#or are just literally selling the thrill of Guns and War

[spushii]

why are leftists on this website unironically complaining about Feminist Killjoys gently reminding everyone that a movie on a corporate IP is trying to sell you something. The movie being good or fun does not mean that it's primary purpose is not to create or increase cultural awareness and good will with consumers so that they can sell something to you

[wkil-109-fmx-radio]

[Zone Info]

Events:

Helium I - Fought between 1993 and 1998 when tensions between governments around the world finally turned to war. Nuclear warfare wiped out Northern-Middle Eurasia, most of South America, South-Eastern North America, and Southern Africa. The war ended when what was left of Europe and Asia surrendered.

The Rise of Better Living Industries - BL/ind started as a weapons manufacturing/power company that rose into a major monopoly and self-governing body that overthrew the US toward the end of the first Helium War. It immediately began an effort to bring “peace” to the nation by ridding the country of all individualism and “radical” beliefs, believing that different ideas would turn into conflict. This quickly turned into ridding the country of creativity and self-expression to make a perfect, crime-free society.

Helium II - Fought between 2006 and 2011 when Better Living Industries had taken control of what was left of North and South America and began attacking the rest of the world, trying to rid the planet of ideas that didn’t match theirs. The East Coast started rebelling against the West Coast, where BL/ind had established their capital in what was once Los Angeles but had been renamed Battery City. A wall of nuclear bombs was dropped around the Rocky Mountains and thanks to the radiation around the globe affecting the radio waves, no one knows for sure whether there is anyone else living on the planet outside of Battery City and its surrounding Zones.

The Rise of the Rebels - Since the very beginning of Better Living Industries’ reign, rebels had appeared. When Battery City was established as BL/ind’s capital city, settlements started popping up in the desert outside of the city. On the East Coast of North America, a massive rebellion effort was led against BL/ind during the second Helium War. As the years passed, more rebels started appearing in Battery City and moving to the desert, eventually renamed The Zones, especially after BL/ind seemed to have destroyed the East Coast rebels. Rebels in the Zones became known as Killjoys and rebels in the city became known as Juvie Halls. Rebels began attacking Better Living Industries factories and facilities, hoping to weaken the company but only resulting in angering BL/ind.

The Fires of 2012 - From April till August of 2012, Better Living Industries began lighting fires across the Zones in an attempt to destroy the Killjoys, as they had grown out of BL/ind’s control. The Fires got out of control and ended up spreading to some Better Living Industries camps and buildings that were still stationed in the Zones. As a result, BL/ind blamed the rebels for the Fires and denied any claims of the truth. The blame being placed on the rebels sparked the start of the Analog Wars.

The Analog Wars - Fought between 2012 and 2017 or, to some, from 2012 to the present. The Analog War wasn’t your usual war; it was mostly small battles in the Zones or sabotage of BL/ind or rebel facilities. Better Living Industries describes it as “an effort to suppress the rebels and their radical and dangerous ideals.” During the war, BL/ind established the Draculoid and S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W units.

The Pig Bombs of 2017 - On July 4, 2017, Better Living Industries dropped a series of bombs in Zone 8 to destroy the Killjoy farming communities that were settled there. BL/ind had previously withheld using nuclear weapons in the Zones because they didn’t want the radiation destroying Battery City so they settled for dropping them in Zone 8, although they ended up also destroying several important Better Living Industries facilities in the process. The bombs wiped Zones 7, 8, and 9 off the map, left some places in Zone 6 uninhabitable, and created a wall of radiation around the Zones and Battery City, trapping them and isolating them from the rest of the world. This marked the end of the Analog Wars, although some believe that since there was no official surrender or treaty, the war is still going on.

Places:

Battery City - The capital of whatever is left of the US that Better Living Industries can control. In Battery City, the citizens are required to take “Happy Pills.” In the city, BL/ind controls the weather, the way people dress, where kids go to school, and where adults work. Every citizen has a set routine, sent to them in the morning along with their medication. In the center of Battery City is the Better Living Industries headquarters which is the tallest building and largest complex in the city and home to the Director, the head of BL/ind.

The Underground - The subway systems under Battery City where many juvie halls live and plot against Better Living Industries. “The Underground” doesn’t always literally mean the subway systems and can be used as a relative term for anywhere juvie halls may live.

The Outskirts - The edge of Battery City, bordering Zone 1. This is where lower-class citizens live, along with some juvie halls, as this is the least regulated part of the city.

The Zones - The desert surrounding Battery City, where the Killjoys live. As the number of the Zone gets higher, so does the population, as the Killjoys like to be as far away from Battery City and BL/ind headquarters as possible.

Route Guano - The most used interstate in the Zones, running from south-eastern Battery City all the way out past Zone 6.

The Getaway Mile - The interstate south of Route Guano, which is shorter and goes more south but is often used for quick escapes from Battery City.

Death Valley - The area outside of Zone 6 that is dangerous and completely uninhabitable due to the extreme radiation.

Lighthouses - Well-known places across the Zones that provide sanctuary for Killjoys on the run

Train Station Avenue - A popular lighthouse along Route Guano in Zone 5 that is notorious for fights, food, and hitchhikers

The Nest - The largest lighthouse in the Zones, located next to DESTROYA in Zone 4

DESTROYA Site - The home of DESTROYA, a massive droid built by Better Living Industries to destroy the Killjoys during the Analog Wars but ended up malfunctioning and turning against them. The droid was shot down and has remained there ever since.

The Bunker - An underground bunker turned nightclub in Zone 6, popular for raves and huge amounts of attendees

Witch’s Hut - A small hut in Zone 6 where a supposed prophet of the Phoenix Witch lives

The Tracks - A race track in Zone 5 used for competitive drag races where parties are held and bets are placed for your favorite racers

Vocabulary:

Angel Cake - Killjoys who travel across the Zones selling food for cheaper prices

Audition - Initiation rituals that gangs in or outside of Battery City may have for you to be able to join. What you have to do varies from gang to gang

Babysitter - a term used to poke fun at a gang leader but also used as a genuine term for gang leaders who may be visibly older than the rest of the gang

Bacon - dead or dying Dracs and Crows

Batt out of hell - a term for new Killjoys but not used in a derogatory way

Batt Rat - a derogatory term used by Sand Pups to describe new Killjoys who just escaped the city and don’t know the Zone ways

Black Smith - someone who’s good at repairing or modifying technology or cars

Bifrost - places in the Zones that were so greatly affected by bombs, that the sand turned to glass

Blanket drive - driving at night with the headlights off, the windows down, and the music turned up loud

Carbons - The currency used in Battery City and the Zones. One carbon equals four dollars

Chilly - something or someone that’s suspicious

Clap - a physical fight

Cloud - A large group of Draculoids and S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W traveling through the Zones

Compass Rose - a Killjoy who knows the desert like the back of their hand

Costa Rica - things that went crazy or got out of control

Crash Queen - a daredevil or thrill seeker who is known for doing things that could easily get them killed and doesn’t care

Deadfaced - taking Battery Acid

Dead Pegasus - a fuel company in the Zones

Debut album - someone’s first love

Digital - An important moment shared amongst two or more rebels that they know they will never forget

Draculoid - droids and brainwashed Killjoys designed to kill rebels. Also called "bats" or "Dracs"

Drifter - someone who lives a nomadic lifestyle and strays from commitment in relationships

Drifting - A relationship that isn’t strictly anything but simply some sort of attraction between two individuals. A sort of go-with-the-flow, whatever happens, happens kind of relationship

Drive sidestreet - another way to tell someone to piss off. Also could use “get off the highway”

Dust Trail - an urban legend or a term used by non-religious Killjoys to describe religious Killjoys’ beliefs

ElectroKat - the most popular battery brand in Battery City and the Zones

Exterminators - High ranking Better Living Industries officials placed in charge of S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W units

Fact News - The one news program in Battery City, notorious for spreading lies to the citizens

Favorite Record - someone’s significant other

Firefight - a fight using ray guns

Fly half-mast - that state after having recently lost someone close to you

Gearhead - someone who’s obsessed with all things mechanical

Gemini - someone suspected of being a spy for Better Living Industries

Ghost Chase - Searching the Zones for someone who is possibly, or most likely, dead

Ghosted - killed. Also can use "dusted"

Graffiti Bible - A collection of religious writings across the Zones, mostly talking about how DESTROYA will come back to life and destroy Battery City and the Phoenix Witch

Gravehead - crazy Killjoys who have lost everyone and everything and throw themselves into dangerous situations

Gravity - anything that brings you down

Groupie - someone who travels with different gangs and trades favors for food, water, and protection

Halo Head - religious Killjoys who believe their beliefs put them above everyone else, especially non-religious Killjoys

Happy Pills - Pills issued by Better Living Industries that they say will lift your spirits and protect you from the radiation but make you more submissive and easier for BL to control. The rebels call them "Battery Acid"

Hit the red line - run away, usually from a bad/dangerous situation

Icy - when someone dies or goes missing in a suspicious way

Juvie Hall - rebels who haven’t left the city, usually because they can’t or because they’re working with the Killjoys to smuggle supplies out to the Zones and/or give them information from the city

Killjoy - rebels who live in the Zones

Lawyer - someone who ruins all the fun

Mailbox - small landmarks in the Zones where an old mailbox is painted and decorated and filled with letters, mostly to people that other Killjoys have lost. The more religious Killjoys believe the Phoenix Witch delivers the letters put in the mailboxes to the dead

Maple Plaza - Places in Zone 6 where radiation is still very thick and dangerous

Mega - interchangeable with "wicked"

Motorbabies - people who live and breathe all things car-related

Mousekat - a cartoon character from Battery City

Murder - a magazine in the Zones with Zone news

Pangea - A friendly gathering of two or more gangs

Paperboy - someone who travels across the Zones collecting news, gossip, and reporting deaths, usually for Dr. D or Murder magazine

Phoenix Witch - a supposed deity of the Zones, looking out for the rebels and carrying the souls of the dead into the afterlife

Pigs - another term for Dracs and Crows

Plus - A battery replenisher used by droids that are known for being highly addictive

Power Pup - a pre-moistened dog kibble brand that is often the only source of food in the Zones

Ray Gun - guns that shoot high-powered lasers instead of bullets. Rebels often customize them

Rebel - anyone who actively works against Better Living Industries

Ritalin Rat - drug addicts, usually used for those addicted to Happy Pills but can be used for Zoneweed addicts as well

Robin Hood Honey - party going Killjoys that look beautiful but don’t act like it

Rongee Kay - Killjoys who wander from party to party

Royal - something fancy or high end

Runners - juvie halls who smuggle supplies into the Zones

Sand Pup - someone born in the Zones or someone who has lived there most of their life

Sand Worm - a derogatory term for Killjoys used by Better Living Industries

S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W - BL loyalists specially trained to destroy anything they deem worthy of destroying. Also called "Crows"

Screwhead - someone who parties too much and thinks too little

Shiny Magazine - a magazine for mature readers in the Zones

Shiny - interchangeable with "awesome" or "cool"

Shower Curtain - A rare day when the sun is behind the clouds and the heat isn’t so unbearable

Smiley - someone acting suspiciously

Sour - something off

Squeaky - not having committed a crime against Better Living Industries but still wanting to rebel against them. Also used when someone seems to avoid fights or dangerous situations even though they’ve never done that before

Static - another word for sand or remote areas of the Zones

Trojan Horse - a painfully obvious lie

Tumbleweed - someone who wanders the Zones, living a nomadic lifestyle, having no home or gang

Vend-a-Hack - A device used by Killjoys to hack into Better Living Industries vending machines to steal various supplies

Vending Machine - Dispense a variety of items, including ray guns, batteries, ammo, stickers, stress toys, Plus, Power Pup, and water

WKIL 109 FMX - Doctor D’s pirate radio station that plays news and music

Zone Rat - a derogatory term for Killjoys used by Better Living Industries and some Battery City citizens

Zoneweed - a popular drug grown and passed around in the Zones

[heresathreebee]

Garrote part 12

[Starz Power Diego Jimenez X Jazmine Mann (Black!OC)]

Summary: Healy and the Jimenez’ are gearing up for war. Jazmine’s getting antsy waiting for something to go horribly wrong. Previous Masterlist Next

Rating/Warning(s): Mature (+18 or I call the police). post-coitus fluff, swearing, anxiety, time skip, canon typical violence (I think...?), all plot, gringo using google translate Spanish and half remembered high school classes (sorry in advance), mentions of grooming/pedophilia (don’t worry, Porsche’s OK)

Word count: 2.2k words

Author’s Note(s): yeah so I wrote this back in December and just didn’t have the heart to put it out. I wanted to try and finish the other chapters (thinking I’m gonna wrap up at seventeen chapters) and I couldn’t. I have a problem with finishing anything I start, it never feels strong enough. I’m gonna try not to let that stop me though, promise. 

Waking up in Diego’s arms, Jazmine never expected to feel so calm. Truth be told she didn't really wake up, but drifted in and out of sweet harmonious consciousness to find Diego, whether he was cradling her or sitting up or rubbing her back. She finally managed to convince herself to get out of bed and by then it was already 2 in the afternoon. Diego had his pants and shoes back on but nothing else, so she relaxed a little. 

"You need to eat," he whispered, "come on, get dressed." 

Jazmine blinked slowly. "I need a shower. Maybe a wheelchair, too." 

She didn't miss the proud smirk that suddenly graced his handsome features. As he put on his shirt, Jazmine glanced past him at the open door of the closet. It was empty inside save for a few hangers, but it left a bad taste in her mouth and a lump in her throat. Diego followed her line of sight and said nothing. He let her shower, never more than five feet away (which is exactly how far the shower curtain is to the bathroom door). They ate somewhere family friendly, a pancake house she barely remembered the name of. Her legs still suffered from tremors and her pelvic region ached, but they were good feelings and she tried to make them last as they put a smile on her face. 

~

It's been about a week and Jazmine has seen neither hide nor hair of Haagen and it's starting to worry her. 

The only relief she had been able to accrue these past few days had been Healy's announcement that they had made a huge connection and were in the process of setting up task forces to take Haagen down. Alicia was confident that Haagen knew nothing and was continuing on with business as usual (or so she heard through the grapevine), and even Diego seemed to be relaxed about it. 

That was another thing that bothered her. Diego, relaxed. Diego doing more hands on business and clubbing at all hours of the night. He'd barely said two words to her after coming to the rescue and fucking her silly in front of Haagen. 

Sitting alone in the penthouse, Jazmine scratched at every itch and tugged on every baby hair like her skin was diseased. She didn't want to go outside, she was too afraid of Haagen's next move. She had been texting her mother regularly again just so she wouldn't call and have to explain why she sounded so nervous. It would have taken LaShawn all of ten seconds to realize something was wrong: so why couldn't anybody else see it? 

Maybe she was overreacting. Jazmine drew a hot bath in the jacuzzi sized tub and turned the jets on, finding bubble bath solution and a pink rubber ducky to cradle. The bathroom had a dimmer switch she turned down to near zero and let silky smooth R&B from the 90's wash her worries away. Her fingers worked to squeeze the ducky like a stress ball, and a traitorous part of her brain whispered longing thoughts. 

