she was gonna make Gangie a sweater I was scared for her. Sweaters take a long time to get made. I was like oh no. The plot is gonna stop you from making that sweater isn’t it. I’m willing to be proven wrong (Brennan loves his maids with secrets, see: Cathilda) but she seems super sweet and if anything happens to her I’m going to be upset. 

What’s behind the painting Brennan. I know there’s a door. I know this house is full of secret tunnels and revolving bookshelves and all that. Let me see it!

One great little moment was when there was a flash of lightning and the minis for Sly and Lars like stop motion moved to look at it. Just great attention to detail. The work that gets put into this show is incredible.

Edit: A note I forgot to mention. There’s gotta be a secret door in the room where it happened, right? Like, creep in, flash of light to mess up her vision, do some shenanigans, peace out.

[holyfuckthisfishcandrive]

Sweets and Name-calls

First, Previous, Ao3

Word count: 1435

Warnings: mugging at knife point (Janus and Virgil still don’t do normal 12 year-old stuff)

"My Pa is going crazy," Virgil said, letting his feet swing against the wall in a steady rhythm while inspecting the bandaids over his fingertips.

"Why that?" Janus asked and struggled with the bag of candy he had stolen from Walmart earlier. He had forgotten his knife at home and the taped-up fingers didn't make it any easier. "And do you have a knife or something like that?"

"Give it," Virgil reached for the bag. He had taken a few of Papa's knives again after he had confiscated them a month ago and cut the bag open with ease. "His crush invited him to a wedding or something."

He bit into a long gummi worm and handed the bag back to Janus who went for one of the lollipops.

"So, now he's like 'But did he mean it in a romantic way or in a just friends way and why did he mention that his parents would think we're dating? Did he mention to them that he was seeing someone and just doesn't want to introduce that person to his family yet?' all day long. It's horrible," Virgil continued. "I feel like I'm watching one of those shitty telenovelas or Wattpad movies and I can't turn it off!"

Janus laughed at him and threw the wrapper of his lollipop off the roof, down to the tracks.

"Mum is marrying my step-dad soon," he said after a beat. "Would be kinda funny if that was the wedding your Pa got invited to, wouldn't it? Then I could meet him without having any idea that I'd met him."

Virgil snorted.

"You'll have to describe the weirdest guests to me after. If it's the same wedding I'm betting all my CDs, bought and downloaded from YouTube, that Pa is among them."

"Nah," Janus shook his head. "You can keep the shit that's not in English. I don't want that."

"Hey! Just because you can't appreciate Scheißverein for the anarchist masterpiece it is doesn't mean it's shit! And what do I get if it's the same wedding and Pa is among the weirdest people?"

"Dunno," Janus moved the lollipop from one side of his mouth to the other. "I'm bringing you some of the leftover cake anyway... Five nights you can stay at my house if you fight with your Pa or can't stay at home for some other reason?"

"Until when?"

"Until you've used them up."

"Okay, I'll take it," Virgil agreed and swallowed the last of his worm.

"Say goodbye to your CDs," Janus grinned. "My family is weird as shit and there's no way your Pa can beat them."

"You have no faith," Virgil chastised and sat up to see if anyone had come with the train that had just arrived. "Hey, look! Some rich bastards from uptown! Wonder what they're doing here."

Janus sat up and looked down at the boys Virgil pointed at. They looked about their age, though it was hard to tell from up here, and looked nearly identical if it wasn't for one wearing a ripped green shirt and the other a white one.

Who the hell wore white? It just got dirty and then never really clean again! Well, rich bastards could probably afford that kind of stuff.

"Maybe they're trying to get robbed," he speculated. "Would be a shame to disappoint them, don't you think?"

"Hopefully they actually have something nice on them," Virgil threw up a caramel with one hand and caught it with his mouth.

"Can't find out if we don't try. It's not like we can get in trouble for it. Other than maybe from our parents but they don't need to know."

Virgil hesitated but Janus knew that he was already convinced.

"Okay, let's see," he said and stood up.

They snuck down the fire escape, Virgil let Janus borrow one of his knives and then they tailed the rich boys for a while, listening in on their conversation.

They even talked like rich bastards, Janus realised. He had half expected them to sound like Virgil with his weirdly posh British accent but they were clearly American. Just with rich accents. He wasn't sure how to describe it. They talked like the people in Hollywood and not like normal people.

"Now before someone else hears them," he whispered to Virgil.

They caught up to the boys by the next alleyway and pushed them in, using the surprise to their advantage.

The one Janus had grabbed let out a startled noise.

He tried to swing for Janus' face. There was a lot more strength behind the punch than Janus had expected but it was uncoordinated and sloppy. Easy to doge.

"Oi, stop that!" Virgil hissed, making his voice sound deeper than it actually was.

The rich boy looked over and froze, seeing the knife at his brother's throat who's face was pressed against the filthy concrete.

"What do you want from us?" the one on the floor, with the white shirt, asked.

Janus didn't answer but instead began to search Green-boy's pockets.

Gum, a ten-dollar bill, a rat skull (weird for a rich guy) and a business card with a phone number written on it with blue ink.

"Hey! The skull is mine!" the boy protested. "I just found it yesterday!"

"I don't give a shit," Janus replied. He would have usually left the skull but now he took it just to be petty.

"Ooh," Virgil grinned. "Keys! What do these open, huh, Princey?"

The boy underneath him sputtered. "They are my house keys! You can't have them! You don't even know where we live!"

"Yeah, yeah, Princey," Virgil rolled his eyes. "Calm your tits. I just thought there might be something more interesting to them."

"Stop calling me Princey!"

"Sure, Princey."

At that moment Green-boy noticed something and a wide grin split over his face.

"Police!" he screeched.

Janus looked up to see a man in uniform blocking the way out of the alleyway, a sandwich in hand. "What's going on here?" he demanded.

"They're robbing us!" Princey accused.

"They're rich," Janus said in their defence.

"They're committing a crime!"

The policeman snorted and bit into his sandwich.

"Stealing from rich people isn't a crime! Besides, it's lunchtime. Just get off his back or you might injure him, kid!"

With that he left again and Virgil stood up.

Both Green-boy and Princey were too stunned to react and Janus and Virgil bolted.

They only stopped when they were a block away and between laughing at the rich bastards' faces and being out of breath Janus had to lean against a wall.

"What did you get?" Virgil asked, still snickering.

Janus showed him his new possessions and Virgil showed him the pen, the five dollars, the chocolate bar and the crumpled paper Princey had had with him.

"Not bad," Janus said, giving the borrowed knife back. "We were just lucky the cop didn't notice the knives."

"We would've probably gotten better stuff if we hadn't robbed tweens," Virgil frowned. "By the way, you still owe me that cake you promised for the fingerprints."

"You mean we should do that now?"

"We've got money now, don't we?"

--~--

"Damn street rats!" Roman spat and tried to rub the fluid off his face. He wasn't sure if it was pee, alcohol or water but he was pretty sure that it hadn't rained in at least a week.

Remus was frustrated for entirely different reasons. "What do we train for if we can't even defeat two kids, shorter than us?"

He kicked a trash can over and its contents spilt over the floor.

"I just hope Patton will let me borrow one of his sweaters," Roman grumbled, looking down at the giant stain on his shirt.

"How did the dwarf even get you on the ground?" Remus asked.

"He just suddenly jumped onto my back! You would have fallen over too!"

They finally reached the street where Patton's flowershop was and just as they were about to go in Remus froze.

"You've got to be kidding me," he stared at the bakery across from the flower shop, where two eerily familiar boys were sat at a table by the window, each with a big slice of cake in front of them.

The taller one with the weird white spots on his dark skin waved at them with a smirk, before taking a bite of his cake and dramatically playing up how good it was, by rolling his eyes back and licking his lips.

Remus gave him a middle finger and the boy laughed at him.

"Stupid street rats."

Next

Taglist:

@patton-cake

[amazingmsme]

Lab Rat

AN: My trash brain came up with this idea one day while listening to Pay Attention and that one line about the lie detector hearing aids. Then I thought about that part at the beginning and knew I had to write it! Took me way too long to finish, but here ya go! Hope you enjoy!

Curt enjoyed being down in the lab. For starters, all the gadgets and equipment drew his attention everywhere he looked, so he was always entertained. He'd move from one item to the next before he even learned what the previous object was or what it did. He also really enjoyed Barb's company. She was bubbly and energetic, and could never stay mad at him for too long no matter what he did. It was a much welcomed balance to Cynthia, who had just given him poisoned coffee a half hour ago after chewing him out.

He burst into the lab, eyes immediately settling on the short blonde. "How's my favorite neeerd?" he yelled, smirking when she jumped at the loud volume.

