#rainbow fucking randolph

[thewisemankey]

This movie doesn't get much credit for how funny it truly was. Sure the overall story was flawed in places but it never failed to entertain.

You better grow eyes in the back of your head, you horned piece of shit, because I’m not gonna sleep until worms are crawling up your foam-rubber ass! I’m goin’ on safari motherfucker! 

Death to Smoochy (2002) dir. Danny DeVito

[moviefunforeveryone]

98: Death to Smoochy (2002): “Corrupt politicians make the other ten percent look bad.” so said noted war criminal and current resident of the fiery pits of Hell Henry Kissinger, and what this film presupposes is, yes, but the politicians are actually Kids entertainers. And Society. Imagine if you will that the lovable and extremely wholesome entertainers of our VERY children, were actually perverts drug addicts, crooks and of course, real jerks. Now imagine a movie where One Brave Man stands up against this rot and gives our children, and maybe ourselves exactly what it is we need. Well that is in the broadest strokes Death To Smoochy, and yet somehow it still fuckin rocks. Robin Williams is Rainbow (fuckin') Randolph beloved TV entertainer who among a myriad of flaws has been taking cash to put kids in prime locations on his extremely popular children's show. Unfortunately for Rainbow it is a pre 9/11 world (altho released in 2002 it is a very pre September 11 vibes time) and so the government actually had time to thwart his corruption. He is arrested for many crimes and most importantly loses his show. John Stewart the man in charge of Kidsnet shows (Marion Frank Stokes) has a problem, he needs his new host to be squeaky fucking clean, but when going through a list of potential replacements all he finds is reprobates, except for 'Absolute Sap' Edward Norton (Sheldon Mopes) the creator of none other than Smoochy The Rhino seen weekly at the Coney Island Methadone Clinic. Catherine Keener (Nora Wells) exec producer/child's tv host love maker is hard on Mopes until the time comes when she see that this Sap is strong as an Oak tree. No I don't really know what that means. Featuring winning turns by Harvey Firestein and Danny Devito (also the director) and one of the funniest line reads I have ever heard 'When Spinner Dunn punch drunk sweetie pie says “Don't go anywhere, Smoochy. I'll be right back after I take a dump ”' this movie is good. I mean obviously I have it on my list. DeVito as director is always interesting because the man himself is very interesting, when he's doing comedy I think he can sometimes go too hard for the 'dark' side of things, not in a shitty edge lord kind of way but from a pretty fair and correct POV. He is rare in mainstream celebrities in that he seems to have a good idea of what the problems are and more important the system that causes them (Capitalism BABY) but sometimes he just goes a step too far when describing it in comedy. I think that is where this film is not as tenable to a wide audience, ESPECIALLY back in 2002, even with the pall of 9/11 the world was still very gung ho about Crapitalism (patent pending) and any real critiques of it, especially ones that can verge on sour were really unloved by most people. A thing I will probably mention again and again is that I worked for almost 10 years in multiple video stores, and my experiences with this film were pretty singular. Women despised it back in the early to mid 00's. And I don't mean that in some shit head anti woman way, just that in my experiences women really hated this thing. I will update to say that in present day I have met plenty of women who enjoy the film and so I assume it is a cultural change not a gender change. OK COOL In closing I love this movie Williams is electric, Keener is really underrated and conveys anger and vulnerability expertly, DeVito is a good director heavy handedness or not, and he has some really lovely shots especially dealing with the taping of the Smoochy show. And look you're gonna find gentle reader that I am always gonna be into art that tells me not loving commercialism is good and if you don't that's a you problem.

[twinblasphemies]

Info post!

This is a sideblog, my main is @redacted-metallum ​!  The purpose of this blog is to collect inspo images and to make silly posts in character for my semi-original dark humor Cthulhu Mythos story that follows a shitty metal band out of modern-day Arkham called Twin Blasphemies and their attempts to make music.

Characters, pronouns, quick bios, and tags are as follows:

Riley Davis:

they/he

Vocalist for TB, named the band after reading the Necronomicon and thinking “oh hell the fuck yeah”.  Not born in Arkham, but moved there to attend the Miskatonic University to get a creative writing degree.  They are now working on a library science graduate degree on account of they want to be able to have a job.

Currently working two jobs: one during the school year at the Miskatonic University library and one at the Innsmouth Dunkin Donuts.

Developed gills after attending an Innsmouth fish fry.

tag is #riley

Tomas Slate:

he/him

Drummer for TB, the first member of the band aside from Riley.  Arkham born and raised.

Visual artist, not going for a graduate degree, mostly just getting by on horror art commissions and the band.

Has bad luck when it comes to cursed books.

Owns a motorcycle

tag is #tomas

Fog Martin:

any pronouns

Guitarist for TB, born in Texas.  First-generation college student in the US, grandfather emigrated from Mexico.

Tends to do witchcraft in the spiritual magic sort of way and is ironically a Mythos skeptic at the start.

