#verge of crashing out ralph

[wargnak]

ralph when jack comes to terrorize him at his soccer game the minute choir practice is over:

[mrxcreepypastamadness]

Here she is, my official WIP for VirusVirdem (VV).

VirusVirdem

Inspired by:

Death Race Vanellope (created by Bleedman)

Appearances:

• s-vanellope-6 (Creepypasta)

• VirusVirdem One Shot

• Racer's Playlist (Friday Night Funkin')

Aliases: VV

Species: Entity

Gender: Female

Best Friends: REBOOTED XXX

Victims: Lauren

Height: 5'1

Eye Color: White encircled by red

Debut: s-vanellope-6 (Creepypasta)

Overview:

VirusVirdem's design is based off of the death race outfit, with the exception of a blue denim mini skirt along with grey striped leggings with lower saturation to it meaning the colors may have darkened a bit. Originally she has no symbols on her shirt, but VirusVirdem does as it is a japanese Kanji for "Night", however, the meaning of it has not yet been elaborated on.

Biography:

It is unknown for how long VirusVirdem has been around, or where she exactly originates from. She used to reside within a prototype copy of Slaughter Race (known as Death Race); in which was delivered to Lauren's residence.

It didn't take too long until things began to feel off during Lauren's first playthrough. After beating Sweet Treat, the game seemed to gain consciousness, displaying ominous texts where they shouldn't be, causing huge amounts of bugs and lags, and eventually bricking the game disc, much to the protagonist's dismay, taking it to the video game store to how much it costs.

Later on, they decide to play Sugar Rush Galaxy on their Nintendo Switch as an attempt to forget about the busted game, however it completely backfired, as the entity within that disc had already infiltrated the console, making the red Sugar Luna in the game say something very out of line. After crashing the system, VV supposedly turned off the home security system just as soon as Lauren tried unplugging all their electronics, in attempt of preventing her from possibly causing malwares and viruses and damaging them as well.

Upon receiving a call from the home security company, Lauren tried to explain what went on, but is suddenly interrupted by the sound of static, alongside a deep and spunky feminine voice telling Lauren she'll always watching them, which causes them to be on the verge of breaking down, and drive over to stay the night at their friends house, Thomasina, eventually staying here for the time being.

As if right now, it is unknown where VirusVirdem currently resides, as the video game disc had been defensively destroyed by Lauren, and their TKES (TobiKomi Entertainment System) and Switch kept in a box for purposes of sentimental value.

Trivia:

• Just like Kilobyte, VirusVirdem chooses to make her vessel look like it's rotting, but can choose to make herself more closely resemble Vanellope's actual appearance.

• VirusVirdem is actually an inspiration of Death Race Vanellope in general, while she's based off the current EXE; Lord X, and the currently known entity in the House of Horrorbrews, KiloByte.

• VirusVirdem is like KiloByte's twin sister due to same height, well depends if the "alpha twin" situation happened. She's basically the Mabel type of personality, while KiloByte is the Dipper type of personality, though more powerful.

• VirusVirdem is actually far more mature than Super Horror Vanellope, even though she may be powerful than her and an additional story for Sugar Rush Madness, she "might" be a slave to Horror Vanellope.

• VirusVirdem hangs out with GV and JB-BX for a game of bingo, although GB and MX may not understand KiloByte's game, well, at least not yet, these independent women VirusVirdem, GV and JB-BX can understand bingo better than GB and MX.

• VirusVirdem and Empress V are the only two that could be sonic derivative-related EXEs according to the Wreck-It-Ralph Horrorbrews. While Empress V covers Tyrant (D'Lordess Sugar Rush Mix), VirusVirdem covers Danger Awareness (Cosmic Awareness Sugar Rush Mix)

• Sweet Treat is a female varient of Sweet Tooth from Twisted Metal as she made her appearance from Death Race (The prototype version of Slaughter Race video game.) as the final boss of the game.

• Lauren is a transgender, as hinted by the pin at the top of his/her shirt.

• Thomasina Miller is the genderbend version of Tom from the original Sonic.EXE story and twin sister to Tom.

• Thomasina is more of a Sonic fan of a girl, unlike Lauren, due to those kind of fast-pased games giving them motion sickness.

Reference Art:

Death Race Vanellope

The Death Race outfit Vanellope wears from Death Race, which is what VV's design is based off of.

Created by: bleedman

[backtothestart02]

Death by Design - 8/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: Just 1-2 chaps left! Hope you enjoy!

...

Chapter 8 -

Hunter slowed to a stop when he saw Barry and Iris coming through the edge of the woods looking downright giggly and not like they could die any minute, and he was on the verge of blowing right past them for what they’d just done.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

The back door swung open, and Barry gestured for Ralph to leave so he could sit with Iris alone. Ralph nearly fell on his face getting out the other side, but he muttered a cry of relief about finally getting shotgun and shut his mouth with a glare from Hunter.

“What?” Barry asked when he was caught on the receiving end of Hunter’s glare soon after.

“Yeah, what?” Iris chimed in, trying her best not to cozy up to Barry and slaughter his neck with kisses after what they’d just done.

“What do you mean ‘what’?” Hunter mocked. “You think I was born yesterday? You two had sex!”

Ralph spun around.

“Whoa, really? Nice one.”

He held up his hand to get a high five from Barry, but the two scowled at him from the backseat. Hunter smacked the side of Ralph’s head, and the idiot sunk low in his seat.

“My girlfriend is dead, and you two are out here having sex. That’s…great. Just great!”

“Hey!” Barry snapped. “Caitlin’s death was not my fault. And frankly, what Iris and I do is none of your business.”