"Oh hi Curt!" she waved excitedly and rushed over. She fiddled with her glasses and looked down at her shoes. "I'm fine, how are you?"

He looked around the large lab and said, "Bored, which is why I'm here. This place is practically a toy store for me." Her eyes widened and a nervous look swept across her face. 

"It's really not, you can't just barge in here and start messing with whatever you want- PUT THAT DOWN!" She rushed over and yanked the monocle from his hand. He leaned over her shoulder to get a better look at it.

"Why? What's it do?"

She let out a huff of air and set it back on it's tray. "It's a very delicate piece of spy-wear that can allow you to run an instant background check on nearby people, and it can help you locate your target in a large crowd so you don't lose track of them," she explained. Curt let out a low whistle.

"Wow, maybe I'll get to use it soon!" Barb shook her head, "I'm sorry, but knowing you,  you'd probably break it."

"Hey!" he protested. She continued, "Plus it just wouldn't look right on you. Monocles are all posh and fancy and you're... not. It would suit Owen much better."

He chuckled and crossed his arms, "Yeah, no one's more posh than that bastard. Heh, he'll probably look like a stuffy old guy wearing it." Barb couldn't help but to giggle in agreement. Curt fed off her encouragement and mocked his partner. He raised his voice a few octaves and gave it a very bad British accent, waving his hands in the air as he spoke. "Oh Curt look at me, I'm so cool and collected all the time! You see it's because I'm British, so that means I'm faaar superior than youu." He even went as far as to shift his jaw to make it look crooked.

Barb's mouth hung open in shock, light laughter spilling out despite her best efforts. She covered her mouth as a snort slipped out and she smacked his arm. "Curt that's not nice!"

That just made him beam. "I know, which is why it's so funny." She just crossed her arms and shook her head fondly.

"Curt Mega you're ridiculous. But, I do have something you could test for me!" she said excitedly. He rubbed his hands together with enthusiasm for what awaited him.

"Great! What is it? Something cool, like a flame throwing pen or a bow tie that shoots acid?" he asked, bouncing on his heels. Barb shook her head, "No but remind me to make that pen, it sounds useful. I need you to test this hearing aid," she said and carefully placed them on his ears. She was on her tip toes trying to reach them, so Curt bent down for her to put them on easier.

"Thank you!" she chirped. She took out a small remote and started fiddling with it.

"So, what's this supposed to do exactly?" She smirked, "You'll see. Just tell me how bad on a scale of 1 to 10."

His brows furrowed, "How bad what-" she pushed the button and cut him off. He yelped and scrunched his shoulders, rubbing his ear. She smacked him to make him stop.

"Did it really hurt that much?" she questioned.

"It was supposed to hurt?" he asked. She let out a huff of a laugh, "Well yeah, it's supposed to electrocute you. Did it not?"

"Uh no, not really." She placed her hands on her hips, slightly annoyed that her invention wasn't working as planned.

"Well it did something!" she argued.

"Yeah, it did," he trailed off. She waited expectantly, her hands placed on her hips as she stared up at him.

"Well? Mind telling me?" He didn't meet her eyes, rubbing the back of his neck. It was embarrassing, and he really didn't want to tell her.

"I'd rather... not." She scoffed at him, throwing her hands up in annoyance.

"Well geez, that's helpful! C'mon Curt, you can tell me," she tried coaxing. When he still didn't, she sighed. "Look, I know I was a little harsh, but that's only because it didn't work the way I want it to, it has nothing to do with you," she clarified, thinking that his reluctance to speak was because of her snappish tone.

"It's not that." She became puzzled now and tilted her head in confusion.

"Then what is it?"

He rolled his eyes, not liking having to explain. "It didn't hurt it just felt, I don't know, weird." He did know. He knew exactly what it did, and hated how much it affected him. He's one of the world's greatest spies, there is absolutely no reason for him to be this ticklish! He's supposed to be the suave tough guy, an intimidating manly man. You can't keep up an image like that if you can be reduced to an incoherent mess by a few prodding fingers, can you? No, you can't, which is exactly why he didn't want to tell her. But this is Barb we're talking about, he can trust her with that sort of information. There isn't anything he could do that could tarnish her view of him as a strong spy.

"Weird huh? Could you describe it better?"

"Uhh-"

"'Cause I know you have a better vocabulary than that," she smirked. Curt finally conceded.

He lowered his voice so that only she could hear. "It just tickled is all, okay? Happy now?" Her smile only grew.

"Why didn't you just say so?" she chirped. "Now if your don't mind, I need to run some calibrations to see how far off it is." Curt didn't like the mischievous gleam in her eyes. "This might tickle," she teased as her finger pressed down on the button.

Curt was about to protest, reaching out to stop her but squealed at the light jolting sensations. His neck scrunched up to try and shield himself, only for it not to work. He reached up to take them off, a stream of high pitched giggles flooding the room. She acted quickly and dug into his stomach, sending his arms crashing down. He tugged at her hands, but she simply twisted out of his grasp and targeted a different spot. Curt was a laughing jittery mess completely at her will.

"Ah! Mahahake ihihit stop!" he pleaded. His legs were growing weak and he leaned against the wall for support. This just allowed her better access as she crawled her fingers up his ribs.

"I'm sorry Curt, but I can't do that! It's just too fun!" she chirped, making him blush. This sucked so much, people were starting to look, yet nobody offered to help. Probably because he had ruined a good few of their projects by accident... Looks like he'd be on his own. He couldn't help but to snort when she squeezed his hips, trying to to push her away. Though he wasn't trying as hard as he knew he could, he didn't want to hurt her! So instead he suffered at her mercy, of which she granted none. She giggled at the noises coming out of his mouth.

"Oh my God this is great! Who would've thought you were so sensitive? Better not let the bad guys know about this," she winked and skittered her nails across his neck. His laughter became more frantic as he did his best to dislodge her evil fingers. The buzzing electricity at his ears was driving him absolutely mad as his laughter turned silent. He mustered up the strength to reach up and yank them off, his laughter beginning to die down when Barb backed off.

She just stood there smugly, one hand on her hip, the other held out with the palm up expectantly. He failed to suppress a hiccup before he spoke, "You're fucking ruthless, you know that?" He dropped the small torture devices in her hand and patted her shoulder to help stable himself.

She was positively beaming, "Everyone in this business is at least a little bit ruthless, you should know that by now."

"Heh, yeah, guess we're all a bunch of twisted bastards," he joked.

"That we are," a new voice sounded from behind and Curt stiffened. He whipped around to see Cynthia walking towards them. Her heels echoed in the lab with a satisfying click clack. An uncharacteristic smile warmed her usually harsh features as she approached. He cleared his throat to speak.

"Cynthia! You, uh, didn't see that, did you?"

"Oh Mega, don't ask questions you don't want the answer to." That told him all he needed to know and he adverted his gaze from his boss. She continued, "Keep trying on those hearing aids, I think you're onto something."

Barb nodded, "Yes ma'am! Though I think I'm just gonna scrap these and start over."

Cynthia glanced at the gear in her hands and looked her up and down. "Hm. That's a shame, it was pretty entertaining to watch." At those words his cheeks turned a pale pink, making her smirk. She was about to turn and leave, but stopped to face Curt.

"She's right, you better not let anyone else find out about you're little weakness.  You don't want anyone else using it against you," she said in a tone that was almost teasing and reached out to squeeze his side. She chuckled when he jumped and smacked her hand away, shaking her head fondly. With that, she left.

Curt glared down at Barb, but his smile made the look less threatening. "I'm never gonna live that down am I?" She was grinning so much that her eyes squinted at the corners.

"Nope." Curt simply let out a sigh at the confirmation of his fate. He didn't dwell on it for too long though.

He clapped his hands to break the silence, "If you don't mind, I think I'll hang on to these. Pretty good for a prank, and I think I know just the posh son of a bitch to try it out on." He couldn't keep his smile at bay as he began to scheme.

Barb nudged his arm with her shoulder, "Now who's the ruthless one?"

[elenatria]

How to turn a London Con trip into a “Chernobyl” trip.

I’m home so I can finally make this post.

Where to start.

Okay-

Let’s start with “Chernobyl”. It happened a few months ago, fell on our heads like a nuclear bomb. We all loved the protagonists but Viktor Charkov, the KGB chairman, is also a memorable, creepy, hateful character who got under our skin with the cold truth of his words, the harsh reality of his behaviour. He was too real, too pragmatic to be ignored. From stories I’ve been told in person, he’s no different than the executive arms of tyrants we had here not more than forty years ago. He exists. People like him live among us.