Short king

tag is #fog

Jane Doe:

she/her

Bassist for TB.  Literal Jane Doe in the sense she’s a Ghoul formed from an unidentified afab body.  The only member of the band who can actually read music.  Proud owner of a shitty van with a wizard airbrushed onto it (she paid Tomas to do it) (stole the van)

Lesbian dog girl

tag is #jane

Samantha Gilman:

she/her

Goes by Sammy

Innsmouth resident who’s turning into a Deep One, as is her prerogative.

Riley’s girlfriend, routinely watches them shoplift from the convenience store and does nothing about it.

A very bubbly and cheerful person, despite turning into a fish.

tag is #sammy

Randolph Carter:

he/him

yeah like that one

Quasi-immortal who’s dive bar of choice is the Miskatonic University, currently Riley’s academic advisor and the only one trying to steer them away from the Mythos

tag is #carter

Nathaniel Thorpe:

he/him

Avatar of Nyarlathotep and local problems causer on TV

Took over a local church after the previous preacher “mysteriously disappeared” and has been making a nuisance of himself ever since

tag is #thorpe

Pops:

he/him

Old Innsmouth fisherman who is Literally Just Dagon in human form

Don’t worry about it

tag is #pops

Jerry:

it/its

A dwarf Shoggoth Riley managed to befriend.  Lives in the Innsmouth Dunkins grease trap

tag is #jerry

Location tags: #innsmouth, #arkham, #miskatonic, #dunwich, #dreamlands, #carcosa, #r'lyeh

TB albums: I KNOW WHAT YOU DID TO THE MOON PEOPLE 4 THOUSAND YEARS AGO (#IKWYDTTMP4KYA), Again With The Monsters (#AWTM), Rainbow Drops of Dunwich Blood (#RDoDB)

Misc inspo: #gateways, #album cover, #library basement, #gay prismatic robes

"In character" posts: #live recording

Writing tag for random scenes I’ve written: #written word

[headofhelios]

Hey babe what the FUCK is Death to Smoochy about why are there sexual clowns

HFBCJFHF OH BOY. SO death to smoochy is a 2002 black comedy directed by danny devito. it stars robin williams as rainbow randolph and ed norton as sheldon mopes. rainbow randolph is a kids show host (kinda like barney but he doesnt have an animal suit he just wears a sparkly rainbow outfit) but he's like in it for the money and he's like corrupt and takes bribes from parents and stuff so at the beginning of the movie the network i guess stages a sting operation to catch him accepting bribes and then they throw him out. and then they replace him with sheldon! whose on stage persona is smoochy the rhino and smoochy is like Super Squeaky Clean and he's like the only person who actually wants to provide sincere kids entertainment and stuff. SO rainbow randolph does the normal thing and tries to sabotage sheldon's career and thats like the main plot of the movie or whatever. im trying to remember if rainbow randolph is ever particularly Sexual but it is mentioned that he was in a relationship with a producer that sheldon ends up dating (and the producer dates like Every kids show host on the network) and also in general there are gay jokes and at one point sheldon tells randolph that like "youre not a terrible person you just have some issues with sexual identity i think" and randolph nods like "yeah :(" if i rewatch it i'll be on the lookout for Sexual Clowns but from what i remember its . idk randolph does not strike me as particularly sexual gkvnghfjg

[geekbroll]

With the Apocalypse and all, I got back together with Disney/Hulu. I am finally watching the new HIGH FIDELITY on Hulu.   It’s funny that this was originally announced for Disney+, because of all of the f-bombs and brief nudity.    I’m on the third episode and this is fucking cool. Reinterpreting all of the moments from the movie in a modern way.  Da'Vine Joy Randolph is perfect in the Jack Black role.    The second episode takes on the Stevie Wonder moment from the movie. Where Jack Black refuses to sell some dad the Stevie Wonder album with “I Just Called To Say I Love You”, claiming that the dad didn’t know his daughter at all.  And then calls Wonder’s pop 80’s stuff a crime compared to his genius 60’s/70’s stuff.    In the new version some girl wants to buy her boyfriend Michael Jackson - Off The Wall and Da’Vine’s Cherise refuses to sell the album because Michael Jackson is a pedophile. And then Kanye’s Maga hat and being on the wrong side of slavery comes up. This had me whooping like I was in a theater.    Rainbow Sun Francks, who was replaced on Stargate Atlantis by Jason Momoa, plays Zoe Kravitz’s brother. And he is soooooo awesome in this part. Also he doesn’t look like he’s infected with Wraith DNA.    Catherine Zeta-Jones part is now being played by Ivanna Sakhno from Pacific Rim Uprising and The Spy Who Dumped Me and looks like she will really nail the part.    The Lili Taylor part I think is some dude who figured out he was gay when they dated the first time. Not sure. P.S. I spent the 90’s working in an independent record store so High Fidelity has ALWAYS resonated with me.    #highfidelity #zoekravitz #davinejoyrandolph #jackblack #JohnCusack #NickHornby #DavidHHolmes #hulu #disneyplus #steviewonder #michaeljackson #kanyewest #NadineMalouf #RainbowSunFrancks #JasonMomoa #stargateatlantisa #lilitaylor #CatherineZetaJones #IvannaSakhno #pacificrim #pacificrimuprising #thespywhodumpedme #recordstore (at Portland, Oregon) https://www.instagram.com/p/B922O_thrNj/?igshid=d3aj4qug8kf2