I wish Diego was here to massage my back.

She shushed her thoughts: at least the bath is perfectly hot. 

She washed her body and spent the better part of the day deep conditioning her hair and shaving her legs just for the hell of it. The music never stopped, it simply rolled from R&B to classic rock and then back again. Miguel checked in only to make sure she ate, and Jazmine managed to convince him to eat with her and play a co-op mobile game for a few hours. She plucked at the listening device in her ear for the thousandth time and decided to just call Healy. 

"Hey can't talk right now," were all the words she got out of him on the second call and then an immediate hang up. 

Jazmine growled and crossed her arms, suddenly reminded she was still wearing nothing but a bathrobe. She slipped into a pair of jeans and a tank top, and feeling bold, she marched up to Diego’s room and swiped a black button down that smelled like him. She tucked it unbuttoned into her pants and swanned up to the penthouse roof with a bottle of wine and one glass. 

She knew she would miss this level of extravagance. Never worrying about paying for rent or for food or selling her time and labor for someone else and next to nothing pay. Jazmine wondered what Diego would say to becoming her sugar daddy after this whole human trafficking business was over, but shook her head and topped her drink off. 

Probably overstayed my welcome, she thinks, that’s why Diego’s been distant lately. 

~

Jazmine was unnaturally quiet on her end, though Healy recognized the tinkling sound of bottle to glass. Probably on her fourth drink if he was counting correctly. No matter– she was safe for now at Diego’s penthouse suite and there were more pressing matters to attend to at the moment. Brasa was leaning over each and every agent sat in the boardroom as if to intimidate them into obeying her every command. She was a good detective, really she was, she just needed to work on trusting the people who trusted her. Her partner Holbrooke was no help at all– selective mutism was a nasty habit to overcome. Brasa had not breathed a word of thanks in Healy’s direction, but he had expected that. This wasn’t about the praise– it was about justice. 

When he could finally break away for coffee and a piss, he sent a text to Alicia. No doubt los hermanos Jimenez would be thrilled with the intel– but what would happen next? 

The safest place for Jazmine right now is Diego’s place, he thought, but for how much longer?

~

An address and a transcribed photograph of the documents they came from. Healy had told them that the most likely scenario for Porsche’s whereabouts was ‘adoption’ by people who did not want any adoption documents to surface later on. The family probably has prestige, they may have lost a child recently and are looking to replace it like a goldfish and hope no one notices. 

It didn’t stop Diego’s trigger finger from inching closer and closer to his gun at every small pump of the breaks. 

“Tranquil, hermano,” Alicia soothed. “We’re almost there. We can kill them after we get la pequena back.” 

Diego sniffed and hopped out of the car as soon as it finally parked. Alicia was right behind him, checking her peripherals on the well lit streets of this upscale neighborhood. It was them two and one guard each, a second car bearing two underlings coming in from the back door and four cars with heavily armed back up around the corner in case things went south. Brother and sister climbed the porch steps idly, slipping their guns back into their hidey spots before knocking on the front door…

~

“Fuck.” 

Jazmine’s phone battery flashed at 3%. She didn’t remember finishing the bottle, but she did really have to pee so she stood up from the pool’s edge to relieve herself. Miguel was asleep on the white leather couches in the living room, mouth open and drooling with his gun on the table. The woman’s steps were a little unsteady and her vision came in waves, but she felt that fuzzy warm buzz and decided she had better not drive. 

She shook the young man awake with a sigh. “Hey, I left something at my apartment. Can you drive me?” 

Miguel pursed his lips. “I don’t think jefe would want–” 

“Please,” she said, “it’s important.” 

Miguel relented, swiping the keys to a Ferrari from the rack by the elevator and handed Jazmine her coat. Just a few more items she couldn't live without. The way Miguel drove meant they were there in no time at all, and every light they passed by in the dark somehow made Jazmine feel lighter, less jittery and anxious. She had Miguel drop her off by the backside of the apartment and climbed the steps alone after insisting she would only be a minute. All of her doors and windows were locked, the place looked exactly as she had left it. 

“Thank god.” 

She had to search for her charger, a sparkly teal thing with a cat and an alligator charm on it. She found it hiding under her bed, then found her way into the bathroom to check on her face in the mirror. Jazmine fingered the black hickeys on her neck, smiling to herself. She caught sight of something white hanging out of the trash and dug it out: her Chicago shirt. Stuffing it into her back pocket next to her phone charger, Jazmine took one last look at her apartment and blew a kiss to it. 

“Bye,” she whispered, peaking into the dark and lingering on the memories she was about to leave behind forever until finally the lock clicked into place. Oh shit, this was the wrong door. Miguel was waiting out back– 

Pop-pop-pop

Gunshots rang out from behind the building, the returning fire was short and stilted, overwhelmed by the repetition of an automatic. Jazmine took to the stairs at the far side of the building and ran down them wishing she was in something other than slippers. Her heart began to pound in her chest and her breath billowed in heavy clouds before disappearing. The second she stepped off of the last stair, she tripped. Her flimsy footwear slid on the thin layer of ice and she fell, her eyes and ears following the clink clink plop noise of her phone literally going down a storm drain. 

She barely had time to scramble back to her feet before she heard tires come screeching around the corner down the street and she stumbled into a run. 

Jazmine wasn’t sure how far she’d gone, and she can’t recall how many streets she turned on, or even if she was being chased at all. Every sound made her jump, and every car coming her way made her anxious. Her lungs burned for air as she finally collapsed against the window of a minimart. There were tears streaming down her cheeks as she pushed the door open to hide among the tiny rows of snacks and gum and cigarettes and refrigerated beverages. The store owner was wearing headphones and didn't bother looking up. Deep breath in. Exhausted, shaking breath out. Jazmine curled tightly around herself to try and calm down before her heart exploded in her chest. 

~

Alicia and Diego have the father on his knees and bloodied. His wife and children are being held upstairs in one of the bedrooms, terrified. Diego wipes at a small spot of blood from his sister's face. 

"Donde esta el bebe?," Diego said, grasping the man's ear and dragging his head back to look at him. "I won't ask you again." 

"What baby?" The man coughed dryly, his eyes nearly swollen shut but still glimmering in fear. "I don't know what you're talking about." 

Alicia kneeled down in her white pantsuit. "The baby you bought from Jeremy Haagen, Mr. Fletcher. A beautiful little girl with dusky hair and big brown eyes. A baby that belongs to us." 

Fletcher squirms under the murderous gaze of los hermanos Jimenez but doesn’t break. 

“You know, Diego,” Alicia said leaning on her brother’s shoulder, “I didn’t see a fourth bedroom.” 

Diego pursed his lips. “So?” 

“So the contract specified a room for our mariposa, and he already has two children. Where’s the other room?” Alicia’s heels clicked as the gear turned in Diego’s head. “I bet la senorita Fletcher might know.” 

“No, please,” he begged, “leave my wife out of this– she’s got nothing to do with this!” 

“So you do know what we’re talking about,” Diego’s aha motion garnered a vague threat with the point of his gun– gold plated, of course. Emeralds in the hilt this time. 

“Secretly adopting a baby girl,” Alicia tsked, kneeling before Fletcher and brandishing a knife, “when you have two perfectly healthy girls of your own? Ay dios mio, what’s the matter? Three’s your lucky number, but your wife doesn’t put out anymore?” 

Fletcher stumbled hard over his words and made next to no sense. One thing that did make it clear through the haze of nonsense struck a nerve with the Jimenezes: “I didn’t know she’d be that young!” 

Alicia exchanged a queasy look with her brother. She had heard of it before: grooming. Usually starts when a girl is anywhere between nine and eighteen. Fletcher continued to ramble, about hiring a nanny and raising the baby anyway since Haagen didn’t do resales. He was probably just trying to get the baby off his hands…

Before Diego could pull the trigger, his phone rang. So did Alicia’s, both projecting the same number from a burner phone and three emojis to designate the caller: Healy. Alicia answered for Diego, jerking her head towards the door and mouthing, ‘I’ll take care of it from here.’ Diego reluctantly slipped outside, glaring at the nosy neighbors in the window who disappeared in a flash. He put the phone to his ear just in time to hear:

“– I need you to get to Nassau now: Jazmine’s in trouble.”

@mental-bycatch @kid-from-new-zealand @1zashreena1 @girlpornparadise @nicke0115 let me know if I missed anybody, I’m sorry it’s been so long

[mirrorfalls]

Lego Liveblogs ST: TOS, part 8 (of who-the-hell-knows-how-many?)

And here we are, the first one I literally know nothing about by reputation. Balance of Terror is a nice enough title, punchy if a bit generic - let's see where it takes us.

* We're wasting no time with this one, folks. Thirty seconds into a happy wedding ceremony and we get an honest-to-Great Bird call to battle. * This is a nice sci-fi touch, really - despite having fought out-and-out nuclear war with them, Earth still has no idea what the Romulans look like, because space is just That Damn Big and there just wasn't the tech to take POWs. ** Which begs the question, though: how do they know the Romulans ever acknowledged this treaty? * Why hello there, Casualty-of-the-Week. So nice of you to drop that bit of family history. * You can't make flirting work, guys. Stick to technobabble. * Ooh, that must've hurt. * A nice bit of leadership from Kirk - you don't want to go hopping into war on one hothead's say-so, but you also want to assure you're at least willing to listen to him. ** That said, if this leads to a giant witch-hunt aboard the ship, I retain my right to backtrack. *** Like right now. * The Romulans have... Spock Ears! It shouldn't work as a dundundun cliffhanger nearly this well, but somehow it does. ** On a general note - the Space Roman costumes are obviously silly as hell, the pseudo-Vulcan makeup even moreso (I understand later seasons will be overhauling them dramatically), but there's something interesting to be said about how Trek's first Enemy Planet, smack in the middle of this Cold War parable, is based off a Western icon. A memory, perhaps, of who the instigator of the last real-life Great War fashioned his empire after? * Also an interesting choice: introducing the hardasses (on both ships) as being right about everything. Granted, I suppose this Commander guy is supposed to be Kirk's counterpart, not the random crewman's. * Back on the Enterprise: a multi-sided debate where you're not quite sure of the motive behind anyone's argument. Does Spock really think it's best to go in guns-blazing, or is he just looking to temper the Vulcan-hater with a little reverse psychology? Is Bones really opposed to attacking, or does he just want to offer counterbalance? And then there's good old Sulu, raising all kinds of practical concerns... * ... whoa, they're actually going through with it? I thought they'd wait at least another act for that. * D'aww, what a humanizing moment for The Enemy. Sure hope one of the sequels didn't retroactively ruin it! * Okay, in all honesty, I was expecting this to be a "Crew must learn to Overcome their internal bigotry if they want to beat the Romulans" fable. But all signs point to something bigger than that, which is a pleasant surprise. * Ouch. ** Maybe friend's-corpse-as-decoy has been done in a hundred WWII pictures by the time this ep aired, but it got me all the same. (And really, how many would've humanized the Enemy doing it?) * Two ships in the Neutral Zone, first to breathe loses. Let's do this. * That is the most I-told-you-so smirk I've seen in my life. * So Kirk's having buyer's-remorse over his sabre-rattling. I'm not sure Bones' peptalk really gets past boilerplate on any level, but what the hell, Kelley manages to sell it. * Oboy. Looks like we're not done with the Bigotry-is-Bad moral after all. * Holy fuck ** Tearing out your own self-destruct system and tossing it at the enemy? Sorry, Starfleet, but that is officially more Metal than anything you've ever come up with. * So Kirk's jumps on the first excuse to get the Vulcan-hater on a separate deck from Spock. Shrewd... is what I would say if it didn't also put him in charge of all the guns. ** And then Spock has to go down to the gundeck, anyway. Well, at least we've learned that Bigotry is Bad. ** Can we take this as proof that Spock now has the biggest bodycount of the entire crew? * "What purpose will it serve to die?" "Well, it saves me from getting put on trial for attacking your outposts and getting executed anyway, sooo..." * One casualty on the Federation's side? Not bad for a day's work. ** Even if the wedding is off forever now. Cry as long as you need to, sweetheart. The Captain's here.

Welp, eight episodes (plus a pilot) in, and I've found it. The first one that stands up as legitimately good, thrilling, coherent television, from head to tail. There are still headscratchy bits here and there (do recall that no matter how much of an Awesome and Worthy Adversary he is, that Romulan attacked a bunch of Earth outposts for no reason), and maybe it counts more as Space Opera than science-fiction, but its pacing, cliffhangers, and little character moments are all ten for fucking ten. A leading candidate for any fan's rewatch pile.

(And, even if she's barely got three lines in the thing - a worthy note for Grace Lee Whitney to bow out on.)

Next: Sugar, spice, and everything nice... these were the ingredients chosen to create the perfect sci-fi script. But Gene Roddenberry accidentally added an extra ingredient to the concoction: Freudian rocks.

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #482

Top Ten Sega Games

So I read somewhere on the internet that in June it’s the thirtieth birthday of Sonic the Hedgehog (making him only a couple of months younger than my brother, which is weird). This is due to his debut game, the appropriately-titled Sonic the Hedgehog, being first released on June 23rd. As such – and because I do love a good Tenuous Link – I’ve decided to dedicate this week’s list to Sega (also there was that Sonic livestream and announcement of new games, so I remain shockingly relevant).

I’ve got a funny relationship with Sega, largely because I’ve got a funny relationship with last century’s consoles in general. As I’ve said before, I never had a console growing up, and never really felt the need for one; I came from a computing background, playing on other people’s Spectrums and Commodores before getting my own Amiga and, later, a PC. And I stuck with it, and that was fine. But it does mean that, generally speaking, I have next to zero nostalgia for any game that came out on a Nintendo or Sega console (or Sony, for that matter). I could chew your ear off about Dizzy, or point-and-click adventure games, or Team 17, or Sensible Software, or RTS games, or FPS games, or whatever; but all these weird-looking Japanese platform games, or strange, unfamiliar RPGs? No idea. In fact, I remember learning what “Metroidvania” meant about five years ago, and literally saying out loud, “oh, so it’s like Flashback, then,” because I’d never played a (2D) Metroid or Castlevania game. Turns out they meant games that were, using the old Amiga Action terminology, “Arcade Adventures”. Now it makes sense.

Despite all this, I did actually play a fair few Sega games, as my cousins had a Mega Drive. So I’d get to have a bash at a fair few of them after school or whatever. This meant that, for a while, I was actually more of a Sega fan than a Nintendo one, a situation that’s broadly flipped since Sega stopped making hardware and Nintendo continued its gaming dominance. What all of this means, when strung together, is that I have a good deal of affection for some of the classics of Sega’s 16-bit heyday, but I don’t have the breadth or depth of knowledge you’d see from someone who, well, actually owned a console before the original Xbox. Yeah, sure, there are lots of games I liked back then; and probably quite a few that I still have warm nostalgic feelings for, even if they’re maybe not actually very good (Altered Beast, for instance, which I’m reliably informed was – to coin a very early-nineties phrase – “pants”, despite my being fond of it at the time). Therefore this list is probably going to be quite eccentric when compared to other “Best of Sega” lists. Especially because in the last couple of decades Sega has become a publisher for a number of development studios all around the world, giving support and distribution to the makers of diverse (and historically non-console) franchises as Total War and Football Manager. These might not be the fast-moving blue sky games one associates with Sega, but as far as I’m concerned they’re a vital part of the company’s history as it moved away from its hardware failures (and the increasingly lacklustre Sonic franchise) and into new waters. And just as important, of course, are their arcade releases, back in the days when people actually went to arcades (you know, I have multi-format games magazines at my parents’ house that are so old they actually review arcade games. Yes, I know!).