As for the actor himself, so strange. See, there is no mention of Alan Williams’ age on IMDB or Wikipedia and that’s enough to show that, apart from his theatre, TV and film work, little is known about him. Where to find him, contact him, he’s too old to care about social media and apparently he never was too sought out, not with a “face like a bagful of donuts” as he jokes.

But I was thrilled. I wrote the first chapter of “A single bullet” after watching “Chernobyl” and I just had to show it to this elusive low-profile thespian who inspired me. Because... I don’t know, because. Just to say “Thanks for doing a magnificent job. Thanks for helping me understand evil.”

So I tried contacting his agent. I gave her my name and nationality. I thought I’d just send her the link and forget about it.

Apparently, she forgot about it too because I never heard from her.

After a month London Con was upon us, but what to do in the evenings? Plays of course. I booked a ticket for “The woman in black” and “The Hunt” with Tobias Menzies. Then I searched and searched for Alan Williams plays but, to my dismay, he had finished playing Ivan Romanovich Chebutykin in “Three sisters” at the beginning of June and his new play, “Faith, hope and charity”, wouldn’t premiere before September. Just my luck to be in London in between the two plays. No stage door queue, no autographs.

After spending a full Saturday at London Con and Sunday at the British Museum, Monday had to be a day of leisure. A free concert at St Martin-in-the-Fields before lunch was all I was capable of attending, drag my steps towards the closest bus stop that would drop me off… wherever. I didn’t care.

But then I decided to read my post from the previous day about managing to buy a ticket for “The girl on the train” at the very last minute and meeting Alex Ferns, the naked miner. The unexpected ticket, the unexpected hug.

Now how difficult would it be to meet an actor who is NOT doing a play at the moment?

Very very difficult, confirmed one voice.

He’s rehearsing for ‘Faith, hope and charity’, isn’t he? disagreed another. He must be. It’s almost August and the play opens in September. He’s at work right now. He must be!!!

I googled and googled for almost an hour. I found that “Faith, hope and charity” would be staged at the Dorfman theatre near Waterloo station so I called the stage door. I explained to the receptionist that I did not know Mr Williams in person but I was visiting London for only a few days, was a big fan of his work in “Chernobyl” and I would really love to greet him. The man on the phone was very helpful revealing that this was their first day of rehearsing (the incredible coincidence!) and they had started only… an hour ago. He asked my name and I said “Well… you can say Eleni”, I mean, who needs my complicated surname, right? The guy said he’d save my number and let Mr Williams know.

Oh god.

But I couldn’t just sit there waiting for a call, I’d never get that call, come on.

So I rushed to the Dorfman Theatre. I was breaking my brain trying to figure out how I could get the Charkov chapter of “A single bullet” printed in a district with no stationary shops whatsoever. I was hoping I could… shove it into his face I don’t know, and later imagine he’d be reading it. He didn’t really have to read it, just nod condescendingly and lie that he would, and that would be enough to put a smile on my face. Just like all those toys and drawings people give to celebs at cons that end up in the hands of volunteers, assistants or charities, if not in the trash.

When I got there I talked to a different receptionist, a very professional, very unhelpful young man. For safety reasons he wasn’t supposed to disclose neither the time they’d finish nor the time of recess. For safety reasons I had to go through Mr Williams’ agent to get to him. Outrageous, the woman didn’t even forward my story to him, let alone give me permission to meet him. I was hopeless, I was being turned down. I was being an idiot.

“But they must have a lunch break, right??” I insisted. “Can’t I just wait outside?”

That guy was a goddamn sphinx, and the helpful guy was still talking on the phone or to some lady there, I don’t remember, so I couldn’t reach out to him. Suddenly I felt unnecessarily needy as if I was sitting on the subway floor, shaking my hat to passers-by, clinging my few coins. How humiliating.

With heavy steps I exited the theatre. Why is it so complicated, why do I need someone else’s “permission”? I’m not a child. I looked around, it was a sunny day, people were sitting in coffee tables out in the patio. Some tables were empty but I didn’t care, I just sat on a column by the entrance, far enough to not be seen by the receptionists and feel like shit for lingering, close enough to catch anyone exiting.

For an hour and a half I crouched over my phone trying to figure out how to contact the agent without sounding too stalkery. I called the agency but the girl on the phone gave me the same email address where I had sent my fic. Fine. I changed the wording of my message again and again so as not to sound too needy or creepy even if I knew it wouldn’t work.

I knew I had missed my concert for no reason and I would soon have to leave because who doesn’t like giving up? It’s better to give up than stress over something that’s never gonna happen. It always is.

I was seconds away from clicking “send” and making a fool of myself to the agent for a second time when I thought I saw someone, a towering presence stopping a few meters away, looking over, hesitating, waiting.

I raised my head.

There he was, three-dimensional, bathed in sunlight. Not an image in my head anymore.

Believe me when I say that I was staring at Gandalf, Santa Claus, the Grail Knight from “Indiana Jones”, the Big Bad Wolf.

I honestly don’t know what I was staring at.

But there he was, in all his elderly silver-bearded glory. A myth in my mind, in the flesh. How did he know I was there? I didn’t tell anyone. I was supposed to be hiding.

After nanoseconds of deer-like stun I did the polite thing and jumped on my feet, ready for a handshake. I mean, I had to stand up, right? He had come out just for me.

Shit. What had I done? The nerve.

The first thing I remember noticing when I got closer were his faded blue eyes with a distinguishable light-shaded rim circling the iris. The rest was just word vomit, how we all love him on tumblr, write fics, make memes etc.

Memes?

I described to him the “Try me, bitch” edit we all love, courtesy of @two-screaming-rats.

He didn’t get it at first, then he laughed so HARD, so damn hard. You guys have to see Charkov laughing his heart out.

He said he only had a few minutes before he had to go back to the rehearsal so I decided to start the conversation with the Charkov fanfics. He was quick to apologize for not answering my email. “I’m sorry but… but I honestly don’t know what to say when someone sends me a story,” he admitted humbly. “I read all of them but… I mean I’ve been sent stories based on my characters before but I really wouldn’t know what to say.”

Okay first of all, he read my story. I don’t know if he read it a month ago when I sent it or minutes before he exited the theatre to greet me but he did.

Secondly, there are more stories about his characters? WHERE.

“I’m not a writer anyway,” I said apologetically.

The unexpected reassurance. “But you are.”

I guess one doesn’t have to be The Writer™, they just have to write. What a way to be courteous to a fan though.

Then I mentioned how we love Charkov’s trademark, his glasses, how we’re frantically looking for ‘80s-looking glasses, how we obsess over specific frames and brands.

“They’re not a brand,” he clarified, “they were specifically made for me, they’re an exact replica of Viktor Chebrikov’s glasses. Just like our clothes that were made by seamstresses who worked during that era.”

Naturally I praised the production’s attention to detail that has us ranting, how beautiful and “European” it all looked, how true the script was to Lyudmila’s story as it was described in Svetlana Alexievich’ “Chernobyl prayer”. I talked about my thoughts when I first heard there would be a “Chernobyl” TV series: the Americans made a TV show based on events that affected Europe, now that’s a new one. He mentioned Russian media admitting that they should have made that show, not the Americans. I agreed but also added “That’s the thing, it may be beautifully made, it may be the truth, but it’s still propaganda. Just because it’s true, just because the Soviet government did all those horrible things, that doesn’t mean that the show is not serving someone’s agenda.” He disagreed saying that the Soviet people were shown in a good light for their bravery and sacrifice. Well, we knew that, didn’t we.

I said how impressed I was by his portrayal of Charkov because we were told about people like him by dictatorship victims at school. People who had been tortured in the ‘70s came to us, talking about their time in underground cells, in the hands of sadists like Charkov. I told him about my uncle who was arrested and executed by the Nazis for distributing left-wing leaflets, about my grandmother who had to escape to the mountains during the civil war that followed the German occupation because she was a communist. I explained how real it felt to me, his last scene with Legasov in the kitchen. How bleak and horribly accurate.

He mentioned “You’re one of us, Legasov”. To him Charkov was just doing his job, working for the greater good and he agreed with the quote in my fic, that Charkov “couldn’t wait to retire”.

He then joked about Charkov being blasé after the committee meeting, “Meh, I’m done with arresting people, I let others do it for me”.

I assure you all those questions were answered in a couple of minutes, and I was certain our meeting was about to come to an end.

But then… he gestured toward an empty table.

Don’t let an aged man standing, was my spontaneous thought. I was reminded of my father.

Then I realized. He gestured toward an empty table.

Table. The two of us. On a sunny day.

Time, he was offering me his time.

And… oh my god, this was practically an interview, why was I not recording this, he was answering my questions so effortlessly.

No. That would be rude, that would be greedy.

Just relax and enjoy the moment and try to remember fucking everything.