[marmelade-sky-reading]

Book Recs: Queer Lit, pt. II (fantasy)

Here is part II of my lgbtqia+ book recs. Unfortunately, some of these books aren’t exclusively gay, but feature a main or very important side character who isn’t straight. We need more gay fantasy books! 

Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard Trilogy by Rick Riordan Magnus is a homeless teenager who’s been living on the streets of Boston ever since his mom died. His only living relative, Uncle Randolph, is the man his mother always warned him about- and so Magnus makes sure to stay away from him. But when a maneuver to avoid his uncle goes wrong, Magnus falls right into his Uncle’s hand. Soon, Magnus has to find out that his life is about to get even more tangled up... with Norse Gods, wolves and a bunch of the strangest people he’s ever met.  I love Rick Riordan’s books A LOT. The Magnus Series is not only written in a way that will keep you invested in the disaster that is Magnus Chase’s life, but also super diverse. There’s several POC characters, muslim characters (hijabi, too), a deaf character, pansexual, gay and genderfluid characters. Magnus himself is a sweetheart, and his friends (and his love interest! ♥) are witty, funny and smart. The books are more on the middle-grade side of the spectrum, but they aren’t childish at all.

Trials of Apollo Series by Rick Riordan Another Riordan one. I just love his books. Apollo- god of music, healing and lots of other fun stuff- has angered his father, Zeus. It’s not like it’s the first time that has happened- but this time, Zeus has enough and casts Apollo down from Olympus. Apollo, now a lanky teenage boy with a face full of zits- lands in New York, where he has to survive on his own, trying to find people who can help him to regain his father’s favour and be allowed back into Olympus. It’s like every time Riordan writes another series, it gets gayer. Apollo is VERY bisexual- and it’s not just, like, mentioned in passing; no, it’s explained, and he keeps checking out guys the same way he checks out girls. And he isn’t just the only queer character in the series. 

Carry On by Rainbow Rowell Simon Snow is the worst Chosen One to ever have been chosen. But if he won’t fight the Insidious Humdrum, the monster who leaves holes in the magical athmosphere, who else will?  At least Simon has his know-it-all best friend Penny, and his girlfriend Agatha... even if she seems to grow more and more interested in Simon’s arch enemy Baz lately... Speaking of Baz, why hasn’t he shown up at the start of the school year?    So, this basically reads like fanfic. But high quality, slow burn fanfic. It’s Rainbow Rowell’s take on the “Chosen One” trope- leaning especially heavy on Harry Potter. Simon is just... relateable as fuck, and the story is funny, magical and, in parts, heart-wrenching. Highly recommended.   

Wolfsong (Green Creek Series) by TJ Klune Ox Matheson’s dad left when Ox was twelve. What Ox remembers best about him was one lesson his father taught him: Ox isn’t worth anything, and people will never understand him.  Ox lives his life with that in mind- until he meets a strange boy on the way home- a boy with a lot to talk about, a stone statue of a wolf, and a family who is unlike other families.  Okay so. The story is very unconventional in its set-up. The writing isn’t the most perfect I’ve ever read, but it’s fine. Some stuff in the book is a little cliché, and some things made me cringe a bit. But all in all, it’s a very entertaining book- what came to my mind when I had finished it was “basically the good parts of Twilight, just gayer”. 

Captive Prince Trilogy by C.S. Pacat (Okay, I know some people have issues with this series- and I do understand why these issues exist. There is going to be a seperate post about this trilogy, so please don’t hate on me for including it.) Damen is a warrior hero to his people, and the rightful heir to the throne of Akielos. But when his half brother seizes power, Damen is captured, stripped of his identity, and sent to serve the prince of an enemy nation as a pleasure slave. His new master, beautiful, manipulative prince Laurent has to deal with his own country’s tangle of politics and intrigues, and soon, the two have to work together more than either of them would like to. Well. The writing, characterization and world-building is preeeeeetty good. If you’re okay with a story that is problematic in a lot of areas, and if you occasionally enjoy a bit of, well, trashy smut, this is the perfect trilogy for you. I read it in the summer, on vacation, which it was perfect for. 