So, happy birthday, Sonic, you big blue bugger, you. Sorry your company pooed itself on the home console front. Sorry a lot of your games over the past twenty years have been a bit disappointing. But in a funny way you helped define the nineties, something that I personally don’t feel Mario quite did. And your film is better than his, too.

Crazy Taxi (Arcade, 1999): a simple concept – drive customers to their destination in the time limit – combined with a beautiful, sunny, blue skied rendition of San Francisco, giving you a gorgeous cityscape (back when driving round an open city was a new thrill), filled with hills to bounce over and traffic to dodge. A real looker twenty years ago, but its stylised, simple graphics haven’t really dated, feeling fittingly retro rather than old-fashioned or clunky. One of those games that’s fiendishly difficult to master, but its central hook is so compelling you keep coming back for more.

Sonic the Hedgehog 2 (Mega Drive, 1992): games have rarely felt faster, and even if the original Sonic’s opening stages are more iconic, overall I prefer the sequel. Sonic himself was one of those very-nineties characters who focused on a gentle, child-friendly form of “attitude”, and it bursts off the screen, his frown and impatient foot-tapping really selling it. the gameplay is sublime, the graphics still really pop, and the more complex stages contrast nicely with the pastoral opening. Plus it gave us Tails, the game industry’s own Jar Jar Binks, who I’ll always love because my cousin made me play as him all the time.

Medieval II: Total War (PC, 2006): I’ll be honest with you, this game is really the number one, I just feel weird listing “Best Sega Games” and then putting a fifteen-year-old PC strategy game at the top of the pile. But what can I say? I like turn-based PC strategy games, especially ones that let you go deep on genealogy and inter-familial relationships in medieval Europe. everyone knows the real-time 3D battles are cool – they made a whole TV show about them – but for me it’s the slow conquering of Europe that’s the highlight. Marrying off princesses, assassinating rivals, even going on ethically-dubious religious crusades… I just love it. I’ve not played many of the subsequent games in the franchise, but to be honest I like this setting so much I really just want them to make a third Medieval game.

Sega Rally Championship (Arcade, 1994): what, four games in and we’re back to racing? Well, Sega make good racing games I guess. And Sega Rally is just a really good racing game. Another one of those that was a graphical marvel on its release, it has a loose and freewheeling sense of fun and accessibility. Plus it was one of those games that revelled in its open blue skies, from an era when racing games in the arcades loved to dazzle you with spectacle – like when a helicopter swoops low over the tracks. I had a demo of this on PC, too, and I used to race that one course over and over again.

After Burner (Arcade, 1987): there are a lot of arcade games in this list, but when they’re as cool as After Burner, what can you do? This was a technological masterpiece back in the day: a huge cockpit that enveloped you as you sat in the pilot’s seat, joystick in hand. The whole rig moved as you flew the plane, and the graphics (gorgeous for their time) wowed you with their speed and the way the horizon shifted. I was, of course, utterly crap at it, and I seem to remember it was more expensive than most games, so my dad hated me going on it. But it was the kind of thrilling experience that seems harder to replicate nowadays.

Virtua Cop (Arcade, 1994): I used to love lightgun games in the nineties. This despite being utterly, ridiculously crap at them. I can’t aim; ask anyone. But they felt really cool and futuristic, and also you could wave a big gun around like you were RoboCop or something. Virtua Cop added to the fun with its cool 3D graphics. Whilst I’d argue Time Crisis was better, with a little paddle that let you take cover, Cop again leveraged those bright Sega colours to give us a beautiful primary-coloured depiction of excessive ultra-violence and mass death.

Two Point Hospital (PC, 2018): back once again to the point-and-clickers, with another PC game only nominally Sega. But I can’t ignore it. Taking what was best about Theme Hospital and updating it for the 21st Century, TPH is a darkly funny but enjoyably deep management sim, with cute chunky graphics and an easy-to-use interface (Daughter #1 is very fond of it). The console adaptations are good, too. I’d love to see where Two Point go next. Maybe to a theme park…?

Jet Set Radio Future (Xbox, 2002): I never had a Dreamcast. But I remember seeing the original Jet Set Radio – maybe on TV, maybe running on a demo pod in Toys ‘R’ Us or something – and being blown away. It was the first time I’d ever seen cel shading, and it was a revelation; just a beautiful technique that I didn’t think was possible, that made the game look like a living cartoon. Finally being able to play the sequel on my new Xbox was terrific, because the gameplay was excellent too: a fast-paced game of chaining together jumps and glides, in a city that was popping with colour and bursting with energy. Felt like playing a game made entirely of Skittles and Red Bull.

The Typing of the Dead (PC, 2000): The House of the Dead games were descendants of Virtua Cop’s lightgun blasting, but with zombies. Yeah, cool; I liked playing them at the arcades down at Teesside Park, in the Hollywood Bowl or the Showcase cinema. But playing this PC adaptation of the quirky typing-based spin-off was something else. A game where you defeat zombies by correctly typing “cow” or “bottle” or whatever as quickly as possible? A game that was simultaneously an educational typing instructor and also a zombie murder simulator? The fact that the characters are wearing Ghostbusters-style backpacks made of Dreamcast consoles and keyboards is just a seriously crazy detail, and the way the typing was integrated into the gameplay – harder enemies had longer words, for instance – was very well done. A bonkers mini-masterpiece.

Mario and Sonic at the Olympic Games Tokyo 2020 (Switch, 2019): the very fact that erstwhile cultural enemies Mario and Sonic would ever share a game at all is the stuff of addled mid-nineties fever dreams; like Downey’s Tony Stark sharing the screen with Bale’s Batman (or Affleck’s Batman, who the hell cares at this point). The main thing is, it’s still crazy to think about it, even if it’s just entirely ordinary for my kids, sitting their unaware of the Great Console Wars of the 1990s. Anyway, divorced of all that pan-universal gladhanding, the games are good fun, adapting the various Olympic sports with charm, making them easy-to-understand party games, often with motion control for the benefit of the youngs and the olds. I don’t remember playing earlier games extensively, but the soft-RPG trappings of the latest iteration are enjoyable, especially the retro-themed events and graphics. Earns a spot in my Top Ten for its historic nature, but it’s also thoroughly enjoyable in its own right.

Hey, wouldn’t it be funny if all those crazy internet rumours were actually true, and Microsoft did announce it was buying Sega this E3? This really would feel like a very timely and in some ways prescient list.

[izzy-b-hands]

SHOT A GUN??!? LEE OMG, now you have to tell the story cause i'm curious (same goes to ruined a surprise)

From this post, for reference for anyone seeing this who hasn’t scrolled my blog today lol

The ruined a surprise one was pretty tame, and actually has happened more than once. As a kid, I would be told not to tell my mum or another family member about a surprise being done for them for their birthday. But I always wanted to make folks happy, and that was such good news to give them, my tiny brain would tell me. So inevitably I would roll up to the Birthday Person like a week before their party and be like “wouldn’t it be cool if you had [surprise thing X] at your party? Wouldn’t that be the best?” And they would go “Is that thing going to be at my party?” and I would immediately start giggling and give away the surprise lmao. My family still doesn’t tell me surprise stuff in advance now, and tbh, that’s fair. Though I will say, I have halted my ruining of surprises lol.

Put the gun story under a cut for safety’s sake. TW for mentions of abuse mentions of rape, mentions of death, hunting (idk if it’s a trigger for anyone else, but it is for me, so I’m adding it here), and racism.

The gun story is...more lol. My ex-stepdad was a proper Midwestern racist, sexist, homophobic, redneck asshole who loved guns and the flag more than anything else (aside from himself, naturally) and as a part of trying to “bond” with me before he ended up proposing to my mum (after barely six months of dating! And she said yes! But that’s another tale) he tried to teach me and get me to use all the weapons he loved so much.

Now, the bow and arrow I legit did and do still love. I never get to use it now, but I have a bow and my arrows with their hunting tips, and refuse to get rid of them in case I ever get a chance to go to a range again and shoot some of those foam cubes (my fave targets to use.) However, he was not content for me to just use that, and he really wanted to take me hunting. 

Few issues with that: 

-At the time, I was a middle schooler campaigning against the wars in the Middle East, using what little platform I had as a kid to protest; namely wearing an actual peace sign necklace to school and challenging other kids to debates about the wars. My government and history teachers did enjoy me for that, though I will never forget the government class where they let me go up against the entire class in debate. In one corner, seventh grade me, against the wars and war in general while still respecting that at least some soldiers are people who want to do good and think they can do it by being recruited but also acknowledging that the military targets minorities of all kinds knowing they can be more vulnerable to wanting to help others, and the military can prey on that to recruit people. In the other corner, the literal rest of my class, who were all too happy to pile on me about things not even related to the debate, even the ones who admitted they were on my side of the debate, but chose to instead use this opportunity to yell at me. 

-As a result of the above point and other things, I Did Not and Do Not like guns. Not comfortable around them for many reasons, and since that age have believed in gun control. 

-Also a result of the above point, was for peace in general and was not a fan of hunting. As I grew, I learned that there are some cases where hunting is actually needed to cull populations so they don’t overrun areas, but seventh grade me didn’t know that, and just wanted all animals to be allowed to live without people like my then-stepdad hunting them. Tbh, they still should be able to live without my ex-stepdad hunting them, because he should not be allowed weapons of any kind. 

So needless to say, I didn’t want to even hold any of his guns, let alone shoot one. I managed to actually avoid that bit until after they got married. 

Then, he turned into someone completely different from who he had been when they were dating. The full story of how he was abusive and what we went through for five years isn’t something I’ll put here because this is already long, but all of that does play into why I did not want to go hunting with him (in a field, in the middle of NoDak, just me and him, no one else around for miles and no cellphones? Not cool, putting it mildly) and why I did not want to handle his guns. 

Unfortunately for me, my mum insisted I wasn’t trying hard enough to help him adjust to having a child, since he had been a single dude, married only once before for about six months, with no kids. He had nieces and a nephew, but otherwise he wasn’t used to kids. Part of my making ‘a better try’ with him was to go hunting, and let him teach me to shoot. 

So, we went out hunting a few times. Pheasant, and deer, and that was alright. I wasn’t thrilled to be out there, and I can still smell how his truck was just saturated in the scent of dead animal and I hated and still hate that scent burned into my memory, but I got through it. 

It was in the backyard of our house with his makeshift (read: not all right for guns or bows, really shitty) range that it came to a head, and I got to fire a gun for the first time. 

I still question why he gave me a pistol. You don’t really use a pistol to hunt deer, you know? And he could never tell us why he had so many extra pistols, since he did have his one for work as an officer at the Penitentiary, and it seems like that one should be enough. By the time we left him, he had two huge gun safes full of pistols and other guns, including weapons that by law no one should be able to purchase, but no one checks in on the two assholes meeting in the Wal-Mart parking lot who have trunks full of weapons they want to sell without getting in legal trouble. 

But I digress. He showed me how to hold it, to make sure I’m always pointing down-range, to only point at something I intend to shoot. To always treat the gun as if it was loaded, even if I was 99% sure it wasn’t. I give him that, because that is decent gun safety, and he could have been really terrible and not taught me that. 

Once he had me set up in front of a target, he told me to go for it, to expect the recoil (I was chubby, always have been, but I hadn’t started seriously lifting weights at that time, so my arms were really reedy and physically even that pistol’s recoil flung me back some.) 

I shot, and I wanted to drop it and run inside. It was loud, and the smell of gun smoke and ammunition is unpleasant. I felt like I’d betrayed something inside myself in that moment. This was what the troops learned how to do, what people who hurt others knew how to do. 

But my mum had been really mad at me for not being better to him (in retrospect and after therapy, I was fine, just being a kid in early puberty. My therapist says my mother should have stood up for me. I’m not in a place to assign blame like that yet, and maybe I won’t ever be.) So, I stayed put, and I shot a few more times. 

He noticed I had tears in my eyes, and started to complain about “the peaceful pussy shit getting in the way of me being taught something important” and he told me I needed to stop crying right away. I’ve never been able to do that, and I cry all the damn time; if I’m really angry or sad or happy, my body responds with tears that give me migraines that are hard to turn off once started. 

He got more angry, and told me I needed to learn how to do this because if I didn’t, what would I do if someone broke in? Would I let them hurt my mother? Rape her? Kill her? If he wasn’t there (and he often wasn’t, due to his job and his hunting trips) it would be up to me to save her, didn’t I care about knowing how to save her? 

I argued that I didn’t think a gun was the answer to that situation, that self defense and what weapons are used during it was too much for me to discuss with him. 

He started talking about the black family that had moved in down the street, about the friend I had at school who was Muslim, about how diverse (read: not that diverse, this is the mid-fuckin-west that has a long way to go re: diversity) our state was becoming.  About all the things he was ‘so sure’ they and their families would do to us, to me, if given the chance. All incorrect and horribly racist things, but he didn’t care, because he was always right, in his mind. And I wasn’t allowed to call him out and say he was wrong, or at least that was what my mother would tell me. 

“You like peace, so learn to help me keep it.” 

Instead I told him that it wasn’t right to say those things, that no one was going to try and hurt us like that, and that the notion was ridiculous. Shouting, I told him I was more scared of him and what he might do with his guns than what anyone else would do to me. 

He went very quiet, took the pistol from me (that I was still pointing at the ground, like he showed me) and told me to go to my room. 

He stayed out the rest of the night shooting his various guns, only coming in to switch weapons or get more ammo, refusing to come in for dinner until I had finished mine and was away from the table. He didn’t speak to me for the next week, and as scared as I was of him, it was some small relief that he at least wasn’t yelling at me or asking me things that made me uncomfortable. 

In a weird way, I’m glad I’ve shot one before. When I’m debating with people in my area about gun control and other issues, they instantly respect you more if you can say you’ve shot before. Otherwise, they talk over you and don’t want to listen to anything, no matter how nice or calm you say it. 

At the same time, I recoil any time I hear anything like gunshots, and I can’t ever imagine using a gun again. Even if I was told I must, I don’t think I could. I’ll hold my bow and arrow, keep the bat I keep in my room at all times to ease my paranoia, but I can’t ever imagine holding a gun again. 

[falloutdovah]

ABOUT THE CHARACTER

Tagged by ME, just kidding I wanted to do this for my actual SS

Your muse’s name: Liam McPhearson

One picture / faceclaim of your muse:

Two headcanons you have for your muse?