I asked him what his inspiration for Charkov was, if he based his portrayal on other actors or historical figures. He paused to think and explained that the script was very strict anyway, very defined. However he did mention  Charkov’s line, “I know you’ve heard the stories about us. When I hear them, even I am shocked” and how that reflected Stalin’s hypocritical quote, “What do I know, I’m just a peasant”.

His favourite line was “Trust but verify, and the Americans think that Ronald Reagan thought that up”.

“Is that really an old Russian proverb…?” I wondered.

“I… don’t know!” he laughed.

During the rest of the conversation he mentioned his friend whose job was to translate the Pravda, and his years in Canada where he met Czech-Greeks, namely Greek communists who were driven away by our right-wing government after the Second World War. Even the Soviets didn’t want them so they were sent to the Czech Republic and ended up in Canada. These people belonged nowhere.

I didn’t know that, and he didn’t know about Vladimir Gubarev, the writer of the play “Sarcophagus” and science editor of the Pravda who was the recipient of Legasov’s tapes. I quoted him saying “Why call the protagonist Legasov since that’s not how Legasov was, they could have used a character who’s a scientist and give him any other name.” Like Ulana, I added, who’s a composite character, or Chebrikov/Charkov, mostly fictional.

Our conversation was coming to an end; he asked me what plays I saw in London and he smiled when I mentioned Alex Ferns in “The girl on the train”.

It was truly overwhelming; I was torn between being swept away by the moment, focusing on nothing but the faded blue of his eyes, bathing in the calm rhythm of his voice, and actually paying attention to what he was saying. Only once did my eyes dart at his left hand spotting the unusually thick golden ring on his finger. When one’s mind plays tricks the best way to discipline is a glimpse at The Ring because if he didn’t have nearly my father’s years I’d probably be having a horribly inappropriate crush.

“Time to go,” he apologized.

We took a couple of photos and I pulled out Svetlana Alexievich’ book, asking for an autograph.

“Where should I sign?” he asked.

“Wherever you want.”

He flipped through the pages noticing my page markers, notes and underlinings. “What are these for?”

“Just… just notes. Do you want my—” I suggested grabbing my big-ass permanent marker.

Without a word he gave a knowing smile and, like an experienced conjurer, he pulled out of his jacket an elegant little sharpie. Delicate pens for delicate words.

I didn’t dare read what he wrote to me then, I could only make out his name through that intelligible doctor-like writing. Surely my name wasn’t there because I hadn’t introduced myself. Still, I thanked him from the bottom of my heart.

Time to go.

We shook hands and I said how honoured I was that he had spent time with me. I tried not to stare as he disappeared into the theatre but before I left I ran into the foyer, quickly thanked the receptionist to whom I had talked on the phone and stormed out of the building with that huge wave of adrenaline pumping violently in my ears.

As I crossed the street I was grinning like an idiot. I knew I had to stop right there and write down everything before I forgot - but it was pointless. I’m not a recorder to have to write down everything the minute it happens. It’s enough to remember the pale rimming of his eyes.

Now, two days after meeting him, I’m still torn between pride and embarrassment. What the hell was I thinking? Doesn’t a man deserve to work in peace?

But as I’m writing this and attaching his signature on the first page of “Chernobyl prayer” I dare for the first time read what he wrote to me.

Pleasure to meet you.

People say they have religious moments when meeting their favourite celebs.

Mine was poetic.

What a darling, darling man.

[ganzeer-reviews]

THE BEST OF MILLIGAN & MCCARTHY By Peter Milligan and Brendan McCarthy o-o-o-c

Madness. Sheer and utter madness.

I must admit that before MAD MAX: FURY ROAD, I hadn't even heard of Brendan McCarthy, which is a damn inexcusable shame. But to be fair, the work of Milligan & McCarthy hasn’t really been part of the dialogue in comix culture. Not even when it comes to talking about the impactful indie work that fell outside of the mainstream; you never hear their work cited alongside that of Frank Miller's SIN CITY (which, before the 2005 film release was only really known in pretty small circles throughout the 1990's) or Eddie Campbell's ALEC or Dave Sim's CEREBUS. But that silence is in no way reflective of the duo's influence.

About a year ago, I listened to an interview with Neil Gaiman for the British Library podcast focused primarily on the RAMAYANA and Gaiman's involvement in adapting it for DreamWorks. When asked if he had a particular style in mind when working on the various [never-produced] treatments, Gaiman was quick to point out Brendan McCarthy's work on ROGAN GOSH, which Gaiman describes as being birthed from Brendan's "Road to Damascus moment, where he ran into a pile of comics in India, and just went 'I love this, there's art stuff here that I've never seen in the West,' and started doing stuff and playing with it." He also goes on to describe ROGAN GOSH as "one of the most interesting moments of fusion between Indian and British and American comix culture."

Naturally, I immediately looked into getting my hands on some ROGAN GOSH and discovered that it was reprinted in the pages of an over-sized hardcover titled THE BEST OF MILLIGAN & MCCARTHY published by Dark Horse Books in 2013 and retailing for only $24.99 (down to $7.19 as I type this). Although a horrendously produced edition (pages are actually falling out in less than a year since purchasing it), I'm still happy to have gotten my hands on it because it has been blowing my mind ever since. Not least because of the work itself, but because it simultaneously exposes a very vital almost secret history of comix lost to... I dunno,an obsession with the founding of Image Comics and the less than negligible work its founders produced? If there was ever a demented, revolutionary punk rock duo in comix, Milligan & McCarthy definitely fit the bill.

ROGAN GOSH first appeared in REVOLVER, a short-lived anthology magazine for mature readers published in the UK between 1990-1991. GOSH was finally collected by DC Comics/Vertigo into a 48-page one shot in 1994. It is perhaps because of the book's modest page-count that it is never mentioned in the same breath as say THE SANDMAN or PREACHER, or THE INVISIBLES or other long-running titles central to the Vertigo imprint's identity. But hey, Aristotle's POETICS is no more than a sodding 44 pages, which is sometimes all you need to jump-start a revolution.

In Milligan and McCarthy's own words, surrounded by "long and bloated 'concept album' comics", they were more interested in "the short, sharp, throwaway pop single. The type you danced to. The type you had sex to."

While the above statement can most be applied to their series PARADAX (also featured in the book), it pretty much hits the nail on the head with the majority of their collaborations, including ROGAN GOSH.

By the duo's own admission, it is not only difficult to describe what ROGAN GOSH is about, it is even pointless to ask. What may have been originally conceived as a “sci-fi Bollywood BLADE RUNNER” rapidly evolved into something far more demented. It starts off with Rudyard Kipling in Lahore en route to a place "where men of all castes come to sleep the sleep of dreams." Essentially, an opium den where "karmanauts can relieve a man of the curses of his sins.” If you think that opening scene will give you any idea of what follows, you are sorely mistaken. Kupling is entered into a "jasmine-scented dream of the future" where we are transported to psychadelic trip after psychadelic trip involving completely different characters:

- A man named Raju Dhawan waiting on another named Dean Cripps at a Tandoori joint called "Star of the East" - The blue-skinned Rogan Gosh on the run from the "bloody-tongued, dark destroyer" Kali together with a small idol of Kipling. - Raju Ghawan as Rogan Gosh together with Dean Cripps on the run from robotic hindu "Karma Kops". - Rogan Gosh as a bull-riding ancient Egyptian cowboy of the future, roaming through the mythic land of Wild Bill Osiris and Horus Thuh Kid.

If none of this makes the slightest bit of coherence, well that's because there is nothing coherent about it. Rather than there being any kind of train of thought, it's more like a train blown to bits upon the detonation of atomic dynamite. Shards of ideas floating around a nebula, jabbing into each other with every turn of the page. It's bizarre stuff, heavy on logic-defying captions almost as much as the explosive visuals. If you, the reader, let yourself go, you'll find that the synergy of text and image in ROGAN GOSH will drag you around a strong relentless current of spicy thought soup. Washing ashore an island of utter confusion is inevitable, but not without a sense of thrill retained from the memories of the surrealist storm that was.

Imagine a comicbook operating along the logic of say, PROMETHEA, 8 years prior to PROMETHEA's publication and without any of the rigorous explanation of the world's mechanics the way PROMETHEA delves into. Instead you're just thrown into it and left to make connections entirely on your own. That's what ROGAN GOSH feels like; a weird transcendental spell cast in comicbook form.

It isn't a coincidence that Milligan & McCarthy share something with Alan Moore other than British citizenship. All three after all did get their start making comix in the indie music paper SOUNDS. Moore with ROSCOE MOSCOW in 1979, and McCarthy et Milligan with THE ELECTRIC HOAX in 1978. This discovery, although new to me, was not at all surprising, as I find that I am typically drawn to creators who cut their teeth in avenues that fall outside of "the mainstream". Where the ones "in charge" understand little about what they’re doing, where anything goes and opportunities for mad experimentalism aren't stifled.