The Raven Cycle Series by Maggie Stiefvater Her whole life, Blue Sargent- the girl who lives with a family of psychics and likes to make her own clothes- has been told that her true love will die when she kisses him.  His whole life, Richard Campbell Gansey III -the boy who wears boat shoes and whose mom is a republican senator- has been searching for a dead welsh king who saved his life.  Then there’s Gansey’s friends Ronan and Adam, one sharp like a knife, the other one trying hard not to give up, and Noah, the boy with the smudged face. And it seems like their fates are tangled, in one way or another. AAAAAAAA!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!, is all I can say. Must read. I don’t want to say too much, but, like... no-one in this series is truly straight, I’m convinced.

The Rest of Us just live Here by Patrick Ness Ghosts, zombies, aliens- Mikey’s high school has seen it all. And of course, there’s always those kids who end up fighting the monsters. But what about the kids who are not? What about the ones who just want to graduate in peace? The ones who are just trying to live their lives?  Another unconventional take on a popular trope- the teenage hero. Mikey is NOT a hero- he’s just a normal guy with OCD.  Diversity is very high in this book: neurodiversity, racial diversity, sexuality. However, I have to mention that it’s not one of the books with a gay main character. 

Shades of Magic Series by V.E. Schwab In four worlds with four different Londons- one black and dead, one white and dying, one red and alive, and one grey and unsuspecting- there once lived plenty of Antari- magicians who are able to change between those four worlds, those four Londons. But now, only two are left: Kell, who comes from Red London and is tired of being nothing but an ambassador, and Holland, who comes from white London and is tired of the ever-changing string of queens and kings trying to rule his world.  Again, another one in which the main character isn’t queer- but as the story goes on, it becomes more and more gay via side characters who get their own POV. The writing is beautiful and has a great flow to it, and the story and worldbuilding is A+.

[deanaferal]

I cried a whole bunch last night watching dead poets society

like rainbow randolph reciting whitman had me fucked up

huh?

[legrandepapillon]

A Walk On The Wild Side (thomas & john, washette)

Summary: He shouldn’t be here. He didn’t belong here. But he was. Prompt: Prison AU Author’s Notes: I’ve always wanted to write a prison AU, but never fully committed the idea to get enough of it finished, so here’s my (self-indulgent, washette filled) prison drabble.

If someone had told Thomas Jefferson two months ago that he would be sitting in the Attica Correctional Facility in an blue and white uniform, he would’ve laughed in their face and went on about how his brand new Givenchy sunglasses cost more than their yearly living wage. And yet, here he was, sitting on the hard mattress of his bunk and trying to stifle back tears. Though he wanted to say he didn’t know how he had wound up here, he would be lying if he did. He knew exactly how he’d wound up in the penal system, and he knew the only way out, too.

Thomas’ father, Peter Jefferson, was the Warden of Rikers’ Island. He’d been trying desperately to move into better politics however, politics that didn’t involve the tarnishing of his name by most of his associates being convicts. Peter had been trying all sorts of new gimmicks and campaigns in order to separate himself from the title of ‘warden’, and that had included nearly isolating his name from that of his half-black son.

Jane Randolph was not only black, but also the sister of Peter’s political rival. With a monthly child support payment of nearly half a million dollars, Peter had bought his son’s mother’s silence. However, Thomas hadn’t been willing to settle for that. He had grown up his entire life being claimed as his father’s son—albeit far away from New York City, in sunny Shadwell, Virginia—and now he was being treat as a dirty little secret? What kind of shit is that?

So he’d done it. Sold his story to a rival politician’s endorsed newsletter, spilling all the dirty secrets about his parents’ marriage, life and his true parentage. And they’d ate it up.

A week later, he’d wound up in prison on charges of possession with intent to distribute. He’d had less than a gram of pot with him—but since he’d been the owner of the vehicle, had been passing the blunt between his friends who were riding with him, and had been caught with a DUI before, there had been no leniency. Though, the young man knew the real reason the Judge threw the book at him. It was the same reason that very Judge had bounced him on his lap as a kid and bought him brand new coloring books.

He knew and had ties with Peter Jefferson.

Thomas knows all of this, and still… he stares at the cell around him with contempt. With fury. He shouldn’t be here. All he’d wanted was for his father to give him the same attention he gave his white family’s kids. The same love, and support, and nourishing. He hadn’t done anything too offensive, hadn’t committed some awful violent crime. He wasn’t a thief, or a pedophile, or a murderer. But here he was. With the sleaziest and grimiest that lovely New York had to offer.

“Hey, kid. Lighten the fuck up will you? You’re making my book all sad with your moping,” a voice says, and the voice is strong enough to snap the young inmate from his distant trance. Thomas looks up from where he’d been glaring burning holes into the bars of the cell in efforts to melt them away, looks over to where the man had spoken from—viciously wiping the tears he hadn’t known had fallen from the wells of his eyes.