1. Despite being frail and small and weak in every physical sense of the word, Liam is completely capable of going on a one-man rampage once he is pushed to his limit. His Scottish blood runs strong in him, he only needs the right motivation (which is the hard part.) And unfortunately for everyone else, he is capable of building robots. Rather large robots. With guns. And things.

2. He’s addicted to adrenaline rushes despite having a major anxiety disorder. Somehow. Life is hell.

Three things your character likes doing in their free time:

1. Considering the state of the Wasteland and the world in general, Liam finds plenty of enjoyment in fixing Pre-war technology, or building new things much more adapted to the current world. His extensive knowledge in engineering and such has given him that extra edge and if he can make life easier for himself, he definitely will.

2. Liam loves collecting little toy cars. Not because he himself is into cars, but because his son used to be. If anything, they’re keepsakes of better days, that Liam normally packs away into a small box or any other holding container. Sometimes he’ll just take them out and look at them, and think. For a long while.

3. Though he will never admit this openly, arriving in a world not your own can certainly take quite the mental toll on you. What better way to forget than to try all these fun, new drugs just lying around and possibly dripping out of the gutter? It’s the most exciting thing he’s ever done in his life by far (when you come from a background of a perfect honor roll student, a great white-collar job, a good house and a perfect nuclear family, etc,) and he finds it much too tempting to give up now.

Seven people your muse loves/likes:

1. Walker, the ghoul scavenger who rescued him from his broken cryo-pod in Vault 111. Liam owes much to him as Walker was nice enough to give him food, shelter and protection, as well as introduce him to the Wasteland, and Wasteland living. Over time they opened up to one another, during their travels and various misadventures (of terror,) and inevitably, both fell completely head over heels for one another. Now they live together permanently and ...do the exact same things as before. Survive. In permanent states of anxiety, as they have that in common.

2. "Captain”. The same mysterious alleged-sea-captain-ghoul that Cat had been chasing for years prior. Only, Liam so far has been the only one to ever have the privilege of getting kidnapped by the tiny madman. Despite that however, the “Captain’s” never treated Liam poorly on purpose (maybe poorly in the sense of throwing him or carrying him around like a mishandled sack of potatoes.) He most often needed Liam to fix something for him, and likely didn’t know how to ask, to which Liam could hardly find adequate reason to remain angry at him. If anything, Liam always felt like he was SUPPOSED to know who the “Captain” was, but could never really put a finger on it.

3. Lowrey is a very difficult subject to bring up with Liam. The man’s a rat, a charming rat, and Liam like so many others, easily fell into the open manhole and down into the sewer, only because he wasn’t paying attention to everything else around him. Lowrey’s initial kindness and care-free attitude (and his intro course to Wasteland drugs) is what Liam likes, a lot, and the fact that he’s human- things feel almost normal again. And thrilling, and risky. Liam’s vices. Unfortunately for him, Lowrey seemingly hardly feels anything else for Liam beyond ‘a night of good fun.’ With maybe a dash of pity.

4. His son, Neil, leader of the Institute is also a very sore topic. Thanks to the divorce when Neil was still in elementary school, the two had grown apart year after year, until they both found themselves far in the future. When they had reunited, Liam stood on the precipice and nearly accepted Neil’s invitation for him to come and live there, in safety, and amongst fellow peers who were as smart- if not smarter than him. But as the tour progressed, Liam realized he and Neil were far too different in their ideologies to be able to be together, which, tore him up even further. Still, Neil remained persistent and always extended a hand, even until the very end. A hand Liam did not take, and regrets not taking, to this day.

5. Silas, an uncanny voice of reason. Liam met the ghoul once on a return trip from out of state somewhere, during some emotional and existential crisis or another. Silas let him ride in the wagon back to Boston, and they had a long, long chat about life. Whatever was discussed was nothing short of miraculous, as Liam found his feet again once they’d arrived back home. He never did get to thank Silas properly, but the moment he sees him again, he most certainly will.

6. Preston Garvey and the Minutemen are a group that Liam can say he admires. Their values especially. Even after nearly falling to the temptation of joining with the Institute, the Minutemen still welcomed Liam’s know-how if it meant protecting innocent people better and more easily in the long run. Being able to work with a community of people fulfills that need for a purpose Liam and many people so crave. And although he doesn’t live with them, he and Walker still drop by from time to time to offer their services on repairs and selling whatever they scavenge along the way.

7. The mysterious being that is Catrene Luvere. Liam can’t say he likes her in any capacity of the word, but... She is young. And he feels bad. So he fixed up an old Pipboy she brought to him. And now she won’t leave him alone.

A phobia your muse has:

Despite being afraid of literally everything most of the time, if there’s one phobia Liam has hardcore then it’s atychiphobia.

The fear of failure.

[queernuck]

Model Patient

A Reading of Anne Boyer’s Conceptualization of Cancer in The Undying as Model for Discussing Drug Addiction & Fetishizations Thereof

Drug addiction, use, and the general cultural structuring of the conceptual space allowed drug users follows a kind of fetishism that is akin to numerous other diseases, to mental illnesses and chronic conditions alike, specifically as a means of control, an aestheticization of suffering and struggle that uses a sort of libidinal flow which passes through various desiring-machines of judgment and “acceptance” such that even the most supportive family of the addict (a role taken on as much as a role put upon oneself) has a means of creating their own suffering, the otherness of the suffering and sufferer such that it is reassuring one is not inflicted with it themselves, is able to create the Other even in the face of the dual consciousness this operation takes on in the face of a manufactured Opiate Crisis, a kind of lie perpetuated by legislature and police to renew the War on Drugs and to disguise their own nasty habits. 

Anne Boyer’s The Undying is a postmodern, rhizomal work of investigating, critiquing, and living through diagnostic apparatuses of capture, specifically the highly feminized and violent experience of breast cancer, a sort of particularly rosy ideation which is itself full of various fetishisms so vast and so enormous that she can hardly name them all at once, that to name them is to name so many more names that must be named that she simply cannot create these assemblages without them collapsing under their own weight. Her use of prose-poetry in order to discuss cancer reflects her own experience, but moreover the ways in which her experience is atypical, both because of its intensity and the way in which she recognizes around her the Foucauldian structuring of the Medical Pavilion, the gendered expectations of caretaking and caretaker repeated in so many depictions of cancer in film, TV, literature, the ways in which her own patronizing surroundings give such ready images of women who are suffering deeply, visibly, loudly but moreover are in a kind of dance with such suffering, are performing it properly: she discusses how one must wear shirts that proclaim cancer messed with “the wrong bitch” while reflecting on how, for her, cancer messed with the right bitch, how the ability of her diagnosis to be recognized and treated with two different approaches (one standard and prescribed/proscribed by a doctor with a baby’s face too overwhelmed to wear shoes nicer than Crocs and who goes from warm and kind to distant and petty when she rejects his course of “care”, the latter being a sought-after regime of war, of violence to the body, far more aggressive and targeted toward her specific kind of cancer by a specialist, all of these distinctions creating a figure of authority, “specialist” itself even being a low-ranking military term) which both turn her body into a kind of bioweapon, how she is able to recognize that chemotherapy involves drugs not only ruinous to the body, but to the biome, such that the question of subject-privileging is raised more than once, the way in which justifying one’s survival (against endangered trees, oceans polluted by accumulations without known definite effects, a literal turn toward the body as poisoned) becomes more and more difficult in capitalist decadence, the realization that thousands to millions of dollars flow through her veins and that for many victims of cancer, they never even realize their own condition, are not given the proper diagnostic criteria, are never able to even hear from a doctor that there is something wrong with them.

A kind of reflection on money flowing through veins is not uncommon: stories of recovery, or of decadence, often posit the use of drugs in terms that can be quantified, and due to the capitalist judgments they are often pointing toward, money is the most readily spoken and converted language. So many days sober means so much money not spent on drugs, which means this or that affect adopted or new cars or child/animal/self-care, the way in which the monetization of sobriety says “see? is it not worth it? it is not worth it? why not be sober?” as if no addict were achievers, as if this same presence were not used to enhance the tragedy of eventually succumbing to addiction, be it through selling one’s possessions for drugs, or dying with them unsold, or in the way that Boyer describes Cleopatra’s mythical asp, dying with them curled around one’s arm in sharp contrast to the needle sticking out of it.

Boyer talks of one page of breast cancer fetish material, where erotic stories about various Hollywood stars and other celebrities finding out they have breast cancer, at various simulacra-stages of treatment, in various states of well or unwellness are posted, with an explicitly erotic almost artist’s statement on behalf of the page’s moderator, drawing out exactly how these bodies are imagined and put on display, exactly which libidinal flows these desiring-machines stimulate, the same way that one finds collections of cast and brace and mobility aid pictures fetishized and imagined as bondage gear, and indeed the same way in which the needle becomes a fetish, how the needle plays into the boundary between lighter PnP or just drug-fueled sex and more intense scenes of Chemsex, the kind of fetishism seen in Reddit users talking about being “hooked on the needle” use for one another when posting picture of themselves doing shots of vein vodka, a very close cousin of the notion of the crack pipe as the “glass dick” and the phallic signification present in all these different acts of drug consumption. When at their worst, when most intense, these are the times at which the thrill of watching the addict is most pronounced, is when the Intervention cameras are at their most excitable: injecting into the neck is a kind of ritual that most do not reach until far into their drug using career, but it is one of the most common signifiers of addiction used in the narration or fictionalization of the addiction process.

To suffer correctly, to suffer rightfully, one must have a process of shame, of bettering oneself eventually, of either being discarded or subject to hagiography based on exactly what one did not write, did not sing, did not do and so on. Amy Winehouse’s stints with drug use are most readily chronicled despite how it was drinking that eventually killed her, and it is rarely in the alcoholic specifically that the ills of addiction are located. Instead, when looking at overdoses and how ketamine or narcan are administered in order to calm or counteract drugs, the vividness with which the administration of narcan is a kind of undoing of the initial fetish-act of injection, is so often the kind of turn which brings one back into an acceptably differentiated body from the undifferentiated bliss of a Body Without Organs With Opiates, the is notable specifically because of how it is realized as a public embarrassment, how many pictures of narcanned-or-dead users have become part of a public lexicon of addiction, how Boyer’s description of cancer as noncommunicable, as a disease of probability means the cancer victim is suffering so the viewer, the actual subject, does not need to is similar to the means by which addiction, psychosis or schizophrenia as fetishized and neglected means of systematizing derealization and delusion (away from the self-assured simulacra, the hyperreal masquerading well as the Real) such that systems of diagnosis create Others who can firmly be chastised for not fitting into certain performances, or supported with empty missives.

Boyer railing against the nebulous and useless concept of “FUCK CANCER” as a fundraising and “awareness” slogan points toward exactly what the problem of “cancer” and a “cure” becomes in a single instance: there is, at a certain level, no such thing. It is a hyperobject, there are numerous sorts of cancers that can be obtained in numerous ways. Boyer tries to comfort her daughter by reminding her that the genetics passed down to her are ones with no predisposition toward this particular cancer, that their kinship holds no danger in this sense, but her daughter (rightfully, as Boyer admits) points to the way that this implies instead that the carcinogenic world she will grow up in can instead be to blame, is instead surrounding her. The neat, tidy sloganeering of “FUCK CANCER” “FUCK HEROIN” “KILL YOUR LOCAL HEROIN DEALER” “BUY ART NOT COCAINE” “CRACK IS WACK” often so deeply neglects who gets cancer and why, who begins doing or selling heroin, who sells crack and who smokes it, who pulls triggers over these things and who ends up on the other end of the gun. Communities may tear themselves up over drugs and the money they bring, but police are able to break down doors and spread rhizomally, in the means theorized by the IDF, as a kind of overarching presence which interrupts and cuts off life like no other, giving lighter sentences to lighter skins in the right state (of mind?) and creating a rabattement of reoffending for dealers and users that are more conveniently criminalized.

The notion that there is no great history of the ill, only of illnesses, is one Boyer rejects as true in an ontological sense but recognizes as present in most great works on historicizing the ill, that these acts of genealogy and literary sympathy are ones which see a kind of uniqueness in the act of writing such a story, of creating such a perspective. Similarly, there is the individual scandal and uniqueness of talking about drug use, the way in which The Dirt or Heroin Diaries or “Under the Bridge” or “Pawn Shop” or numerous other discussions of addiction specifically draw out lurid details and depictions of fast living young dying behaviors to create the environment within which the subject now resides, the way in which a creation of that Other is vital in order to retain the narrative thread. Crank provides the relapsed, teen-targeted version of Beautiful Boy’s familial suffering, the way in which the two provide a kind of story that reaches a culmination before the author ends up as an anonymous, absent Alice. Jodie Sweetin’s memoir and story of sobriety even discusses on the back how it involved a relapse during its writing, as if the stories inside were not enough. But with few exceptions, Thompson and Burroughs being two of the major ones, there is no room to use drugs and create for long, the eventual creation of an addicted persona must then be rectified by rehab, the penance of laboring to make oneself a recovered but always marked addict, how one must then create a kind of new status from this process of marking.

The assemblages and experiences of victimhood and suffering are never quieted enough, are never good enough unless performed fetishistically, are not enough unless one has found a means of performing enough-ness, that kind of balancing between abjection and hopefulness which allows the Othering of oneself but the comfortable Othering, not the sort which problematizes the relationships that one exists within. Boyer points out how visible cancer can be, so long as the question of how capitalism causes cancer on a massive scale, the way in which relationships between objects itself induces the carcinogenic language of capitalist development is never questioned, the depletion and deleterious response necessary to preserving life upheld. Similarly, one can from there project a language of drug addiction: so long as one never wonders why capitalist ennui is the basis for the desolation and desperation of drug use, so long as one never wonders why diagnoses and more and more restrictive prescribing laws lead to more and more illegal drug use and more and more overdoses as a result, so long as one can induce and perpetuate chronic pain in the name of stopping opioid prescriptions (rather than allowing for a far safer proliferation of drugs with known strength, consistency, and so on, the providing of these drugs as if they were any other, without the same moralization or the creation of narcoterrorism as a category of opposition) is interrelated through the medical apparatus.

[volturisecretary]

Okay now we all need to hear Felix's ideas for a vampire amusement park...?

The way Felix gets all of his ideas for his hopefully future vampire amusement park is he pretty much just jots down anything he deems cool, and manages to make it 1000x more dangerous exciting. 

Xtreme Mario Kart

Obviously, everyone loves Mario Karts, so it be pretty cool if you could replication a real life version, right? Felix has rigged up virtual reality pods that make you feel like you are actually racing- complete with fake wind, virtual smells, and all the fun of wiping out! He’s hoping it’ll get popular and there will be a giant Battle Royal-style competition between all the vampires in the world!

Laser Tag

Felix mostly Heidi has created different landscapes, such Mars, a lush Amazonian forest, and a medieval-style castle (complete with plenty of secret passage ways so you can pwn your friends) for the ultimate laser tag experience. 

You know how in laser tag when you get hit it just makes an annoying beep sound and your gun turns off temporarily? Yeah, instead of that Felix thinks it be way cooler if you got shocked. It give you a larger incentive to not get hit, and it makes it way cooler more realistic. O, and the suits are much study and can take plenty of damage from the ground and vampires.