The greatest discovery in THE BEST OF MILLIGAN & MCCARTHY for me has been the duo's work on FREAKWAVE, a comic that, by Brendan's own admission, was directly inspired by MAD MAX 2: THE ROAD WARRIOR which Brendan became obsessed with during his surfing getaway in Australia in 1981. After which Brendan coerced Milligan to co-write a "Mad Max goes surfing" treatment Brendan could pitch to Hollywood. Hollywood didn't bite, but the duo did get to produce it as a backup strip in the pages of VANGUARD ILLUSTRATED published by Pacific Comics in 1983. Pretty straight adventure story initially (well, as straight as Milligan & McCarthy can muster anyway), with the most striking aspect of the strip being character designs and world building.

FREAKWAVE is a post-apocalyptic punk-rock drifter who windsurfs a flooded Earth in search of floating trash he can live off. He battles it out with disease-ridden humanoid "Water-rats" and psychopaths in gasmasks wrapped in old tin cans and the random cultural ephemera of old. FREAKWAVE would later resurface as a punk-absurdist Tibetan Book-of-the-Dead story in 1984's STRANGE DAYS, an anthology showcasing the work of Milligan, McCarthy, and Brett Ewans published by Eclipse Comics. It only ran for 3 issues, but Warren Ellis says it "landed like a hand grenade from another world", which is still exactly what it feels like going through its contents 34 years later today. It is especially in the pages of STRANGE DAYS' feature comic FREAKWAVE that you see Brendan McCarthy and Peter Milligan really rocking out like some kind of alternative comicbook band, the pages crackling with the energetic buzz of an electric guitar. Brendan especially reaches peak McCarthiasm, with 90% of his visionary work on FURY ROAD appearing here first on the page a good 31 years before blowing people's minds on  screen.

Which, by the way, how fucking cool is that? To be asked to work on the sequel to a film that inspired your scarcely read comicbook. And to be asked specifically because of your work on said comicbook?

Not to mention that FREAKWAVE, although given a pass by executives in Hollywood, very likely influenced the movie WATERWORLD in 1995, at the very least in terms of look and production design, which let's face it was the only really good thing about the film.

Nothing will give you that good kick in the balls to go off and make comix (or any ill-advised pursuit) more than looking at the work of Milligan and McCarthy. If a big part of the draw of comix for you is that it is medium void of filters between creator and reader, well then that cannot be more true of Milligan and McCarthy's collaborations. Because there are always editors keeping creators in check, or heck, even self-inflicted inhibition on the creator’s part. Not for Milligan and McCarthy.

Never for Milligan and McCarthy.

[Available on Amazon]

Ganzeer November 23, 2018

[oneshul]

This Thanksgiving, Thank God You’re American: The Tale of Asser Levy, New Amsterdam Jew, 1654

Sholom Aleichem, Stranger! My name is Asser, Asser Levy, of—so many places! First Spain, then Holland; Brazil after, and now, America. And you know, something about you made me take you for a Jew. Keep your voice down; Governor Pieter Stuyvesant’s spies are everywhere—not unlike the Inquisition, which I, and belike yourself, escaped. Never mind: come inside—the winds blow coldly across Mannahatta Bay at this time of year, and my missus will prepare a cup of hot tea to warm your bones—(shouts) Gertruida, my dear! Tea, for our guest!

How did I know that you are Jewish? I will tell you this: my old father, God rest his soul, would tell me from an early age that we Jews appear—different from other folk. Not that I wish any harm to the gentiles, regardless of what they may think of me. And, to speak truth, my gentile neighbors and I have worked together to build this little piece of Holland, here in the New World. I consider most of them to be friends. Ha! (laughs bitterly) Even those who denigrate our kind for being usurers and blasphemers of their Saviour’s Name, are first at my door when I butcher a cow or goat, and my dear wife, Gertruida, cooks her famous stew. The delicious smell permeates the neighborhood!

There are, indeed, dangers: plague, Indians, and even nature, which plots against us, especially in the winter. I cannot remember such a cold, or so much snow, in Old Holland, let alone in Spain. We huddle together beneath bearskin blankets and wait for spring to arrive.

How is life here? The Dutch people are fair enough: some better, some worse than others. I have found that most Jew-hatred stems from ignorance, and fight it by being, simply, the best human being I can be. It seems to work—that, as well as there simply not being very many of us here. That fool (whispering), Governor Stuyvesant, only grudgingly accepted our twenty-four Jews to enter his colony. It’s not his—it’s the property of the Dutch West Indian Company! After the French captain tossed us off the ship like trash, after the riskiest voyage of our lives, we huddled on the dock like water rats. Imagine: first, escaping Brazil when the Portuguese Navy—with those devil-priests of the Inquisition undoubtedly on board—suddenly appeared in Pernambuco Bay.

We narrowly escaped, on a French ship, the Sint Catrina, whose thieving captain, one Jaques de la Mothe, thought we were rich—are not all Jews rich? He was disappointed in our poverty, and we were disappointed in his seamanship—my little boy Solomon could have escaped the pirates that attacked us, but de la Mothe panicked and ran up a white flag. We losteverything! Still, I thank God that we are all alive and well, except Isaac Carmiel, who was so fearful of the pirates, that he leapt overboard and was eaten by sharks. No great loss: he was a drunkard and cheated at dice;he defamed the Name of God.

As for Stuyvesant—pah! (spits on the ground) I have met Jew-haters before, but he is paramount. He first refused to let us Jews into the colony—does he think that Europeans are flocking to this icy, godforsaken place? He wrote to the Board of Directors of the West Indian Company—and so did we. Luckily, the Company ordered him to allow us entrance—there are a number of Jews on the Board, and still more own shares in the Company. Ha! Still, Stuyvesant has spurned our every petition for equality—he refuses to let us build our own houses, construct a synagogue, open various shops—I am a skilled butcher; my friend Jacob Barsimson is a baker—or even join the town guard, despite the ongoing danger of Indian attack.

The first time that Jacob and I presented his Governorship with a petition, Peg-leg Peter presented his most frightening mien—he is a tall man, of muscular build—well, he has been a soldier for most of his life. He roared at us, shook his fists, and whacked his silver-headed walking-stick on his desk—so hard, we were surprised it did not break. Of course, he knew nothing about what he was speaking—stuff and nonsense about how we were all on welfare. We waited for him to take a breath, and then explained, politely, that, as former Spanish subjects and current Dutch burgher-citizens, we are entitled to the same civil rights as any other Dutchman. Never mind: another letter to the Board, another petition to the Court—it all builds our position here in New Amsterdam, little by little. Not to be disloyal, but (whispering) my friend Chaim Henriques saw a small sloop with the British Union Jack scouting our coast, just t’other day—we suspect that the English may be planning to take over our little colony, and soon.

Must you leave so soon, Stranger? Ah, you are headed north, to Massachusetts? Is that a good idea? After all, neither Puritans nor Pilgrims are, despite their love of Scripture, particularly fond of us folks who wrote it. Sit, stay a while! I have a little jug of rum in the cupboard for emergencies, and, with the snow falling outside, this seems as good an emergency as any—Sit! Gertruida—fetch those wooden cups, and join us for a nip of toddy!

Nothing like rum for thickening the blood. A question? About me? Ah, but Friend, I am but a simple butcher, an American—dare I say it?—who happens to be Jewish. Why do I fight so hard against that petty tyrant, that old Peg-Leg (He teases up his hair to cover his Royal Baldness, too, he does; my Gertruida does laundry for his missus, and they talk), that rotten excuse for a Governor? Because I want—I want—(drinks) to see our people free. Yes: free, in this New World. There is room here enow for Jews, Christians, agnostic, atheists—yes, and Blacks and Indians, too! All free. You ask, and I answer: that is all I want, and I will spend my life fighting for it. Drink, Stranger—l’chaim!

Asser Levy, among the first twenty-four Jews to enter the New World, never hesitated to fight for his rights as an immigrant to New Amsterdam. An Ashkenazi, rather than a Sephardic Jew, he tirelessly petitioned the governor to allow the Jews to participate in the Town Guard, rather than pay the “Jew Tax” customary in Europe. This succeeded, but Jews were not allowed to run for public office until Francis Salvador of SC in 1775, who later died in the Revolution. The Jews never did get their synagogue during Levy’s lifetime; Cong. Shearith Israel (The Remnant of Israel) was not built until 1730, long after Levy’s passing. (A Jewish Cemetery was founded in 1756, however; death was a near and frequent visitor, regardless of religion.) Levy did, eventually, get his butcher shop, on the understanding that he was not allowed to dispatch pigs. He is buried in an unknown grave, but both a public school and a public park in NYC bear his name.