“Don’t be an asshole,” he snaps back at the man, though his voice shakes and lacks the courage he’d tried to muster. Its now that Thomas sees that there are three other men in the room with him—not just one, which was what he’d expected. Had he been so caught up in his fathers betrayal that he’d had completely missed not one, but three presences surrounding him. The man that had been speaking is on the bottom bunk across from him, but there’s another man there with him… on the side closest to the wall, at first seemingly sleeping. The other man looks up briefly, and Thomas catches a flash of inquisitiveness on his face before he goes back to seemingly cuddling against the bigger man.

A fleeting thought of, ‘That’s his bitch. That could happen to me’, passes through Thomas’ mind, but he pushes that thought out of his mind.

“I’m not trying to be, but you see—my roommates and I don’t really fancy mopy little boys with too hot of a head and too short of a temper. And you look like exactly the type,” the man is completely disengaged from his book now, and the look of fury on his face frightens Thomas for the smallest of moments. He wonders now if he has to ‘prove’ himself, if now he’ll be beaten to nothing but a puddle for the slightest of offenses. He takes a deep breath, gathers his courage, and is about to retort when he’s interrupted.

“Lay off him George—” another man, the man above him, starts before Thomas can shoot back. Jeffersons’ bunk is briefly blocked by long legs slipping from the bunk above him and then a freckled face leaning down into his. He instinctively leans back, eyes widening with a bit of surprise and a bit of fright. But then the other man's hazel eyes soften, and he offers a half-cocked smile. Thomas can’t help but smile back, which earns a nod of approval.. “—he ain’t gonna be no trouble. I know it.”

“Oh, and why do you propose that, John?” ‘George’ asks, sitting up now—propping himself on his arm. Thomas watches the strain of veins against his muscles, swallows thickly. Still fears that he may be nothing but a bruised mess seconds from now… but also refusing to allow that fear to control him.

The man lying with him groans in what seems like a great annoyance, before rolling over his ‘cuddle buddy’ and slipping from the bunk. Now that he’s standing, Thomas can see him wearing a form of makeshift makeup on his eyelids and lips, and his nails are painted. His prison uniform has been altered greatly—so that the deep navy jumpsuit arms are wrapped around his waist, and the white undershirt torn into a crop top. There’s a glimpse of sturdy, gorgeous caramel abs before the man turns his back. Thomas shudders with both fear, a tiny bit of disgust. ‘Oh, that’s definitely his bitch.’

“Does it matter whether or not he’s gonna be trouble, kids?” the man in the Penitentiary Crop-Top asks, stretching again as though he’s just woken from the longest sleep of his life and going over to the toilet. Thomas is a bit taken aback when he doesn’t sit to pee, instead leading on the wall while he goes. He had thought bitches in prison were supposed to be far more submissive than that, but the act just screams masculinity.  “He’ll be moved soon. You know they don’t put newbies with George. Not after what happened to poor little Seabury.”

“What happened to Seabury?” Thomas finds himself asking nervously, wringing his hands before he can stop the motion from happening. He looks to the man leaning above his bunk, feels like a little kid looking to a mother for comfort. Was the other man George’s bitch for a reason? Was this George—who actually looked a little unassuming, though far bigger than the bunk allowed, he seemed like the type of man you find in a CEO office somewhere—actually some sort of behemoth, that had a habit of bashing in the faces of newbies?

“Oh, nothin’,” the man assures though, clapping Thomas’ shoulder goodnaturedly. The knot that had been forming in his stomach untwists itself, and Thomas relaxes against the hard prison-issue mattress. “Our buddy likes to make a point sometimes.” John says these words, but its painfully obvious he’s hiding details from him—to spare him, most likely. The knot starts to twist again.

The ‘bitch’ begins returning to his spot on the bottom bunk—much to the grumbling protests of his… what, lover? Boyfriend? That seemed too juvenile for this situation, too sweet and romantic for what this really was. “Yeah, and use my ass to do it. He was so rough, I couldn’t sit straight for weeks. Like, babe, I wasn’t the one to call me a faggot, why did I have to suffer? Anyways, we tell them not to place us with the homophobes but do COs actually listen to anything anyone says? Of course not. God, I miss our Lexi.”

Thomas shudders in horror, too caught up in the young man's previous words to really think too much about who this ‘Lexi’ might be. His own ass was starting to hurt at the thought of being brutally raped by this big guy that seemed to enjoy being rough on his lovers. The kid seemed alright with it, but that wasn’t gonna stop Thomas’ assumptions and imagination from conjuring up the worse situation. “I’m not gonna be your bitch like him, if that’s what your assuming, George. You might wanna look elsewhere to terrorize your fuckin’ newbies.”

John gives a boisterous laugh at that, pulling away from Thomas’ bunk to lean on his own and laugh. The other kid at first seems offended by Thomas’ words, but then he too starts to giggle on the look of pure annoyance that comes over George’s face. Thomas can’t see what is funny—and at first, thinks they’re laughing at him. His arms cross defiantly over his chest, and he tries to set his face in a way that one might assume he was not-to-be-fucked-with. Judging by the growing volume of the laughter, he is doing a miserable job.