Alien VR

Felix thinks space is awesome! Unfortunately, vampires can’t just go into space. In this simulation game, you and your coven not only get the opportunity to experience space, but fight off aliens! There are multiple roles each member of your coven can take on. One member acts as the captain of the ship and give verbal commands throughout your mission to decide how your ship will respond. Another member gets to pilot the space craft, while up to three others get to man the guns and navigation. To make sure everyone gets the full awesomeness of space, Felix set up a combination of green screens, VR headsets, and rumble features to make you feel like you are actually in space. It’s highly interactive too, allowing for you to name your ship. You can also enter everyone’s name so that the ship’s central commands can directly interact with you. 

There are a few different species of aliens, which all have unique abilities, weaknesses, and attack methods. This allows for each experience to be different and challenging in its own way. 

Drop Tower

Partially inspired by Bella’s cliff driving adventures, Felix wants to build a giant drop tower. It’s all the fun of jumping off a literal cliff without having to worry about the possibility of having to put yourself back together if you land wrong!

Volturi: Children of the Moon Attack

You know how Disney has that Buzz Lightyear’s Space Ranger Spin shooting game, while Universal Studios has the Men in Black: Alien Attack one? Yeah, Felix plans on building his own version, where you get enlisted by the Volturi to hunt down Children of the Moon! Felix is trying really hard to sell Caius on the whole vampire theme park, but Caius doesn’t understand why he wouldn’t just literally go kill CotM with his own two hands….

Conquest of the Romanians

You know how Universal has that Spider-Man ride, where you are a reporter who gets mixed up in the cross firings of Spider-Man and the various super villains (who proceed to attack your poor, defenseless reporter car)? Felix’s 4-D ride allows vampires to experience the war against the Romanians. Not only is it possible slightly exaggerated educational, but it’s awesome because there are cute little cameos of some of his friends using their cool vampire superpowers! Although Stefan and Vladimir would be less than thrilled to hear about this if it was ever built though. 

Fire-Containing Roller Coasters

So, roller coasters are really fun to humans because they play on our fears of heights/falling/etc. Felix decided to utilize the ultimate vampire fear to make his roller-coasters even better: he added flamethrowers. I mean, sure there may be a vampire or two that accidentally gets set on fire, but the high speed of the roller coaster will put them out. So it’s all fun, right?

River Rapids

Nothing says fun like falling down a literal waterfall! Plus, there are fire hoses water guns set up throughout the river rapids so that you can hit your friends in the face as they go by because what are friends for.

O, and of course there will be plenty of blood vampire friendly beverages for sale too!

[allofbeercom]

7 WTF Details About Historical Events Everyone Forgets

Tragic events are typically followed by periods of shock, grief, anger, and the occasional flash of inexplicable horniness. So it’s only natural that when we’re dealing with lives lost and places destroyed, we tend to only focus on these important matters and damn everything else to hell. But sometimes, that means we ignore all of the chaotic insanity that typically accompanies history, making textbooks just that little bit blander. So let’s put on our Indiana Jones hats and dive into the past, and remind ourselves of some truly crazypants parts of history that usually get left out of the conversation. For example …

7

The Manual For The German Tiger Tank Contained Poetry And Porn

War is chaos. With bullets flying and bombs whizzing everywhere, preparation and alertness are the keys to survival. But while combat is exciting, combat training can be mind-numbingly boring. So how do you get a group of disinterested, overly hormonal boys to sit up, pay attention, and remember stuff? By turning that stuff into smut, of course.

During World War II, German commanders needed to quickly familiarize new recruits with the inner workings of the complicated Tiger Tank. Unfortunately, the Fuhrer’s finest were less than thrilled with spending long days memorizing the dry technical manuals. Finally, the Nazis came up with an elegant solution to motivate the laser-like focus necessary to master the tank: They included a naked lady on every other page, and made sure the important parts rhymed.

German Federal ArchivesTranslation: “Danger lurks in the sump! Read your manual well, otherwise your Tiger goes to hell!”

After the war, it was discovered that the manual for the German Panzerkampfwagen was full of nudes, jokes, and dirty limericks. This masterpiece was the brainchild of Josef von Glatter-Goetz, who had novel ideas on how to warm up his cadets’ learning muscles (among others). And most of the warming up was done by Elvira, a buxom blonde who appeared every few pages to keep the boys thumbing — or whatever else helped them get there faster.

German Federal Archives“Klaus, why do you keep taking the manual to the bathroom?”

She would pop up (often with her clothes popped off) whenever the cadets were supposed to pay extra attention to the lesson, like the importance of making accurate measurements when firing or keeping the engines clean, even if it led to making the cockpits sticky.

German Federal Archives“I only read it for the articles.”

The program was a demonstrable success, and both von Glatter-Goetz’s excellent understanding of his target audience and Elvira’s ass helped untold numbers of troops masturbate their way to mastering the Tiger Tank.

6

Hurricane Katrina Ejected Over A Thousand Coffins From Graves

According to FEMA, Hurricane Katrina was “the single most catastrophic natural disaster in U.S. history.” It caused over $41.1 billion in damage and killed more than 1,800 people. But not content with causing misery for the living, Katrina decided to go after the deceased as well, digging them up so she could pee her hate water on their faces.

Petty Officer Kyle Niemi/US Navy“You whine when it doesn’t rain, you whine when it rains too much, what do you want from me??”

Read Next

5 Crazy Scenarios You Didn't Know The Constitution Allows

During the disaster, over 1,000 coffins — and, more gruesomely, those coffin’s residents — were ejected from their places of rest. The transition wasn’t gentle, either. One New Orleans native found his grandmother’s body, still in her pink burial dress, splayed out in the open like she was trying to get a tan. Skeletal remains were sprawled among cemetery statues, and more than one coffin was found up a tree. According to the Disaster Mortuary Operational Response Team (Dmort), it’s unlikely that all the uprooted bodies will ever be located and returned. “Many are in extremely remote and inaccessible areas,” a spokesman said. “They have been carried way downrange into muck and swamp and forest.”

APWe don’t want to sound too alarmist, but this is exactly how a zombie apocalypse would start.

Despite the difficulties, officials are still doing their best to return the drifting dead to their correct burial sites — or as much of them as they can scoop up, at least. Unfortunately, since we have this silly idea that the dead aren’t supposed to move about, corpses and coffins tend to not have any labels of traceable information. Finding a corpse that’s buried with something unique is like finding a corner piece of an especially macabre puzzle. So far, officials have been able to identify bodies buried with their favorite golf club, some unusual rosary beads, and a six-pack of beer. It won’t be long before the government starts insisting we all get buried with a valid driver’s license and two utility bills.

In the meantime, less stringent coffins laws have been introduced in order for us to better retrieve these lost soulless husks. After Katrina, Louisiana passed a law requiring labels for coffins. However, they weren’t clear enough in their wording, so now Louisiana morticians are labeling their coffins with everything from smartphone tracking apps to the less-than-ideal paper tags. Inhabitants of one particularly low-lying cemetery now have beacons attached to their coffins, but the battery life for the floater-be-found is still to be determined.

William Widmer/The New York Times“Warmer … warmer … colder …”

5

King George V Was Euthanized So His Death Could Make The Right Headlines

For all the perks associated with being born into a royal family (unlimited wealth, the right to eat peasants, fancy hats), living the life of royalty also means you’re always in the public spotlight. Never can you falter from keeping up appearances, making sure your every action benefits the crown as best as possible. That includes your death, because god forbid a royal should die at an inconvenient time of day like some low-class pleb.

Library of CongressGod Save the Facial Hair

When Britain’s King George V lay on his deathbed in 1936, doctors were concerned about more than his failing health. Convinced that the king was not long for this world, medical staff began suspecting he might not kick the gilded bucket at the most dignified of times. Deciding that the matter couldn’t be left in the clumsy hands of God or fate, steps were taken to “hasten” the king’s death, and he was euthanized in his sleep shortly before midnight on January 20th.

Why the rush? According to the notes of his physician, Lord Dawson, the king was given lethal doses of morphine and cocaine so that word of his death would appear ”in the morning papers rather than the less appropriate evening journals.” Dawson administered the injections to King George himself at around 11 p.m., right after he’d had his wife in London ”advise The Times to hold back publication.” That’s right, the king’s life had a literal deadline.

Bradford Timeline“Here is the royal speedball, your grace.”

Whether the injections counted as mercy or murder is still a topic of debate. Though the king had been in generally poor health for some time, the doctor had only been summoned to care for him four days prior to his death. On the morning of his last day, the king held a meeting with his privy counselors, which is pretty lucid for someone who’s about to get injected with mercy coke. Documents give “no indication that the King himself had been consulted,” but seeing as his last words were “God damn you” to a nurse administering a sedative, we don’t think he would’ve liked being involuntarily Belushied so that the morning papers would sell a few extra copies.

4

Millions Of Landmines Were Left In The Sahara After WWII, And Now ISIS Is Digging Them Up

Aside from proving how adept people can be at killing each other, World War II also highlighted how much the resulting clean-up sucks. Entire continents had to deal with the debris of their broken nations, the costly effects of which can still be felt. One group that was exempt from their collective spring cleaning were, of course, the Nazis, who were a bit busy getting tribunaled to death. Which is a shame, because they had millions of unexploded landmines buried in the African desert, and every other country had already touched their noses and called “Not it!”

German Federal Archives“I’m sure my actions will have no lasting consequences.”

But that was over 70 years ago. Surely we’ve taken care of those pesky balls of death we left buried in the sand since then, right? While countries like Egypt have tried to reduce the 17 million landmines both Nazi and Allied forces left behind in their desert, the place is still a minefield of … minefields. Thanks to the high temperatures and dry climate, the Sahara is doing an amazing job of preserving these war relics, which means they’re still very capable of taking a limb (or life) if fiddled with too much. But while most people are content with not going near any unstable explosives, there’s one pesky little death cult that doesn’t mind going out in a blaze of glory, intentional or otherwise.

In the past few years, ISIS has realized that one man’s minefield is another man’s massive cache of explosives, so they’re digging up and reusing landmines and their components. There have been several reports of ISIS terrorist attacks in which they used old munitions “MacGyvered” into IEDs. At least when it comes to age, ISIS seems to be quite open-minded.

NATOAs well as being adrenaline junkies.

And landmines aren’t the only type of antique firepower people in the region are packing these days. In 2015, video footage showed Syrian rebels firing a 1935 German howitzer. Meanwhile, Iraqi weapons inspectors documented the capture of a 1942 Lee-Enfield rifle, and the Armament Research Services report that British Webley revolvers, Italian cavalry carbines, Mausers, and Bren guns have appeared for sale in Libya. As long as it goes “boom” and someone dies, they’re only too happy to put it to terrible use.

via Shaam News NetworkNazis: ruining your day since 1933.

3

The Feud Between The Hatfields And The McCoys Was Probably Caused By A Medical Condition

History has seen its share of epic feuds, but few are as legendary as the pissing contest that took place between the Hatfields of West Virginia and the Kentucky McCoys in the late 1800s. Why were they so special? Longevity. They kept their fiery hatred going for a solid decade. But recent medical tests have revealed that, at least on the McCoy side, that might have been because hatred literally runs in their blood.

via Encyclopaedia BritannicaMoments later, the man on the right was riddled with bullets.

Why did these two ornery tribes want to shed each others’ blood so badly? Some say the beef started over a stolen hog, while others think it was residual hostility from the families having fought on opposite sides during the Civil War. Over a hundred years later, we still have no idea what spark started the fire, but we have an idea of where they got the gasoline. In 2007, a young girl called Winnter [sic] Reynolds was struggling at school. She had anger issues, and would often fly into fits of rage. While her teachers thought it was nothing but a bad case of ADHD, a series of medical tests revealed it was worse than that. She had bad blood. McCoy blood, to be specific.

Winnter is the latest offspring of the McCoy bloodline, from whom she had inherited her temper. She suffers from a rare genetic condition called von Hippel-Lindau disease. The illness causes the formation of adrenal tumors which cause, among other things, “hair-trigger rage and violent outbursts.” After Winnter’s diagnosis, it was revealed that several other McCoy descendants had also been diagnosed with the same condition. And while having tumors keeping you pissed off 24/7 still doesn’t shed any light on the start of the feud, it does go a long way toward explaining their whole “I’m going to kill you over some bacon” reputation.

Earl Neikirk/AP“Cleetus, go fetch the tumor chart, we gotta black another circle.”

2

We Are Still Paying A Civil War Pension

War is never not tragic, but civil wars pile all the hurt on one people. With an estimated 620,000 lives lost during the American Civil War, the cost of that little disagreement hurt the nation badly. The price paid was terrible — not only in human lives, but also in the long-term financial state of the country. How long-term? They’re still adding up, apparently.

US ArmyYeah, were sure their main concern was how much this was gonna cost.

While the indirect ramifications are impossible to calculate, there is still one straightforward bill the U.S. Civil War is serving America: $73.13, to be exact, paid monthly to one woman in North Carolina. You see, because soldiers have a tragic tendency of not always being able to collect what Uncle Sam owes them, the government compensates by also paying out pensions to widows and children of war veterans. And while the Civil War ended more than 150 years ago, believe it or not, there’s still one soldier’s child alive and kicking. That would be Irene Triplett, 86 years young, and she’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

Irene’s father, Mose Triplett, was born in 1846, and managed to fight on both sides of the Civil War — though that sadly didn’t mean he’d get to draw two pensions. He later married a woman 50 years his junior, who we’re assuming must’ve been into antique cannons. When Irene was born, Mose was 83 years old and ready to mosey on up to Heaven.

via Stoneman Gazette“Ask your doctor if your heart is healthy enough for sex …”

But Irene’s isn’t the only 19th-century war pension that still being paid out. We’re also still supporting 88 people for their families’ contributions to the Spanish-American War, which started and ended in 1898. And while we’re certainly not begrudging anyone their dues, if we keep up our current military policies, half of our country’s 2080 budget will be going to Iraq vets’ second families.

1

The Search For Wreckage Of The Challenger Turned Up A Lot Of Junk — And A Duffel Bag Of Cocaine

Being an air crash site investigator must be a harrowing gig. Their entire job revolves around cataloging the most horrific of disaster scenes, where the Earth has gotten a dose of corpse buckshot to the face. But finding 73 separate pieces of the same human being isn’t the only weird thing they might find at a crash site. Sometimes they also find a shit ton of coke.

CNNGodspeed, friends.

Like 9/11, the Challenger disaster is one of those awful tragedies seared into memories of all who witnessed it. Seven people lost their lives simply because some faulty O-rings and unusually cold weather caused their vessel to blow up and plow into the ocean. After the crash, NASA immediately began searching the Atlantic for any and all portions of the shuttle that survived the crash, as well as any remains of the crew that could be retrieved and given a proper burial. But with such a spread out investigation site in constantly shifting water, the crew was bound to encounter some weird stuff.