Rabbi David Hartley Mark is from New York City’s Lower East Side. He attended Yeshiva University, the City University of NY Graduate Center for English Literature, and received semicha at the Academy for Jewish Religion. He currently teaches English at Everglades University in Boca Raton, FL, and has a Shabbat pulpit at Temple Sholom of Pompano Beach. His literary tastes run to Isaac Bashevis Singer, Stephen King, King David, Kohelet, Christopher Marlowe, and the Harlem Renaissance.

[ol-razzle-dazazzle]

All the gay asks bc you made me do all of them

OWO thank you I love you1. describe your idea of a perfect dateAll of them??? Kakhiwkdkalgr walking around the beach or going to a bookstore or maybe a forest to chill or an abandoned place for a spooky date??? Movie date??? Ocean date??? Marriage date??? All good!!! Crab catching would certainly be on the agenda though. The oceans the best2. whats your “type”My type? Uhh anyone that’s nice to me lmao. Someone i can joke with and I know that cares about me. Quiet on the outside but like, nurturing and fun when you get to know em. Someone that doesn’t let people treat em like garbage because i yearn to be like that. On a side note I’m not sure why but most people i used to tend to have crushes on were ISFJs (or ESFJs) probably because they fit the criteria above. I don’t really like people that are totally my personality, and I think it’s important to not surround yourself with yes people or people that vehemently disagree with you. And communication! V important In terms of looks though? The kinds of girls I’m attracted to vary a lot actually. Buff girls soft girls tall girls short girls thin girls medium girls big tiddy little tiddy it’s all good. I guess I tend to prefer girls that aren’t white (not in a fetishistic way of course it’s just most girls that I’ve had crushes on or knew that were gay that were white just had really bad personalities and that brand of White Feminism™️ sorry if I worded this poorly) brown or black hair I guess? Just someone that doesn’t look like me adjnrujbslltgbk. Also someone I can squish and hug nicely. Of course I think there’s a lotta bullshit with people limiting themselves to only a few criteria and the racism or body type discrimination is total bullshit. Fetishisation is just as bad. There’s just so many cute girls out there why be a shitlord to people y’know? 3. do you want kids?Later on in life, if my partner would then yeah sure why not. I hate babies though so I would...4. if you do, will you adopt or use some other form of child birth?Adopt definitely. I’d personally prefer to adopt a kid that’s older, because they have a less chance of being chosen and I want them to be raised in a loving environment. 5. describe the cutest date you’ve ever been onI’ve never been on an actual date ;v; but tbh any date I’d have with my gf would automatically top the list6. describe your experience having sex for the first time (were you nervous? or was it easy peasy?)I’ve never had sex so I got no gosh dang clue aside from fantasies, which I would be nervous as heck but ultimately want to be as adoring as possible and kisses everywhere7. are you a morning time gay or night time gay?Mornings when you don’t have to go to things are amazing and beautiful but otherwise afternoon or night time gay. Anything that isn’t midday is good though8. opinion on nap dates?I’d be down for it. Sleeping is great, but cuddling and sleeping? Even better! Doesn’t matter for how long but yes! Good shit!!! 9. opinion on brown eyes?Only the most beautiful thing ever??? Brown and black eyes being ugly is a government lie, they are gorgeous. Black eyes just have that deep obsidian stare and like an adoring cat with dialated pupils you just want to hug, and brown eyes??? When the light hits them or you’re staring into them? Beautiful galaxies my dude. 10. dog gay or cat gay?I love dogs but I would never own one unless my partner wanted one. They’re just not a companion I prefer to cats. Cats are very good and fluffy and compact in comparison to dogs. Dogs are amazing though and I need to pay every one I see. 11. would you ever date someone who owned rodents or reptiles?Dude we already planned to live in a pseudo-barn to have crabs, rats, bats, cats and lizards 12. whats a turn off you look for before you start officially dating someoneSomeone who’s very ‘my way or the high way’. (My mum’s a lot like this and it’s caused me to try to constantly be appeasing. But with my mental illness I’ve gotten a lot more irritated by it.) Or someone that is a bit too mean I’m joking about people to the point where you don’t know if they’re serious. (I have this problem a lot with ‘friends’ and it leads to a lot of doubts and depression.) Also highly argumentative people who want to seem better than you and debate everything you say. (Just...ew.)13. what is a misconception you had about lgbt people before you realized you were one?I live in a homophobic family, so I used to think gay was a swear word lmao. I was told that we were unnatural, burning in hell, hypersexual, all that shit. Issues on trans people were even worse, and back when I considered the possibility of me being a trans man (while I experience dysphoria In my body I don’t think I would ID as a man- at the time I didn’t know what agender identities were) I was made to feel like it was the worst thing ever or that it didn’t exist that everyone was just straight and ‘normal’ 14. what is a piece of advice you would give to your younger selfDon’t pretend you’re aroace to hide who you are, you’re autistic but that’s okay just don’t overwhelm yourself, try to do things to the best you can. Also toxic feminity/masculinity is bullshit don’t feel guilty about wearing anything. You’re gay it’s so much easier now and don’t let people dictate of make you defend yourself 15. (if attracted to more than one gender) do you have different “types” for different genders?Lmao nah. There is always that awkward moment when you think you see a hot butch but then he’s a twink. Bamboozled again. 16. who is an ex you regret?A few years ago I was forced into a relationship with some rude ass dude who ignored that I ID’d as aroace at the time. I guess at the time I had some comp het so I think that’s why I went along with it? It was kinda some toxic shit like nothing nsfw but he was just a huge dick that went off at the slightest disagreement and I’m glad I got rid of that trash lmao17. night club gay or cafe gay?Cafe gay by far!!! Well I’ve never been to a night club, but I’m someone who gets overwhelmed by loud noises and people, so it wouldn’t be the place for me. Cafes are relaxing18. who is one person you would “go straight” forNo one lmao, The only possibility of slightly me becoming straight is like a fictional character19. video game gay, book gay, or movie gay?Books and video game gay! There needs to be more gaymes, but books are good I just have less time to read them as opposed to gaymes which I can do whenever 20. favourite gay ship (canon or not)Probably RenMerry from Touhou! These two mean a lot to me, and got me into the series that helped me realise I was a lesbian! These two just work so well together that I strive to have a relationship like that- a slightly bickery old couple with the freshness of new adventure tied together with a love that will never fade away even as it transcends borders~21. favourite gay youtuberDon’t really have one. I’m not really into the British youtuber scene and the ones that I do sub don’t really talk about their sexuality or not (I think sailor j might be bi? But that’s about it) I usually watch comedy channels or vocaloid covers. Actually Oktavia’s Gay, yeah let’s go with her. Her voice is amazing and made me realise how much I love deep voices22. have you ever unknowingly asked out a straight person?Ahbkowejkboesh I’ve had crushes on straight people that I’ve wanted to hang out with but no of course not I’m too shy for that shit23. have you ever been in love?Yes! And I’m still doing so right now! 24. have you ever been heartbroken?While in a relationship? No. But like the whole ‘falling in love with a straight girl senpai and then everyone tells her that you have a crush on her which causes you to be distant to each other leading you to cry copiously at her graduation and never truly repairing your friendship which is all you ever wanted and never being able to talk to her again?’ ...y yeah 25. how do you determine if you want to be them or be with someoneHonestly I try to make a distinction between ‘people I have crushes on’ and ‘people I would date’ bc yeah someone might be cute but dating is another story. I’m someone who varies a lot in style (as someone who may possibly be gender fluid or agender but hasnthad the opportunity to explore that for family reasons) 26. favourite lgbt musician/bandUhhh Queen I guess? Idk I need more gay shit recommend me please. Queen is quality shit though 27. what is a piece of advice you have for young / baby gaysDon’t ever feel the need to apologise or defend you being gay. Be happy even if other people aren’t about you. If you’re autistic chances are you’ll question your identity, don’t worry about it and just love who you love. If you’re a lesbian especially don’t apologise or feel you have to be in a certain role to ‘be truly gay’ and also please ask people out otherwise you’ll never get anywhere- all lesbians are useless and I got lucky shjgowkgowlgr. But above all, don’t feel guilty and have fun exploring yourself and fleshing our who you are, even if you can’t always show that out loud. 28. are you out? if so how did you come outI’m not out to any family member (I say that I’m aroace but they believe I’m straight despite jokes on the contrary) but pretty much everyone that isn’t a complete stranger knows. I can’t help but talk adoringly over my girlfriend so it just happens. Otherwise I go on some spheal about homophobic bullshit dropping hints that I’m gay before saying I’m gay. It’s led to some shittalking and other various bullshit but I don’t give a fuck anymore 29. what is the most uncomfortable / strange coming out experience you have Believing I was aroace and my friends saying that i was in denial of being gay. I was like ‘lmao Domi’s just a friend I lowkey have a crush on her but she’s just being nice :^)’ then like a week later burst through the door like BITCH GUESS WHOS GAY FOR HER GIRLFRIEND 30. what is a piece of advice for people who may not be in a safe place to express their sexualityEvaluate the consequences of coming out. While I live in a homophobic family, Australia is somewhat accepting and there’s no conversion therapy to my knowledge at least (there are highly fundamentalist Christian groups but I’m not sure if they include forms of violence) Especially if you are in an anti-gay country or an area where you could be persecuted, I think it’s important to be out to at least one person you know who supports you. It could be online or a friend that you know you could trust (if you don’t know if you could try subtly bring it up and see their reaction, but better safe than sorry.) because it’s hard to go through this entirely alone. While it’s important to be unapologetic of who you are, it’s more important to protect yourself- this doesn’t make you wrong, but the people who make you feel wrong wrong.