“What?! Dude!” John exclaims, when his laughter has subsided enough to form words. “No, Laf ain’t George’s bitch, or nothin’ like that. You couldn’t control that idiot if you put a leash on him, and he’s got a thing for collars.”

“Hey!” Laf squeaks indignantly, still giggling to himself. George has started to smile now, though its more at his apparent affection for the younger man beside. “I told you that in confidence!”

“No, it’s not like that at all. Lafayette is just gayer than a goddamn unicorn shittin’ rainbows. They were together on the outside, before the Penn. Plus, George has a known affinity for the cute li’l twinks. Don’t ya, Washy?”

“Shut your fuckin’ mouth, John,” George snarls, fixing his face into annoyance once he realizes the attention is back on him now. He wraps an arm around Laf’s shoulders, bringing him closer. He seems… hurt, almost. At the idea that he was some evil rapist that was keeping Lafayette with him through intimidation. For a moment, Thomas feels bad—wants to apologize for assuming. Now that he pushes his own thoughts from his mind, he realizes that the natural way they seem to coexist together is almost… cute. Lafayette leans into George’s large figure, places his hand on his chest in order to soothe him. And he even makes a point of looking over at Thomas and giving George a quick, cute, messy kiss—though the action is done in teasing.

“Yeah, John. You know I’m touchy ‘bout my man. Don’t get your new li’l friend shanked in the showers,” Laf teases, though he giggles so Thomas assumes the threat is a fleeting suggestion at best. He cracks a smile, and the other man notices it. “By God, he smiles! He’s not the defensive piece of shit we thought he was! Babe, you owe me like… eight honey buns.”

“Goddamn you and your sweet tooth,” George hisses, slapping Lafayette’s ass affectionately and shoving him to the side. Laf responds by blowing him a kiss and picking up his CD player from the floor, popping one headphone in. “Guess there goes my book. Now that you three seem to be all chatty, wanna give us your story, kid?”

Thomas stops. He’d heard a rumor from his cousin that you’re not supposed to talk about what you’re in for when you’re in prison. However, now that the other men had opened up—and he realized that as long as he wasn’t a homophobic, hotheaded prick, he would be fine with them—he felt that he owed them the same in a sense.

“Possession,” he decides to say, avoiding the others eyes. He purposefully omits most of the story, not wanting to give away too much. Not wanting them to know the humiliation that burned in his face when they put those handcuffs on wrists, knowing exactly what kind of high class person he was. He was around them now, and he couldn’t afford to be seen as a rich sissy boy. “A bit of pot. They gave me six years.”

John frowns, seems confused. There’s obviously a piqued interest, but Thomas doesn’t know if he wants John to ask the questions that settle on his mind or not. “Six years? For some weed? That sounds a little… harsh, don’t ya think? You’re a first time offender, you’ve gotta be. Should’ve just been some probation.”

“Well, it wasn’t. Can we move on?” Thomas asks, and much to his surprise, John reluctantly obliges. He’s left with no choice, as the air fills with a sharp whistle and the other two in the cell begin getting up. Lafayette groans, says something to George that makes the other man laugh. John jumps down and slips into his shoes.

“Chow time,” John says slowly, almost as if he’s gauging Thomas’ reaction. “You’ve been sitting on your own lately, but there’s a spot at our table… if you’d like.”

Thomas looks up at the face of Lafayette, who is giving all of his attention to George. Looks to George, who’s barely paying him or John any mind—too much busy listening to whatever enthralling story Lafayette. Finally, he looks up at John and gives a small smile.

“Sure. I’d like to.”

And John smiles back.

[transcriptsofthevirgo]

Corona Chronicles #1

I know it’s late in the game for me to start chronicolizin’ shit, but who gon’ check me??  🤷🏾‍♀️

Yeah that’s right, I been visiting another household during this whole sh*t 😤. And you can’t blame me. I’m an essential worker 😷, I’m bored 😪, I’m alone, my man is halfway across the world pond Europe 🌍, I ain’t been ****** down in a hot minute, I have no family here, so yeah that’s right I been taking my a** to Indie and Tom’s* house and I been having myself a damn good time.

Indie and Tom and I met at Elouise’s pub quiz party 🎉 last year (our Friendaversary is February 16th). I thought Indie was so cool because she had blue hair and a tattoo of a giant curvy woman sitting on a mountain on her arm. Tom is also cool, (if you gon’ date a girl like that you have to be right?), but I think we liked him because he’s funny in a really smart type of way a.k.a. sarcasm on point (”It’s not rude if you’re a fucking idiot” 😂). They go good together, I like being around them all the time and obviously I didn’t know it at the time but I grew to love them and the rest of this crazy family we built here in Place You Ain’t Never Heard Of But It’s Close To A Major City, Germany. 