For nine weeks, experts spent 15-hour days combing sonar data of a 420-mile area. But when their submarines or robots finally found the wreckage, they also stumbled upon what looked like Poseidon’s garage sale. During NASA’s investigation, they encountered a whole warehouse full of lagan (that’s maritime for “junk”). Some of the more ordinary items included batteries and paint cans, a refrigerator, a filing cabinet, a kitchen sink, and a toilet. More interesting finds were eight shipwrecks, a Pershing missile, and half of a torpedo.

But the best non-shuttle find by far was a duffel bag containing 25 kilograms of cocaine. When NASA handed it over to the police (what a bunch of goody-two-shoes), they revealed the estimated street value of the marching powder at $13 million, roughly the cost of the entire salvage mission. So if you’re struggling to find rent money or hoping to remodel your house, maybe spend more time hanging out at the beach.

Kelly Stone remembers watching the Challenger explode, and speaks only as much German as Google Translate does. She sometimes Tweets about cats and Star Trek.

History is insane — find out more from the Cracked De-Textbook!

Support Cracked’s journalism with a visit to our Contribution Page. Please and thank you.

For more, check out 6 Dark Details History Usually Leaves Out (For Good Reason) and 6 Disasters With Details So Awful, History Left Them Out.

It would be a shame if you didn’t follow us on Facebook.

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/7-wtf-details-about-historical-events-everyone-forgets/

[samanthasroberts]

7 WTF Details About Historical Events Everyone Forgets

Tragic events are typically followed by periods of shock, grief, anger, and the occasional flash of inexplicable horniness. So it’s only natural that when we’re dealing with lives lost and places destroyed, we tend to only focus on these important matters and damn everything else to hell. But sometimes, that means we ignore all of the chaotic insanity that typically accompanies history, making textbooks just that little bit blander. So let’s put on our Indiana Jones hats and dive into the past, and remind ourselves of some truly crazypants parts of history that usually get left out of the conversation. For example …

7

The Manual For The German Tiger Tank Contained Poetry And Porn

War is chaos. With bullets flying and bombs whizzing everywhere, preparation and alertness are the keys to survival. But while combat is exciting, combat training can be mind-numbingly boring. So how do you get a group of disinterested, overly hormonal boys to sit up, pay attention, and remember stuff? By turning that stuff into smut, of course.

During World War II, German commanders needed to quickly familiarize new recruits with the inner workings of the complicated Tiger Tank. Unfortunately, the Fuhrer’s finest were less than thrilled with spending long days memorizing the dry technical manuals. Finally, the Nazis came up with an elegant solution to motivate the laser-like focus necessary to master the tank: They included a naked lady on every other page, and made sure the important parts rhymed.

German Federal ArchivesTranslation: “Danger lurks in the sump! Read your manual well, otherwise your Tiger goes to hell!”

After the war, it was discovered that the manual for the German Panzerkampfwagen was full of nudes, jokes, and dirty limericks. This masterpiece was the brainchild of Josef von Glatter-Goetz, who had novel ideas on how to warm up his cadets’ learning muscles (among others). And most of the warming up was done by Elvira, a buxom blonde who appeared every few pages to keep the boys thumbing — or whatever else helped them get there faster.

German Federal Archives“Klaus, why do you keep taking the manual to the bathroom?”

She would pop up (often with her clothes popped off) whenever the cadets were supposed to pay extra attention to the lesson, like the importance of making accurate measurements when firing or keeping the engines clean, even if it led to making the cockpits sticky.

German Federal Archives“I only read it for the articles.”

The program was a demonstrable success, and both von Glatter-Goetz’s excellent understanding of his target audience and Elvira’s ass helped untold numbers of troops masturbate their way to mastering the Tiger Tank.

6

Hurricane Katrina Ejected Over A Thousand Coffins From Graves

According to FEMA, Hurricane Katrina was “the single most catastrophic natural disaster in U.S. history.” It caused over $41.1 billion in damage and killed more than 1,800 people. But not content with causing misery for the living, Katrina decided to go after the deceased as well, digging them up so she could pee her hate water on their faces.

Petty Officer Kyle Niemi/US Navy“You whine when it doesn’t rain, you whine when it rains too much, what do you want from me??”

Read Next

5 Crazy Scenarios You Didn't Know The Constitution Allows

During the disaster, over 1,000 coffins — and, more gruesomely, those coffin’s residents — were ejected from their places of rest. The transition wasn’t gentle, either. One New Orleans native found his grandmother’s body, still in her pink burial dress, splayed out in the open like she was trying to get a tan. Skeletal remains were sprawled among cemetery statues, and more than one coffin was found up a tree. According to the Disaster Mortuary Operational Response Team (Dmort), it’s unlikely that all the uprooted bodies will ever be located and returned. “Many are in extremely remote and inaccessible areas,” a spokesman said. “They have been carried way downrange into muck and swamp and forest.”

APWe don’t want to sound too alarmist, but this is exactly how a zombie apocalypse would start.

Despite the difficulties, officials are still doing their best to return the drifting dead to their correct burial sites — or as much of them as they can scoop up, at least. Unfortunately, since we have this silly idea that the dead aren’t supposed to move about, corpses and coffins tend to not have any labels of traceable information. Finding a corpse that’s buried with something unique is like finding a corner piece of an especially macabre puzzle. So far, officials have been able to identify bodies buried with their favorite golf club, some unusual rosary beads, and a six-pack of beer. It won’t be long before the government starts insisting we all get buried with a valid driver’s license and two utility bills.

In the meantime, less stringent coffins laws have been introduced in order for us to better retrieve these lost soulless husks. After Katrina, Louisiana passed a law requiring labels for coffins. However, they weren’t clear enough in their wording, so now Louisiana morticians are labeling their coffins with everything from smartphone tracking apps to the less-than-ideal paper tags. Inhabitants of one particularly low-lying cemetery now have beacons attached to their coffins, but the battery life for the floater-be-found is still to be determined.

William Widmer/The New York Times“Warmer … warmer … colder …”

5

King George V Was Euthanized So His Death Could Make The Right Headlines

For all the perks associated with being born into a royal family (unlimited wealth, the right to eat peasants, fancy hats), living the life of royalty also means you’re always in the public spotlight. Never can you falter from keeping up appearances, making sure your every action benefits the crown as best as possible. That includes your death, because god forbid a royal should die at an inconvenient time of day like some low-class pleb.

Library of CongressGod Save the Facial Hair

When Britain’s King George V lay on his deathbed in 1936, doctors were concerned about more than his failing health. Convinced that the king was not long for this world, medical staff began suspecting he might not kick the gilded bucket at the most dignified of times. Deciding that the matter couldn’t be left in the clumsy hands of God or fate, steps were taken to “hasten” the king’s death, and he was euthanized in his sleep shortly before midnight on January 20th.

Why the rush? According to the notes of his physician, Lord Dawson, the king was given lethal doses of morphine and cocaine so that word of his death would appear ”in the morning papers rather than the less appropriate evening journals.” Dawson administered the injections to King George himself at around 11 p.m., right after he’d had his wife in London ”advise The Times to hold back publication.” That’s right, the king’s life had a literal deadline.

Bradford Timeline“Here is the royal speedball, your grace.”

Whether the injections counted as mercy or murder is still a topic of debate. Though the king had been in generally poor health for some time, the doctor had only been summoned to care for him four days prior to his death. On the morning of his last day, the king held a meeting with his privy counselors, which is pretty lucid for someone who’s about to get injected with mercy coke. Documents give “no indication that the King himself had been consulted,” but seeing as his last words were “God damn you” to a nurse administering a sedative, we don’t think he would’ve liked being involuntarily Belushied so that the morning papers would sell a few extra copies.

4

Millions Of Landmines Were Left In The Sahara After WWII, And Now ISIS Is Digging Them Up

Aside from proving how adept people can be at killing each other, World War II also highlighted how much the resulting clean-up sucks. Entire continents had to deal with the debris of their broken nations, the costly effects of which can still be felt. One group that was exempt from their collective spring cleaning were, of course, the Nazis, who were a bit busy getting tribunaled to death. Which is a shame, because they had millions of unexploded landmines buried in the African desert, and every other country had already touched their noses and called “Not it!”

German Federal Archives“I’m sure my actions will have no lasting consequences.”

But that was over 70 years ago. Surely we’ve taken care of those pesky balls of death we left buried in the sand since then, right? While countries like Egypt have tried to reduce the 17 million landmines both Nazi and Allied forces left behind in their desert, the place is still a minefield of … minefields. Thanks to the high temperatures and dry climate, the Sahara is doing an amazing job of preserving these war relics, which means they’re still very capable of taking a limb (or life) if fiddled with too much. But while most people are content with not going near any unstable explosives, there’s one pesky little death cult that doesn’t mind going out in a blaze of glory, intentional or otherwise.

In the past few years, ISIS has realized that one man’s minefield is another man’s massive cache of explosives, so they’re digging up and reusing landmines and their components. There have been several reports of ISIS terrorist attacks in which they used old munitions “MacGyvered” into IEDs. At least when it comes to age, ISIS seems to be quite open-minded.

NATOAs well as being adrenaline junkies.

And landmines aren’t the only type of antique firepower people in the region are packing these days. In 2015, video footage showed Syrian rebels firing a 1935 German howitzer. Meanwhile, Iraqi weapons inspectors documented the capture of a 1942 Lee-Enfield rifle, and the Armament Research Services report that British Webley revolvers, Italian cavalry carbines, Mausers, and Bren guns have appeared for sale in Libya. As long as it goes “boom” and someone dies, they’re only too happy to put it to terrible use.

via Shaam News NetworkNazis: ruining your day since 1933.

3

The Feud Between The Hatfields And The McCoys Was Probably Caused By A Medical Condition

History has seen its share of epic feuds, but few are as legendary as the pissing contest that took place between the Hatfields of West Virginia and the Kentucky McCoys in the late 1800s. Why were they so special? Longevity. They kept their fiery hatred going for a solid decade. But recent medical tests have revealed that, at least on the McCoy side, that might have been because hatred literally runs in their blood.

via Encyclopaedia BritannicaMoments later, the man on the right was riddled with bullets.

Why did these two ornery tribes want to shed each others’ blood so badly? Some say the beef started over a stolen hog, while others think it was residual hostility from the families having fought on opposite sides during the Civil War. Over a hundred years later, we still have no idea what spark started the fire, but we have an idea of where they got the gasoline. In 2007, a young girl called Winnter [sic] Reynolds was struggling at school. She had anger issues, and would often fly into fits of rage. While her teachers thought it was nothing but a bad case of ADHD, a series of medical tests revealed it was worse than that. She had bad blood. McCoy blood, to be specific.

Winnter is the latest offspring of the McCoy bloodline, from whom she had inherited her temper. She suffers from a rare genetic condition called von Hippel-Lindau disease. The illness causes the formation of adrenal tumors which cause, among other things, “hair-trigger rage and violent outbursts.” After Winnter’s diagnosis, it was revealed that several other McCoy descendants had also been diagnosed with the same condition. And while having tumors keeping you pissed off 24/7 still doesn’t shed any light on the start of the feud, it does go a long way toward explaining their whole “I’m going to kill you over some bacon” reputation.

Earl Neikirk/AP“Cleetus, go fetch the tumor chart, we gotta black another circle.”

2

We Are Still Paying A Civil War Pension

War is never not tragic, but civil wars pile all the hurt on one people. With an estimated 620,000 lives lost during the American Civil War, the cost of that little disagreement hurt the nation badly. The price paid was terrible — not only in human lives, but also in the long-term financial state of the country. How long-term? They’re still adding up, apparently.

US ArmyYeah, were sure their main concern was how much this was gonna cost.

While the indirect ramifications are impossible to calculate, there is still one straightforward bill the U.S. Civil War is serving America: $73.13, to be exact, paid monthly to one woman in North Carolina. You see, because soldiers have a tragic tendency of not always being able to collect what Uncle Sam owes them, the government compensates by also paying out pensions to widows and children of war veterans. And while the Civil War ended more than 150 years ago, believe it or not, there’s still one soldier’s child alive and kicking. That would be Irene Triplett, 86 years young, and she’s not going anywhere anytime soon.

Irene’s father, Mose Triplett, was born in 1846, and managed to fight on both sides of the Civil War — though that sadly didn’t mean he’d get to draw two pensions. He later married a woman 50 years his junior, who we’re assuming must’ve been into antique cannons. When Irene was born, Mose was 83 years old and ready to mosey on up to Heaven.

via Stoneman Gazette“Ask your doctor if your heart is healthy enough for sex …”

But Irene’s isn’t the only 19th-century war pension that still being paid out. We’re also still supporting 88 people for their families’ contributions to the Spanish-American War, which started and ended in 1898. And while we’re certainly not begrudging anyone their dues, if we keep up our current military policies, half of our country’s 2080 budget will be going to Iraq vets’ second families.

1

The Search For Wreckage Of The Challenger Turned Up A Lot Of Junk — And A Duffel Bag Of Cocaine

Being an air crash site investigator must be a harrowing gig. Their entire job revolves around cataloging the most horrific of disaster scenes, where the Earth has gotten a dose of corpse buckshot to the face. But finding 73 separate pieces of the same human being isn’t the only weird thing they might find at a crash site. Sometimes they also find a shit ton of coke.

CNNGodspeed, friends.

Like 9/11, the Challenger disaster is one of those awful tragedies seared into memories of all who witnessed it. Seven people lost their lives simply because some faulty O-rings and unusually cold weather caused their vessel to blow up and plow into the ocean. After the crash, NASA immediately began searching the Atlantic for any and all portions of the shuttle that survived the crash, as well as any remains of the crew that could be retrieved and given a proper burial. But with such a spread out investigation site in constantly shifting water, the crew was bound to encounter some weird stuff.

For nine weeks, experts spent 15-hour days combing sonar data of a 420-mile area. But when their submarines or robots finally found the wreckage, they also stumbled upon what looked like Poseidon’s garage sale. During NASA’s investigation, they encountered a whole warehouse full of lagan (that’s maritime for “junk”). Some of the more ordinary items included batteries and paint cans, a refrigerator, a filing cabinet, a kitchen sink, and a toilet. More interesting finds were eight shipwrecks, a Pershing missile, and half of a torpedo.

But the best non-shuttle find by far was a duffel bag containing 25 kilograms of cocaine. When NASA handed it over to the police (what a bunch of goody-two-shoes), they revealed the estimated street value of the marching powder at $13 million, roughly the cost of the entire salvage mission. So if you’re struggling to find rent money or hoping to remodel your house, maybe spend more time hanging out at the beach.

Kelly Stone remembers watching the Challenger explode, and speaks only as much German as Google Translate does. She sometimes Tweets about cats and Star Trek.

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Source: http://allofbeer.com/7-wtf-details-about-historical-events-everyone-forgets/

from All of Beer https://allofbeer.wordpress.com/2018/09/02/7-wtf-details-about-historical-events-everyone-forgets/

[hottytoddynews]

These Dog-Days of summer are a good time to hit the cineplexes. Milk Duds, Goobers, a tub of “buttery” popcorn, and a bottomless iced cold drink, a chaise lounge experience in posh [anti-bedbug] leather seats, and A/C. What more can you ask for? And, unlike most summer Augusts, there’s much to shout about at cineplexes.