[ophelia-hendrix]

Badass Agent and Feral Trash Son

quotes by @warrioroflondonbelow 

- “Your kidney’s are gone.” - *both seal claps* - “Is that discount Joquin Phonix.” - RIP Joaqiun. I loved you in Joker, I’ll miss youuuuu! - *sees the whole London skyline* I wonder where we are. Italy - *Sings Blue* - *chanting Ass! Ass! Ass!* - “Do they have to be so British? They have a Union Jack outside the building. We get it!” - I love that leeeeewk - *Talks about London hotel bathrooms* - *Sees mugshot* he looks like he could kill kids - *Both cheering loudly for James mcAvoy* - *Too excited* IT’S BILL! - Is this an AU for IT? - Fuck you James garbage man - Ooooooh my son! How I missed you - Go boi! - James your outfits are awful I wanna burn them - Ah there we go! Right for the balls - You garbage pale child - Oh is that Sofia Nutella?  - There you are you trash son - * Thea wants to touch, Chris does not.” - The outfits here are garbage, they found it in the sewer - I knew it was that song! (Nena plays) - What is that dance. Oh deer - Where is my trash boi? My garbage stink boy - Oh RIP discount Joaquin - *Chris senses her trash son* I can sense him. My trash son - Oh he’s into it *as he’s choked* - He’s so horney. That’s his traits. He’s horny, feral and trash. - Oh his accent son! - Wait? That gets you off????  - I’m gonna name my children Spyglass and Satchel - They are suckers for tradition - It is a dead rabbit! NOOOOOO - OOF! OH RIGHT IN THE NUTS! - My skin in instantly cleared after that scene - OOOOh the turtleneck! Yaaaas! - That is a waste of a good book! - He’s half rat - Noooo honey noooo! You look DIIIIsgusting. Change your clothes! - Why is he so disgusting? Who said he could be this disgusting? Can’t he just look normal and not disgusting! - James get out of here you disgusting garbage man! - I started out with I miss my boy! and now I’m at “get away from me you disgusting man!” - I need to bleach his digustiveness  - LOOK AT THAT UNIT! THAT BARTENDER IS SO CUTE! I can see him in the background - *Cheers with me about my famous “your mum” joke*  - *Accent* “they are gonna fuqq! THEY ARE GONNA KIIIIIS!” - *sees James* EW! EWWWWW! WHAT IS HE WEARING! EWWWW! *dry heaves* - I need to go off on my boy. He deserves it. He’s absolute filth - *dry heaves when she sees James* ewwww! ewwwww! *sees him taking off his cast. Dry heaves louder EW THAT ARM HAS TO SMELL! - Hell yes watchmaking - *Excited about dogs* Whos a good boy? You are! Guess who’s not? JAMES! - *Chris dies ovwer me impersinating her* - I’m so looking forward to watching Inception. I’m gonna see a decent human being. Oh my god he’s gonna bless my ass I swear! - *makes growling sounds when Charlize beats up a man* - She’s beating up Macklemore! - Stab him! Stab him! *chants*  - EWWWW OH NOOOO *when a guy has let's sticking out of his check*  - *laughs at my disgust followed by dry heaving with me* - *both awe over Chris’s dog* - *Both chants Bill! Bill!* - *laughs at another successful Your Mom joke* - Wait for my trash boy? Oh no what are you wearing? Stop being so gross! EWWWWW! WHAT IS THAT COAT! That fur! Ew *gags* It’s probably a raccoon! He caught it with his bare hands! He found it in the garbage where he lives! I have no love for my son. - I hate my hate-love relationship with my son - That one guy was so into it! What the fuck? *laughs* - They are kissing on the loveboat tm? Oh nevermind she has a gun! - Honestly, Thea what is wrong with us? Seriously.  - *Keeps saying WAIT! like 8 times in different pitches* - Get to the fuqing! - HEEEEEY!!! OH WOW oof okay. I’m gonna go look at my wall now. This is wow- they-okay...they spent a lot of time on this scene.  - You trash bastard where are you. THERE HE IS! - DO IT! STAB HIM! YEEEEESSSSSS - Now he’s a murderous trashboy.  - I love that little kiss on the watch *kissing noises* - Oh my god. Is this the next avengers??? they will unite - I wanna see Mr. Grey dominate Thanos for the stones - James’s superpower will be trash. He will throw  - John Goodman is wearing a PB hat, this must be a shared universe - I can smell hikm. Where is he! THERE HE IS! Oh god can you burn that? OH MY GOD - I hope you keel over cause alcohol poisoning you bastard.  - Oh god no!  - *Both thirst over his face* - Why does he always look turned on - Shut up you baby bastard! Fuck you with your stupid, stupid grin. Shove it - The only breeding qualities is his eyes and that accent - The NEECCC - The trash car! - *Chris’s dog suddenly howls* You don’t like the trash boy either! No you don’t! - Oh my god what is that coat! It looks like a garbage bag - Ey! Bill’s back - He’s trying to look cool - Bill is my shining beacon - Awww! he looks like normal human being! He can dress himself! But he chosen not to! - There you go! You look- thank god. I don’t feel like dry heaving anymore - I have to say. With the accent and James in uniform, it tickles my pickle  - Golden boy? You mean trash boy - Ooooh that’s a lewk.  - Bear pussy *wheezes* what the fuck - NOOOOOOOOO! OH! James with your pussy hat - Fuck off James and your posts hat - Your whispering is the equivalent of seaweed against my legGet t - *Bad accent while there is a shootout*  - OH MY GOD SHE KILLED MACKLEMORE! - *Both shouts YEET!* - She went for the NEEEECCCCC - Wait! Did she murk MACKLEMORE? I’M NOT THERE YET WAAAAIT - oh my god! Macklemore is alive! Holy shit! Come on! Murk him! IS HE DEAD! Macklenomore - *both wheezing at that* - *unintelligent yelling same as the guy* - He did *her abuela voice* - She’s a fish! - Where is the trash raccoon in all of this! - *both shouts BILL!* - Oh there he is!  - Look how small he is compared to John Goodman - The accent is back. Beautiful  - *Chris remembers why she loves him cause blue eyes* His English accent when he's mad is my kink - James shut up! *when he makes a rude comment about women*  - No! The RACCOOOON! - Fuck off!  - I love James but I have Pervical  - I mean....Yes I would only if he’s in uniform *talks about how Chris would cling Percival like a tree*  - Can you please sit like a normal human! I can smell your open legged stench from here - Stab the filth! - He’s a dumb hoe in this film - *gags over his fashion*  - Your pain is my happiness when you’re percival James - Can he just do audiobooks with that accent? - *Both thirsting over James’s accent* - Oh goodbye my Trash Prince - Can he fucking take me? - That sound physically hurts when he makes that noise before he cries - I know you're a garbage son but I don’t like seeing you in this much pain - NO HE’S HEAVING NO! - MY BOY! MY BOOOOOY! *cries* - JAMES DID NOTHING! HE WAS JUST FERAØ - Odd choice for London Calling in Paris - Are thy gonna fucc? No she is gonna kiiiiil - *laughing at my joke* - Your brain fucking melted - *Both sings Under Pressure* - Oh this was so good. This movie is so good.  - Thank you Thea, YEEET!

x

[klon13-blog]

Cats' 'mysterious power over humanity'