So yeah last week, Indie and Tom invited me on a bike 🚲 ride to another city *that’s right, babe, I biked to another city, so you can never call me lazy ever again*. It was pretty fun, good exercise 💪🏾, tolerant moments with nature 😖 and I looked cute so who can complain 🤷🏾‍♀️. 

We biked what I think was an hour ⏳? With a few breaks (obviously never done that ever before in my life - serves me right for hanging out with environmentally-conscious-sociopolitically-adept-vegetriavegans 🥦). I really liked being outside on my bike though, it felt refreshing and the sky  was so clear 😌. We found a hidden beach and we saw some horses ponies and some backwoods sh*t. 

We even saw the place I ride by on the train 🚉 every day where they always have music videos (see Robert Randolph and the Family Band’s “Ain’t Nothing Wrong With That” or Tinashe’s “All Hands On Deck”) but this one is cooler because the shipping containers are rainbow 🌈 colored. *reminds self to add a pic later* 

Then I went to grab snacks 🍩 (lots of good junk food of course) and we crashed at the house, deflowered Tom from Ratatouille and ate Indian food and ratatouille. 

Good day, good night, good vibes.

I ain’t got sh*t else to say so tchüss ✌🏾!

*sorry “Tom” I hate this substitution for your name but frfr, what options do I have 🤷🏾‍♀️

[oscopelabs]

Lights, Camera, Mania: Showbiz Satire’s Descents Into Madness by Charles Bramesco

In his seminal tell-all Hollywood Babylon, Kenneth Anger claimed to reveal the festering truth beneath the dream factory of the American film industry. His was a bemused but cynical perspective on the business of show, reveling in the sordid juiciness of early Tinseltown controversies that usually concluded with tragedy, if not death. Representatives of the film idols referred to in the book lined up to denounce the tales of drug-fueled orgies and suicide cover-ups as conjecture and falsehood, and indeed, the modern reader would do well to take Anger’s gossip with a metric ton of salt.

But rather than a factual history, Anger’s book has more value as a portrait of a certain mentality specific to this professional milieu. Even if Clara Bow didn’t bang the entire USC football team, this progenitor of the celeb exposé spoke to true conditions of the culture surrounding the movie colony, suggesting that decadence and luxury made—and continue to make—it too easy to go mad with power. Readers flocked to Anger’s toxic oil spill of a book for the same reason airport bookstores regularly sell out of the latest A-lister’s confessional: it’s devilishly pleasurable to watch fame and fortune make someone act crazy.

The best Hollywood send-ups have adopted this jaded outlook, turning an eye inward to find a carnivorous business that masticates talent and spits it out once the flavor’s gone. The recent, toothless likes of Argo, La La Land, and The Artist have courted the label of satire with a line about expanded universes here or a jab at blowhard producers there, but these little rib-nudges have been affectionate counterpoints in otherwise adulatory valentines to the magic of the movies. The good stuff cuts to the dark heart of an industry that gives creative types—and who could possibly be more mentally infirm than a writer—too much money and influence for their own good.

The history of showbiz spoofery is the history of insanity: the finest entries have used the assorted pressures of filmmaking to push their characters to their wit’s end as an absurd representation of the corrosive forces of Hollywood. Starting from Anger’s sensationalist tracking of Frances Farmer’s long, sad descent into madness, all roads have led to the sanatorium.

The main thoroughfare is the derelict drag of Sunset Blvd. Billy Wilder was the first to conjure a human manifestation of filmmaking’s maggoty underbelly with Norma Desmond, a crumbling grand dame cannily played by crumbling grand dame Gloria Swanson. Swanson applied the exaggerated techniques of silent film acting to the talkie form in order to create an affected style marked by its own period, a symbol of decay in an industry obsessed with the new and young. She constructed an insular fantasy life in her isolated castle lair as a coping mechanism for her fall from prominence, and for his blackest joke, Wilder allowed her delusions to become reality in the film’s concluding punch line. Norma’s deteriorating psyche imbues the film around her with a bit of her mania, too; a funeral for a chimp Charlestons along the line between the silly and the somber. Even as he verged on the outlandish, he struck a chord; Louis B. Mayer famously bellowed to Wilder at an L.A. screening, “You have disgraced the industry that made and fed you! You should be tarred and feathered and run out of Hollywood!”

But this strain of satire truly hit the fever-pitch sweet spot with S.O.B. in 1981, trading the showbiz-specific indignity of aging past relevance for that of creative compromise. Director Blake Edwards plays a cruel and pernicious god to his Job-like plaything of Felix Farmer (Richard Mulligan), a producer driven to desperation by his first flop and willing to do anything in order to salvage it. He’s put through the wringer several times over, bungling four suicide attempts in increasingly pathetic fashion before arriving at the epiphany that sex was the missing ingredient from his character study of a closed-off woman retreating into the recesses of her own mind. (All we see of the fictitious Night Wind is a disturbing, surreal dream sequence set to “Polly Wolly Doodle” twice over, first as an unsettling juvenile fantasy and then as a doubly unsettling eroticized juvenile fantasy.)