The days are long, and some of the best films are short. The studios aren’t waiting for late October roll-out of prestige films. They’re putting them out weekend after weekend – often with three/four openings on a Friday. Some making a big impact at box offices are indies. There’s comedy, drama, romance, murder, Superhero thrills, war-zone chaos, one determined dude on a snowmobile, and a new action goddess. Oscar-nominee Taylor Sheridan (Deputy Chief David Hale, TVs Sons of Anarchy; Danny Boyd, Veronica Mars) of Hell or High Water fame has sneaked in with the season’s sleeper, crime thriller Wind River, which he wrote. Oscar nominee Jeremy Renner is letter perfect as rough and tumble game tracker of mountain lions and coyotes who prey on livestock on a remote Utah Native American reservation. He’s also no slouch on snowmobiles! Already in the stark winter of their discontent, the poor natives are devastated by a second murder of a young woman, found viciously beaten and raped multiple times. This is not savory going — especially when Renner is called upon to assist urban (Las Vegas via Ft. Lauderdale) FBI Agent Elizabeth Olsen (Captain America: Civil War’s Scarlett Witch). We’ve seen directors handle flashbacks many ways, but Sheridan, no slack when it comes to inventiveness, introduces a new and seamless approach. The estimable Oscar nominee Graham Greene is featured as the girl’s father. In a brief but memorable seduction scene, HOHW’s Gil Birmingham – showing different sides of himself, will have a lot of audience members swooning.

In the U.S., a child goes missing every 40 seconds. You never think it’ll happen to you. Until it does. In Kidnap (Aviron/Di Bonaventura Pictures), when mom, Oscar winner Halle Berry, returning to the big screen after three years, catches a glimpse of the abductors speeding away, she begins a high-speed pursuit across Louisiana highways, byways, and bayous, overcoming obstacle after obstacle. The nappers messed with the wrong mom! TV veteran, 10-year-old Sage Correa delivers a masterful performance during the marathon chase that had to be shot with great care. Pay no attention to the red herons, as they don’t deliver pay dirt. The only delivering is done by indefatigable Halle Berry. The ending is powerful, but, on second thought, it would’ve been interesting to have another motive behind the kidnap other than the crackers out for ransom, that include long-time character actress Chris McGinn – move over (Misery’s) Kathy Bates!

There’s another Man in Black and, alas, he’s not Johnny Cash. The mind of Stephen King has no limits when it comes pulp fiction, but his works have proved to be a mixed bag when brought to the screen. Nikolaj Arcel’s brave attempt to adapt his seven novels and a short story published over 30 years [with homages to Robert Browning, J. R. R. Tolkien, and Sergio Leone] in Dark Tower (Columbia Pictures) falls into that category. It’s a box office champ, but no critics’ darling. However, who needs critics? Idris Elba is the last gunfighter in an alternate land out to keep the world from colliding; and Matthew McConaughey is evil incarnate as the Man in Black, with whom he’s locked in eternal battle.

Oscar winning director/and co-producer Kathryn Bigelow proved her mettle with Best Picture The Hurt Locker, and followed with a Best Picture nomination for Zero Dark Thirty. She and ZDT collaborator Mark Boal know a thing or two about war zones. This one is stateside, 1967 Detroit (Annapurna Pictures/M-G-M), where a police raid and a number of murders set off a literal African-American rebellion that set off a night of turbulence that segued into one of the nation’s largest race riots. The film is docudrama realistic, raw, disturbing, engrossing, brutal. A writer aptly summed it up: “The degree of terror and carnage is so strong that ‘based on a true story’ is too tame to do the film justice.” Not for the faint of heart, and in these Dog-Days of summer, certainly not a date movie. There are lessons that should have been learned and weren’t. John Boyega, John Krasinski, Jacob Latimore, Anthony Mackie, Will Poulter, and Algee Smith headline a huge cast.

Director Christopher Nolan’s Dunkirk (Warner Bros.), a sweeping 70-mm IMAX epic [with the help of CGI] restaging of the 1940 evacuation of more than 300,000 Allied troops [French, British, Belgian, Dutch] in fast retreat from the Western Front at Dunkerque, France. Penned in by the Germans, they’re stranded due to a lack of transport. Fionn Whitehead, in a near silent role, delivers a shattering performance. There’s also Sir Kenneth Branagh, Tom Hardy, and, in his acting debut, Harry Styles. Except for Branagh, you may find it hard to spot the others. Olivier, BAFTA, Oscar, and Tony winner Mark Rylance gives a solid performance helming his boat, which joins the civilian watercraft armada aiding the rescue. Though you never see blood, the gore as Germans strafe and use their U-boats in unconscionable torpedo attacks is harrowing– but something’s missing. At 1:45, they’re no humanizing back stories to motivate audiences to care instead of just being blown away. The Dunkirk headlines were instrumental in getting FDR to aid the U.K. to avoid a conditional surrender to Germany.

How does a sweet gal with the name Lorraine become a bad-ass spy? In Atomic Blonde (Focus Features), adapted by Kurt Johnstad from Anthony Johnston’s graphic novel series The Coldest City, illustrated by Sam Hart, Charlize Theron is an agent sent to walled Berlin to retrieve a list of spies destined to fall into the hands of Russia for Britain’s MI6 military intelligence group. It seems like a set-up because she’s a marked woman upon arrival; but like Berry in Kidnap, Lorraine isn’t to be messed with. With almost 90% of the 115 minutes so bloated with mortal combat, karate chops, all manner of guns, and objects for body blows, it begins to get monotonous, sometimes ridiculous, and lacks a core.  The story gets muddled with the intro of a lesbian [it appears] French spy, played by Sofia Boutella – but it also gets rather steamy. Numerous flashbacks don’t help the film’s coherence. That said, Theron is, indeed atomic as a spy who doesn’t know when to come in from the cold. Kudos to director and veteran stunt coordinator David Leitch (John Wick), fight coordinator Jon Valera, and crew. Without their precision choreography, bloodied, bruised Theron and cast mates wouldn’t have come out of this alive. James McAvoy co-stars. John Goodman and Toby Jones are featured.

 There’s nothing sanitized about the raucous, crass R-rated comedy about female friends bonding, nonetheless is non-stop hilarious [and probably would be just as hilarious with less F-bomb raunch and sexual innuendos and more creative expletives], Girls Trip (Universal), made for $20-mill, rolled in out of the blue and has swept up $86-mill. In addition to stellar performances by Regina Hall and tiny dynamo Jada Pinkett Smith, brilliant comic Tiffany “Shake it ‘til it brakes” Haddish, better known to TV audiences, has had the big-screen break-out role of the year; and the gals have found a new crush in former Off Broadway actor and now hunk Mike “The Arm” Colter (who’s been gym-pumping since his Good Wife Lemond Bishop days).

It’s been a good summer for superheroes. In Spider-Man: Homecoming (Columbia Pictures/Marvel Studios), director Jon Watts does a high dive, forgets the past, and begins anew. Tom Holland (Lost City of Z) soars to new heights in the third reboot of the webby franchise by not taking himself seriously and being adept at slapstick. He’s superbly abetted by Oscar winner Michael Keaton’s intense menace– some of the film’s best moments are when Fresh-faced kid v Grizzled villain, and guest star Robert Downey Jr. as Tony Stark. Peter Parker wasn’t alone waking up to the full potential of power. In Wonder Woman [Warner Bros.] Gal Gadot (a prime asset of Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice) spectacularly segues with gusto from princess of the Amazons to discover her true destiny as guardian of the world. With global grosses in the multimillions, it’s no wonder sequels are in the pipeline.

Ellis Nassour is an Ole Miss alum and noted arts journalist and author who recently donated an ever-growing exhibition of performing arts history to the University of Mississippi. He is the author of the best-selling Patsy Cline biography, Honky Tonk Angel, as well as the hit musical revue, Always, Patsy Cline. He can be reached at ENassour@aol.com. 

The post Hot Movies for Summer’s Dog-Days appeared first on HottyToddy.com.

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #499

Top Ten Everything Ever

Four hundred and ninety-nine. That’s how many weeks I’ve been doing this four. Four hundred and ninety-nine.

Next week is the big five-oh-oh and I’m doing something typically stupid, but I wanted to make it a real celebration. That means for the next three weeks you’re going to get some rather meaningful and special Tops Ten; lists that have been long in the making, or that are just bonkers-level awkward for me to do. Like this one.

I mean, I’ve ranked films, games, fictional guns, and robots that made me cry. How much longer can I do this for? How many more weeks am I going to put myself through this?

Give me a barrel with bottom unscrap’d.

There’s nowhere to go but up, ladies and germs, and so I present to you the list to end all lists. The most definitive list possible. A list of everything. A list of my favourite things in all of time and space. A list of the official best things ever.

I mean, what more is there to say? This covers everything. I’ve tried to avoid it being really specific to one film or one person. And, of course, it doesn’t include people I know in real life, or events that have happened to me. These are, in their own way, big, sweeping things; film series, franchises, bands, stories that have in their own way changed my life. Just the greatest things I’ve come across in my nearly 40 years on this planet.

And you can’t say fairer than that.

The Transformers comic: this should be obvious to anyone who knows me well, but there’s no greater influence in my life, in terms of storytelling or entertainment, than Transformers. And of all the variants branching off from the Prime Timeline (pun very much intended), it’s the comic that’s greatest. Whether it’s the melodrama of Simon Furman or the intricate plotting of James Roberts, I’ve been addicted to the Transformers comic for the vast majority of my life. It has fundamentally shaped how I consume fiction and the sorts of things I’m into. It’s also really changed how I write, and, in fact, the original Marvel run is at least partly responsible for the fact that I write at all. I drew Transformers comics as a kid. I planned out elaborate multi-issue arcs before I was a teenager. I wrote detailed synopses and snatches of scripts for Transformers movies that would never be made. And I robbed, wholesale, motifs and lines of dialogue for the original books and comics I was working on too. It changed my life. It’s not hyperbole to say Transformers is the single biggest piece of fiction I’ve ever touched. Till all are one indeed.

The films of Steven Spielberg, 1975-1982: Spielberg is my favourite filmmaker, but it felt a bit weird to just say “Steven!” as one of the entries here. So instead I’ve decided to hone in on his early career, despite the fact that knocks out one of the biggest influences of my life, Jurassic Park. But everything I love about Spielberg is in these movies. His skill with a camera, his love of light, his great eye for casting, his way with actors; I mean, Close Encounters, which I probably first saw aged about twelve, is just a microcosm of all my interests in my teens: aliens, government conspiracies, determined men going on a crazed quest, and above all a pervasive sense of hope and optimism. Spielberg’s craft is exemplary, but that’s also true of many of his peers. His flair for action scenes and love of spectacle is entertaining, but there are many directors of whom you could say the same. What I love about him – what keeps bringing me back to him – is his warmth and optimism, his belief in the best of us. Even in his darkest movies, in Schindler’s List and A.I. and Munich (which has one of the bleakest endings of his career), there’s still joy and warmth and something worthwhile and wholesome to fight for. And whilst Raiders is a thrill-ride and E.T. an emotional tour-de-force, all of his preoccupations are encapsulated in Jaws, a tense horror film, a buddy-comedy, an entertaining rollercoaster, an acting masterclass. But it’s still Jurassic Park that made me want to make a movie.

The Marvel Cinematic Universe: so when I was a kid I was reading Transformers and Ghostbusters and other Marvel-published adaptations, but not really any actual Marvel comics. However, as a result, I became very loosely familiar with who Iron Man and Doctor Strange were (and Spidey of course) through references and back-up strips, and that time Death’s Head fought Tony’s nephew Arno Stark. No, when I started reading “proper” comics – mainstream superhero stuff – it was DC. I loved Batman, so I bought Batman, and that was a gateway to the rest of the DCU. However, despite the successes of the various DC movie adaptations, it’s the MCU that really, really got its hooks into me. For one, they’re really good adaptations, well-cast, with some great set-pieces. But the interconnected stuff is what really sings. Not just the characters popping up in each others’ movies, or even the overall arc leading up the crossover events; no, it was the actual shared-ness of it, the way the destruction of SHIELD had an impact, or the Sokovia Accords, or Asgard, Skrulls, magic… everything has an impact, an effect. And sure, it’s incredibly good fun to follow the breadcrumbs and try to work out where things are heading. As we enter a new phase – literally and figuratively – I just can’t wait to find out what’s next.

Grant Morrison’s Batman: talking about interconnectivity, no one does it better – or weirder – than Morrison. His Batman arc – and I’m referring to the character not the title, as it spans multiple series and even, arguably, includes work he did on JLA years earlier – is a web of connected theories, images, themes, events, and references. What does the Zur-En-Arrh graffiti in Gotham mean, not just in the here-and-now, but also as a long-standing reference to decades of Batman’s past? The anticipation of uncovering the next breadcrumb, the excitement of deciphering the next reference; it was long-form storytelling as a form of existential theatre, and it was sublime. But he also did two things that have utterly changed my view of the character. On the meta level, he presented a Batman where everything was canon; the grim thirties Shadow-inspired vigilante, the goofy fifties space adventures, the hairy-chested love-god of the seventies… it all happened to one man over a span of about 15-20 years. Fair enough; that’s cool storytelling. But his idea that Batman was not a miserable, psychopathic loner, that he was not insane or struggling to cope or still traumatised by his parents’ death, that Bruce Wayne was a nice guy with friends and family, who’d used his pain as a weapon, who’d gotten past his rage and grief and turned all the negative stuff outwards. Batman was what was built from all that, and Batman allowed Bruce to grow. And what did he do? He found other lost children and saved their lives, allowing Dick Grayson to take over. Batman is a force for good, in a similar way to Superman in Morrison’s All-Star book, making people better by association. And his confrontation with Darkseid in Final Crisis is extraordinary; brilliant as-is, as a piece of comicbook badassery on the page, but the metatextual resonance it’s given – Batman as a good man versus the font of all evil, David versus Goliath, Theseus and the Minotaur – is brilliant. How it ties in to Morrison’s wider Bat-epic, the whole Black Glove stuff and the devil and time travel and the myth of Batman’s creation and all of it… and just the simple thing of Batman’s last act being shooting the embodiment of evil, saving a human life, and then saying “Gotcha,” before dying, is perfect. Perfect.

The Secret of Monkey Island and Monkey Island 2: LeChuck’s Revenge: when I was little, I played Spectrum and C64 games at my cousins’ house. Then I got an Amiga – I think maybe I was ten? – and I started playing Amiga games. And it was fun and all, but then I read a review in Amiga Action, and my life changed. It was something called an “adventure game”, and it let you walk around chatting to people and interacting with the world, with great big colourful graphics and characters whose mouths moved when they spoke. And then I played it. My love of the medium and its possibilities was cemented then; and, fittingly, it was through the wordy, hilarious dialogue and comedy antics of a wannabe pirate who may, or may not, be selling these fine leather jackets. It’s not overstating things that my gaming tastes were defined by this game and its technically superior sequel. The quirky set-pieces, the weird puzzles, the playing with form (like when you “die” in Monkey 2), and the smart use of Lucasfilm in-jokery. The first game’s “How to Get Ahead in Navigating” gag/puzzle will live with me forever, as will the second game’s bonkers, nightmarish, beautifully constructed ending. As good as they were, none of the subsequent games could hold a candle to it, especially as the whole aesthetic changed into something much more cartoony. But these two? They’re my Big Whoop.