Nearly half of house cats have physically attacked their owners. Humans' relationship with cats is rife with paradox. There are an estimated 100 million pet cats in the U.S., and their ranks are only growing. "Cat culture" flourishes online. The cat-less can get their fix at "cat cafés" opening across Asia, Europe, and North America. Science of Us spoke with Tucker about the disturbing similarities between cats and lions, the reason cats failed to uphold the Rabbit Suppression Act of 1884, and the somewhat baffling question of why people put up with them. You write that cats are a rather unlikely house pet. Why is that? Cats are uniquely ill-suited for domestication. When people set out to domesticate the first animals, we targeted animals that were easy to keep in confined spaces, and animals that would eat a variety of things -- think of a pig or a goat, which will eat any old swill left over from your kitchen. Cats eat only fancy food, meat that we could eat ourselves. We also tended toward animals that had social hierarchies that we could dominate. Dogs and cattle have lead animals, and we can control them by acting the alpha dog or the lead steer. But cats are solitary animals that don't have social hierarchies. They're hard to physically control, and they don't tolerate confinement well. Usually, you don't have to write a 200-page book to figure out why we domesticated an animal. There's a purpose for the animal, and it's really clear: We want its meat or its milk or its fur or its labor. But what on earth did we want cats around for? As I talked to scientists, it dawned on me that we weren't necessarily the ones who were driving this relationship. House cats sidled up to our first settlements 10,000 years ago, because of big changes we started making to the environment. All of these animals crept into our settlement and were eating our trash -- animals like badgers and foxes, in addition to small wildcats. They got into this new niche and exploited it. So how did they trick us into feeding them and taking care of them? For a long time, it was probably just an accident. But there are reasons that cats made the transition, but we don't have badgers or foxes as pets today. One reason is that cats have a set of physical features that, for completely accidental reasons, remind us of human babies. Cats have big round eyes located right in the middle of their faces, because they're ambush predators and need good binocular vision. They have little noses, because they don't hunt by smell. They have round faces because they have short, powerful jaws. This set of features, which is actually just an expression of the way the cat hunts, looks to us like our infants. That gave them a leg up on the competition, and made them an intriguing and charming presence, rather than a straight-up nuisance, like a raccoon. One justification people give for keeping cats around is that they hunt rodents. I was surprised to learn that cats aren't even that good at killing rats. Cats are magnificent hunters, and they can hunt anything from butterflies to wallabies. They can kill rats but they have no reason to, in our cities. There's plenty of garbage for everybody. Cats and rats have been photographed sharing piles of trash. Why would these animals fight and risk their lives, when they could just comfortably graze together? People have tried it before -- letting a feral cat colony go within a certain area, with the goal of keeping rat populations down. While they might kill a few rats, the populations of rats are so big that there's no way the cats can ever repress them. In colonial Australia, there was this act called the Rabbit Suppression Act of 1884. The Australians released hordes of house cats, because they wanted them to kill off these invasive bunny rabbits, which the British had also released. They even built them little cat houses out in the wilderness, so they would have a place to live. But the cats didn't end up killing off the rabbits. Cats can kill a gazillion rabbits, and there are still more rabbits -- they breed like rabbits. What the cats ended up doing was killing off other more vulnerable, native animals. Cats don't do their assignments the way that dogs do. Pet owners like to say that caring for their dog or cat confers various health benefits -- mental as well as physical. But what do we really know about how having a cat affects our health? There have been all these studies about toxoplasmosis, the cat-borne parasite that can get into human brain tissue. Some scientists think that there's a link between this parasitic disease and mental-health problems, especially schizophrenia. Even if your cat doesn't give you toxoplasmosis, it may not be wonderful for your mental health. There are a few troubling studies that show that having a cat can decrease your likelihood of surviving a heart attack and increase high blood pressure. People who have cats are less likely to be outside in the world, walking their cats, meeting other people in cat parks. And cats may not be as good a substitute for human companionship as other kinds of pets. Dogs and their owners have this lovely synergy -- they gaze into each other's eyes, and both of them have this flow of oxytocin going. That doesn't happen so much with cats. In nature, cats don't live near other cats, and they don't have a good expressive repertoire. One way they communicate is by leaving pheromones and other smells around, which humans are completely oblivious to. We're really not built to communicate with each other. One of the fascinating things about cats is their adaptability. Even though they are fundamentally asocial animals, they've figured out how to manipulate their human hosts. Feral cats don't meow much, but in the presence of humans, cats learn how to communicate to get what they want. They purr in a manner that embeds this insistent, annoying, almost infantlike cry inside of a pleasant purr, to condition their owners to get them food. But is it possible to know if cat owners' mental-health problems are the result of having a cat? Might someone who is already lonely or antisocial be more likely to get a cat? I think it could be both. Somebody who is socially isolated to begin with, or unable to do the rigorous care that a dog needs, might be more likely to get a cat -- but having a cat can be isolating in and of itself. It's interesting that people persistently describe the internet as a digital cat park, where cat people can finally socialize via their pets. I have seen a lot of articles lately about the cat-borne parasite toxoplasmosis. [One researcher blames the rise of insanity in the 19th century on the rise of toxoplasmosis-infected house cats. Another study says that people with toxoplasmosis are twice as likely to be in a car crash, and suggests that infected drivers have been distracted and worn out by persistent low-level sickness. Toxoplasmosis-infected prey animals like chimps and rats, which are usually repulsed by the urine of predators like leopards and rats, are attracted to it instead.] A lot of these stories seem a little bit hysterical. Do you think the fear around toxoplasmosis is warranted? I do think a lot of them are overblown. Scientists agree that the parasite gets into our brain and can be very damaging to human fetuses and people with compromised immune systems, but there isn't a ton of support for the idea that cats are manipulating us via this parasite. I think that the fact that we have glommed onto this idea, and we write so many stories about it, speaks to the fact that cats do have some kind of mysterious power over humanity. These stories about toxoplasmosis remind me of stories that used to come out six or seven hundred years ago about cats and sorcery -- that cats have dark powers we don't understand, that they're witches in disguise. On that note, cat culture seems pretty female. Whether it's witches or "cat ladies," cats seem to always be associated with women -- what's that about? From my experience drifting around the cat world, it does seem to be more of a female-centric passion. The simple, slightly sexist explanation is that cats' infantile-looking features prey particularly on female instincts. There are some interesting ideas from evolutionary psychologists -- that a woman might use a cat to hone her parenting skills or, before having kids, to demonstrate her fitness as a mate. I think that people of both sexes could be guilty of that. It does seem like it's a good way for guys to meet women, to be a passionate public cat-man. Why are cats such an ecological disaster? How did they end up in isolated island environments like Australia? Cats are very good shipboard travelers. They don't need a lot of water; they don't need a lot of vitamin C, so they don't get scurvy. They've been able to endear themselves to sailors for the past 10,000 years and sail across the oceans, which are the major barrier to mammalian dispersal. It's usually hard for mammals to get to places like Australia. They have to ride on rafts or get blown in. A lot of islands don't have any mammals living on them at all, let alone apex predators that are hypercarnivores, like cats. With just a few tweaks, the house cat is basically the king of beasts. Cat species are very different in terms of size, but the feline blueprint -- their behaviors and the proportions of their bodies -- is really consistent across species. You let it go in any environment and it's going to be able to kill anything that's smaller than it, and even things that are a little bigger. It's like a meat-eating machine. You tell stories of house cats clawing and scratching their human owners, especially children. Why do cats so often turn on the people who feed them? Cats and humans haven't lived locked inside the same places, in such numbers, until the last few decades or so. We talked about the implications for our mental health, but this arrangement might not be so great for cats' mental health, either. They can get really stressed out in our houses. A lot of things that we consider normal -- everything from the volume of our voices, to our thermostats, to the way that a child is playing with a toy -- can stress cats out. There's evidence that to prevent cat-human violence, we need to go to more extreme lengths than I'd ever thought. Experts say that you need to give an entire room of your house for the cat's exclusive use. That you should make sure the cat has multiple litter boxes, one per floor, and extra ones for extra cats. That you should never rearrange your furniture. That you should try not to wear perfume. That houseguests are freaky for your cat. You're coming at this subject as a lifelong cat-lover. Did learning all of this -- that cats are bad for your health, bad for the environment -- change your relationship with your cat? Why would you still want to have a cat? I lost a lot of my sentimental regard for cats -- that "oh, my cute fur-baby" response. But I find that I marvel at them more. I can appreciate the backstory, how this little animal managed to carve out a place for itself in the world, and to become a dreaded invasive species and -- culturally speaking -- one of the most powerful animals on the planet. To me, it's about the wonder of life, and how this animal has gotten so far in the world without giving us much in return. I think that makes our relationship more pure. Humans are so good at extracting what they want from the environment. With cats, we're not necessarily holding the reins. We don't even know what we want, but we love it. The interview has been edited and condensed.