The film industry, at least as it’s shown here, doesn’t function like other professional sectors. Nobody really knows what’s going to connect with an audience and what won’t, and to those working on the inside, it often feels like no rhyme or reason governs the separation of hits and misses. Edwards makes Felix into the casualty of a sense-defying work culture, where no bad idea or underhanded maneuver is off limits so long as it yields success at the end of the day. Felix grows deranged as a result of his constant humiliation, and resolves to play as dirty as the weaselly studio executives who cheat him out of the rights to his picture once it starts to look like a success. By the moment he’s killed due to his own harebrained plan, he’s been reduced to a nattering nutjob, martyred by a system seemingly resistant to logic.

Robert Altman would torment another power-producer to the point of breaking a decade later with The Player, but the next film to actively integrate the mentality of lunacy into its overall atmosphere would be the gleefully unhinged Death to Smoochy. (It’s no coincidence that all the films mentioned so far drew powerfully polarized reactions at the time of their release; a draught this bitter has never gone down easy.) Shifting to the other side of the camera, director Danny DeVito mined laughs by transposing the cutthroat nature of big-leagues entertainment to the bush leagues of kids’ shows. He juxtaposed the core nastiness of back-room wheeling and dealing with the outward-facing nicety of Barney and his ilk, and in doing so, delivered an uncommonly misanthropic take on how the sausage of entertainment gets made.

Moreover, the film presented a physical manifestation of hyperactive id in Robin Williams’ corrupt, ruthless kiddie showman Rainbow Randolph. Starting at a coked-out 10 and only turning the dial higher from there, Williams rendered his role as a manifestation of pure, white-hot hate, screaming every line at the top of his lungs. As he goes about his dogged mission to dethrone his replacement Smoochy (Ed Norton as the chipper Sheldon Mopes), DeVito suggests that Randolph’s frenzied dysfunction simply reflects the fucked-upped-ness of his climate. The ostensibly incorruptible Sheldon is offered the seductions of money, pleasure, and influence, and while he’s able to remain true to his principles in the face of it all, Randolph’s the foil illustrating what happens to those without the required moral fortitude. He has a near-complete psychotic break at feature length, his mind irreparably warped by the deleterious forces of televised playtime.

Tropic Thunder took a more specific set of reference points for its deflation of Hollywood ego and pretension, ultimately driving its subjects to the brink of sanity as well. Namely, the myth of Francis Ford Coppola and the notoriously calamitous production of Apocalypse Now (dutifully chronicled in the making-of documentary Hearts of Darkness) provided the guideline for this send-up of war films and the people who play make-believe in them. Coppola reportedly went a touch native while mounting his titanically ambitious epic in the jungles of Vietnam, and likewise, the prima donna actors dropped into the wild start to lose it when they realize the danger they’re in is bona fide.

Writer/director/star Ben Stiller gets in some good potshots at scuzzy corporate types (Tom Cruise’s craven studio head Les Grossman comes off looking the worst of all), but mainly lampoons the actors taking their craft seriously enough to lose sight of themselves. Both Stiller’s macho action hero and Robert Downey Jr.’s award-festooned boob slip into their assigned roles, extending Method acting to the point of fractured identity. Rather than taking aim on the machinery that generates movies, Stiller trains his crosshairs on the process of acting itself, mocking those artistes so wrapped up in “becoming” their role that they can’t tell where it begins and they end. Stiller accelerates their mental strain by dumping the cast in enemy territory, but they don’t end up anywhere that Jared Leto hasn’t gone of his own volition.

Just about all entertainment that goes behind the scenes of entertainment agrees that the job’s not a part-time gig, that creating art on this kind of scale demands a lot from the people involved. The gentler critiques have stopped the symptoms at workaholism, but these more incisive films expand that list to include a wide array of psychological hazards. Los Angeles runs on hysteria, on the single-minded willingness to do anything and everything to make the show go on. The innumerable “troubled-but-brilliant” biopics have made the suggestion that inner anguish is the noble sacrifice that true talents make for shouldering the burden of genius; in an art form as prone to disaster, complication, and overall FUBARification as cinema, it’s just the cost of doing business.

[texas-tattoos]

#Repost @chrisbishop12 from @dovetailtattoo in Austin, Texas ・・・ Bird brain and asparagus for my boy @randolphschulz "Rainbow Fucking Randolph" @dovetailtattoo #dovetailtattoo #dovetailtattooeast #atx @texas.tattoos #colortattoo #birdtattoo #birdbrain #neotraditional #neotraditionaltattoo #austin #austintx #austintattoos #tattoo #tattoos #tx #texas #texastattoos

[xxkowaiixx]

I'm Rainbow fucking Randolph!

Robin Williams, Death to Smoochy (2002), directed by Danny DeVito