Star Wars: I imagine I know a lot of people in real life who would be surprised – nay, astounded – that I would list my ten favourite Things of all time, and yet Star Wars would not manage to break the Top Five. That’s because that as much as I love Star Wars – and I do, I really do – it didn’t hit me, didn’t speak to me, apart from one brief and weird moment in my late teens. It was games that made me fall in love, I think; games and toys. And, I have to confess, it was the prequels; the intricate digital visions of gleaming cities and impossibly acrobatic Jedi. I love the goofiness and ultra-seriousness of Lucas’ vision, sadly muddled now by the earthy chaos of the sequels. Star Wars is cool; for a while, it defined my idea of cool in cinema. An exciting sci-fi reimagining of ancient and endless myths, a confusing smorgasbord of weird stories and arcane philosophy. Plus spaceships and rapscallions and laser swords. So yes: whilst it was never my faith, so to speak, it’s still one of the coolest and most original pieces of fiction in my lifetime, and to this day there are very few things at all that I find more exciting and evocative than the thought of a Jedi pirouetting through the air with their ‘saber lit.

Middle-Earth, in print and film: one of my most vivid memories of childhood is my mum reading me The Hobbit (and also Macbeth, funnily enough). Then I bought myself my own copy, read it as a kid, read it again as a teenager, wrote (aged about 12 or 13) a sequel in which Gollum comes back to reclaim the ring. I remain to this day baffled that my teacher did not think to tell me that there actually was a sequel to The Hobbit. Eventually I did hear about it, watched the Ralph Bakshi version, and – when I read in Empire that it was gonna be a film and Sean Connery, of all people, was gonna be Gandalf – I thought it best to take the plunge. And I adored it. whilst there’s something about the lyrical simplicity of The Hobbit that I prefer, the depth and scope of The Lord of the Rings – and Tolkien’s subsequent, more disparate writing – that moves me on a profound level. It’s not just the epic nature of the work – the story itself, with its grandiose tales of heroism and adventure – but the sheer balls of the man to make such a thing, to craft wholesale an entire mythological ecosystem. And then the films! I can’t believe they managed to do that; it was pure lightning in a bottle, and we know that because they didn’t quite manage to do it a second time with the Hobbit movies. But all those glorious moments: “Fly, you fools”, “For Frodo”, “I can carry you”, “Go away and never come back” – bloody hell.

Empire magazine: it feels a bit weird, for some reason, citing a magazine as a Favourite Thing. It’s a magazine, a periodical, a journal; it tells you the news and recommends films. it’s not supposed to be part of the culture, part of the fabric of one’s being. But whilst you could debate whether criticism itself is culture, Empire definitely has a culture. It’s a club, nay, a family; something that has been entrenched in recent years through its podcasts and live shows. But for me it began as an education. I started reading it, really, to find out more about Jurassic Park (there we are again, the secret eleventh part of this list). But it went on, showing me more films and filmmakers, introducing me to esoteric industry concepts, broadening my horizons. I always liked film, but Empire made me love film. It reflected my tastes but then it enriched them, codified them, offered me new flavours. It was the first magazine to put Lord of the Rings on the cover; it celebrates Spielberg and the MCU; it had articles about The Greasy Strangler, for goodness’ sake. So much of what I love about film I learned from Empire over the last (nearly) thirty years, and so much of what I love about Empire now is because of what I learned. Bangily-bang.

Traveller’s Tales’ LEGO games: the games that did not make this list, I don’t know. Halo; man, I love Halo. Or what about classics like Lemmings, Worms, or SWOS? What about Mass Effect, Deus Ex, or Fable? What about Mario Kart, what about Civilization? They all deserved a place, really. But there’s something esoteric, timeless even, about the heights of the LEGO games. I remember playing a demo – on the first Xbox, I think – of the first LEGO Star Wars, and being blown away by the fact that, well, it was good. When the games started coming out on the 360 – Star Wars II, Batman, Indiana Jones – I was in the gloriously fortunate position of getting a lot of them for free at CITV, and I devoured them. The simple mechanics, the generous, forgiving gameplay, the satisfying tactile feel of smashing objects and collecting studs. There was something just so rewarding about playing them. And the fan-service! Giving you all those beloved characters, all those worlds, all those genuinely funny in-jokes, references, and cut-scenes. Plus they’re great to play with kids. Time went on, some games were better than others; I feel they reached their peak with the first LEGO Marvel Super-Heroes game, presenting us with an open world New York to play in and a collection of comic book characters that fitted the gameplay perfectly. Subsequent games have either put new restrictions on play, or given us more complicated stories and mechanics, or – really – just over-egged the pudding slightly. I’m really, really optimistic and excited for The Skywalker Saga, long overdue, and promising something of an overhaul. it began, really, with Star Wars; and I feel with Star Wars they’ll have their greatest hour.

Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds: fun fact: finding the tenth spot on these lists is very hard. How about a brand I love, like Xbox, or the BBC, or even Disney? Or another writer or director – what about Aaron Sorkin? Or a TV show – Doctor Who, perhaps, or Star Trek? Or how about, oh I dunno, Shakespeare? I like him. But I’ve not talked about music, so let’s do that; we’ll go out on a number. I’m not a musical person; I didn’t grow up frequenting record shops or listening to mix tapes in my room. I liked songs, but mostly I came to music through film. That was even true with Nick Cave, who I first heard in an episode of The X-Files, and read about in the X-Files magazine. But he remains one of the few artists, The Bad Seeds one of the few bands, that I continue to seek out and listen to regularly (rather than just saying “Alexa, play nineties rock”). I love the different styles, from the distorted noise of the early, post-Birthday Party years through the sombre melodies of Nocturama. I love Cave’s lyricism; his evocation of myth, his use of imagery. I love how he manages to get phrases like “morally culpable” into a song. I love the humour as well as the tragedy, the references to things both real and mythological, the sadness and eloquence of it all. I love how so many of his songs are about sex but are also really moving and meaningful; how much of the music is infused with pain and sorrow but is also uplifting. The horrible evocations of Cave’s own abuse in Do You Love Me, through to the references to his son’s death in Girl in Amber. I love Cave’s voice. I don’t know if this has come through in this list, but something I really like is stuff that makes me cry but isn’t necessarily sad. I cry when I read Sandman, when he wins the Oldest Game by challenging the end of everything by becoming “hope”; I cry when Donna tells Josh, “if you were in the hospital I wouldn’t stop for red lights”; I cry when Steve Rogers jumps on that dummy grenade. I think it’s hope and heroism and love. And that’s something that I get constantly, mainlined, intravenous, from Nick Cave. As Morgan Freeman says in Seven, “The world is a fine place and worth fighting for – I agree with the second part.”

God, there’s so much stuff not listed here. So many things I love that I feel are core; no Pixar, no West Wing, no other filmmakers cited, really, apart from Spielberg. But ten’s not a big number, and I contain multitudes.

Thanks for reading.

[hottytoddynews]

In 2009, legendary film star Debbie Reynolds returned to New York for her first professional appearance in over 25 years — performing her celebrated nightclub act that June at the Café Carlyle.

She did her famous impressions [including a killer Streisand and Zsa Zsa Gabor], paid tribute to her idol Judy Garland, and told stories from her celebrated career and her personal life: the morning she woke up, America’s Sweetheart, to find herself in the middle of a love triangle, as she found out husband, Eddie Fisher, left her for her best friend, Elizabeth Taylor [whose late husband Mike Todd was his best friend]; and the husbands who took her to the cleaners, such as #2 Harry Karl, “a shoe salesman.”

She also told audiences, “Those of a certain age may remember me; the others know me as Princess Leia’s mother!”

That princess of Star Wars fame was, of course, Carrie Fisher.

Last week, we witnessed the unthinkable: Carrier Fisher having a massive heart attack on the return leg of a flight to Los Angeles and passing away on Tuesday, December 27. And Miss Reynolds, 84, who had been in “frail health” for several months, suffering a stroke and death the next day after sending out a message thanking her daughter’s fans for their outpouring of love.

The indefatigable Miss Reynolds appeared or did voice work in over 50 features, guested in numerous TV series/movies, and had her own TV series. But there were lows along with the highs. In an attempt to pay debts left by her second husband, she ended up broke and declared bankruptcy. She even confessed to living in her car.

For years, her relationship with Carrie was rocky. Carrie wrote of that in her autobiographical Postcards from the Edge, adapted for the screen starring Shirley MacLaine and Meryl Streep. In TV appearances both were blunt about their dust ups, and how they finally resolved them. It helped when Carrie purchased the house next door to her Mom. Part of the problem was that both traveled for work extensively.

Though home was North Hollywood, Miss Reynolds said, “I’m hardly ever in one place very long. [She tallied an average of 42 weeks a year on the road.] But touring helps keep me in shape. Some of my good fortune comes from family genes. We were very athletic. My brother was a pro ball player. I was always on athletic fields and very fit. My goal was to be a physical education teacher and train for the Olympics. I never wanted to be in movies. There were no Hollywood dreams.”

Her career was an accident.

“At 16, I entered the Miss Burbank pageant. I was far from the most glamorous girl, but I won! It was one of those things that blows you out of the water and on a new path. It changed everything.”

After minor roles, she was signed at MGM in 1950, where she appeared opposite Fred Astaire and Red Skelton in Three Little Words, loosely based on the life of songwriters Harry Ruby and Bert Kalmar. Two years later came the good fortune that changed her life and led to a legendary career in film: she was cast as the ingénue Kathy Selden in Singin’ in the Rain, opposite Kelly and O’Connor [a life-long friend and “a prince among men”].

“Gene was brilliant,” stated Miss Reynolds, “but a taskmaster. I’d say he invented the word. I worked hard to look good next to him. Gene was as demanding as Fred, but in a different way. Fred exuded class and made you feel special.”

She declined to discuss Kelly. She was elated to star again with Astaire in film adaptation of Cornelia Otis Skinner/Samuel Taylor’s The Pleasure of His Company (1961).

Working in the studio system was definitely an education.

“You were under contract, told what film you’d do, and how you’d do it. The director was king. I had a lot to learn, which I did. I was fortunate to be under the tutelage of very talented people. When I wasn’t working, I’d come to the studio for dance classes and hang around to learn how to do make-up, hair, wigs, and watch movies.”

Long a “movieoholic,” she began collecting memorabilia at a time when no one thought it had value and was being literally thrown out. She amassed a magnificent and massive collection of costumes and posters. She laughed that to give value to the posters, “I’d drive to stars’ homes to get them autographed!”

In the 90s, assisted by son Todd Fisher, she turned her collection into a Las Vegas movie museum at her very own hotel/casino. The venue shuttered in 1997 and when she couldn’t find funding for a permanent home, she put the entire collection up for auction.

Film highlights include: “I Love Melvin [again with O’Connor],” “The Affairs of Dobbie Gillis,” “Tammy and the Bachelor,” “The Singing Nun,” “The Catered Affair [as Bette Davis’ daughter],” “The Rat Race,” and “How the West Was Won.” Her duet of “Aba Daba Honeymoon” with long-cherished friend Carleton Carpenter from 1950’s “Two Weeks with Love,” became the first movie tune to become a # 1 chart-topper. It earned Gold Record status.

Miss Reynolds’ favorite film — the one that earned her an Oscar nomination — was the 1964 musical, The Unsinkable Molly Brown. She later did a touring stage version of the show for two years.

“I was in my 60s, and it was then or never,” she said. [A version was workshopped for Broadway but never materialized.]

She also toured in Irving Berlin’s Annie Get Your Gun.

She first took the Big Apple by storm in 1973 when she starred in the musical Irene, receiving a Tony nod as Best Actress. She was thrilled Carrie made her Broadway debut in the ensemble at age 17.

“It was a wonderful experience,” she recalled. “I loved my cast, my crew. We became like family. Everyone called me mother! Especially Carrie!”

She returned in ‘76 in Debbie, a 14-performance revue; and in the early 80s in Woman of the Year.

“I love working live and was offered three great opportunities, but the producers insisted on eight shows a week, so I had to say no.”

For years, she was in and out of the City: in 1980 when Carrie co-starred opposite Stephen Collins, Alma Cuervo (currently Gloria Estefan’s grandmother Consuelo in On Your Feet!), and Chris Sarandon in the long-forgotten, short-lived Andy Roberts and Howard Schuman musical Censored Scenes from King Kong; and when Carrie replaced Amanda Plummer in Agnes of God, opposite Elizabeth Ashley, at the Music Box. She was married to and often estranged from Paul Simon and having substance abuse problems. She missed numerous performances. Miss Reynolds would arrive at the theatre and ask, “Is she in?” If told no, she’d go to dinner.

Miss Reynolds was also known for guest-starring roles in 80s TV series Aloha Paradise and The Love Boat; as Debra Messing’s mother on Will and Grace, which earned her an Emmy nod; and her all but unrecognizable, hoot of a performance as Liberace’s mother in Steven Soderbergh’s Behind the Candelabra, starring Michael Douglas and a game Matt Damon. Son Todd co-produced the new documentary, Bright Lights: Starring Carrie Fisher and Debbie Reynolds.

Regarding her marriage to crooner, Eddie Fisher and their headline-making divorce following his affair with Elizabeth Taylor, Miss Reynolds, after a moment of long introspection, said, “There were regrets, more than a few, but look what I received: my gorgeous children.”

Was it difficult to forgive Miss Taylor after your years of friendship? “No, but it took a while. I had to come to the realization that like me, and later Connie Stevens, she was as big a fool as I was. Liz probably did me a favor.”

In her 1988 autobiography, Debbie: My Life, she described a marriage unhappy from the beginning. “[Eddie] didn’t think I was funny. I wasn’t good in bed. I didn’t make good gefilte fish or good chopped liver.” She had one positive: “a little turned-up nose” and Fisher told her: “The children better have your nose.”

The Reynolds/Taylor relationship as well as their star movie status made for some campy and fiery exchanges in the semi-autobiographical 2001 TV movie These Old Broads, which co-starred MacLaine and Joan Collins.

Through good and bad, Reynolds had always been the ultimate trouper. “Life is hard, and laughter helps get you through it,” she said. “Thank God, so far, I’m unsinkable. When the times get tough, you just have to get tougher.”

Debbie Reynolds was once quoted, “My greatest fear is outliving my daughter.” That fear came true. As recent events unfolded, times really got tough when Miss Reynolds woke up to the unexpected, a mother’s worse nightmare: the sudden death of a daughter.

Ellis Nassour is an Ole Miss alum and noted arts journalist and author who recently donated an ever-growing exhibition of performing arts history to the University of Mississippi. He is the author of the best-selling Patsy Cline biography, Honky Tonk Angel, as well as the hit musical revue, Always, Patsy Cline.

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