“Barry,” Iris tried, sensing the tension rising between the boys again.

Hunter, remembering Caitlin’s words just before she died, tried to simmer himself down and only muttered some curses under his breath before speeding up in the car and heading into town again.

“Okay, so, what now?”

Barry heaved a sigh.

“I can’t go home. After Ms. Horton, they’re gonna be looking for me.”

“No,” Iris chimed in. “We’re taking you to my dad’s cabin. It’s only a couple of miles from my house.” She rattled off the address to Hunter, and he only half-nodded, too focused on what he was going to ask next.

“Alright, Allen, you fucking warlock.”

“He’s not a-” Iris butt in, but she was waved off.

“Did you know about Ms. Horton, or what?”

“Why do you think I was hiding?” Barry blurted.

“Ralph told the FBI he saw you running from her house,” Hunter said, briefly distracted from his initial point.

“I was running because they blame me,” Barry said. “They blame me for Cisco, they blame me for her, for the plane crash…”

“The fire, like, caramelized her blood, Barry,” Ralph defended. “Your shoe prints were in it. Your fingerprints were on the knives!”

Exasperated, Barry hit the back of Ralph’s seat.

“I told you, Ralph, I told you they were not-”

“Okay, forget that,” Hunter burst. “Forget whether or not you did it, or even if you knew she was dead.” He paused for emphasis. “Did you know she was gonna be next? Before she was?”

The car suddenly went awfully quiet. Barry and Iris shared a look, and Iris nodded, encouraging him.

“Yeah, I did.” He swallowed. “I knew.”

That knowledge set Hunter off, made him panic.

“All right…all right then. Out of us, who’s next to see it?” He kept looking in his rearview mirror. “It’s me, right? That’s why you’re not saying.”

Ralph groaned and sunk down lower.

“I knew I should have felt up Bette in the pool that time, or even Lisa!”

Hunter smacked him.

“What are you whining about? I’m next.”

“He didn’t say anything,” Iris said. “Just drive.”

“You have a responsibility to tell me,” Hunter said, his panic spiking.

“Do you think it’s gonna make it easier to know, Hunter?” Barry asked. “Huh? It’s not. It’s going to make it fucking harder.”

“You know, you get off on having control over me.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Barry rolled his eyes, digging his fingers into the seat again.

“You let me decide how to deal with it!” He ordered.

“It doesn’t matter who’s next!” Iris cried. “Because we’re all on the same list. All of us.”

“Oh, fuck, really?” Ralph whimpered.

“All right, then.” Hunter pushed his foot down on the gas pedal. “Why bother? What’s the fucking point then, right? Me and Caitlin, we’ll we back together on the other side, so why wait any longer?”

“Hunter, what are you doing?” Barry demanded.

“Hunter, slow down!” Iris cried.

“Slow down, Hunter!” Ralph held tight to his seatbelt and the handle above the door.

“Fuck you!” Hunter retaliated.

“Knock it off,” Barry tried to reason.

“May as well got out on my own free will,” Hunter said.

“Not with us in the fucking car!” Iris cried.

But Hunter didn’t listen. He went faster and faster, barely crashing into cars as he swerved around them, running red lights, not listening to the people pleading for him to slow down, to stop. It was all or nothing in that moment, and nothing could get through the panic flooding his brain.

Then, at last, and not because everyone was ordering him to stop, but because he was exactly where he wanted to be, Hunter stopped the car. Belatedly, everyone else realized he was in the middle of the train tracks and distantly, seconds later, a train whistle blew.

“Oh, my god…” Iris covered her mouth, horrified.

Hunter locked all their doors.

“What the hell?” Barry tried but the door wouldn’t budge, not Iris’ either. He appealed to Ralph. “Ralph, open the doors. Come on, do it!”

His hands were trembling, but he managed to automatically unlock all the doors from his side, and the three of them – Ralph, Barry, Iris tumbled out. But Hunter stayed put, his hands on the wheel as the train came closer and closer, the horn blowing louder and louder. He put the car in park and turned it off, awaiting his fate.

Barry circled around the car.

“Hunter, listen to me. Don’t do this.”

“Get out of the car!” Iris cried.

“Hunter, please, listen to me. Just, listen. This isn’t the way. It’s not the way. Just get out of the car.”

“Come on, it’s coming!” Ralph flailed.

“It’s coming! It’s coming!” Iris’ panic began to surge, more to get herself and Barry off the tracks than anything.

“It isn’t my time,” Hunter came to a dawning revelation. “Oh, shit. Oh, shit.” He struggled with his seatbelt, jammed suddenly in its hold.

“Get out of the car!” Barry cried.

“I-I can’t! It’s stuck! It’s stuck!” Hunter wailed.

“Shit, he really is next.” Ralph ran his hands through his hair, backing away to safety.

And then, suddenly frozen, Barry saw it flash before his eyes, another vision, not a plane crash this time, not even a train crash. A seatbelt tearing.

“Open the door!” Barry ordered, and Hunter hastily unlocked and flung his door open.

Just in time, with a final struggle, the seatbelt tore, and Hunter tumbled out of the car, scrambling to safety with the rest of them, seconds before the train hit and destroyed his beautiful sports car.

Iris jumped into Barry’s arms.

“I saw it!” Barry told her. “I saw the belt!”

“It broke!” Hunter cried in defense.

“Bullshit. He saved your life again.”

“That’s right!” Ralph cried, beginning to spiral. “You’re next, Hunter! I’m staying the fuck away from you!”

“Shut up.” Hunter rolled his eyes.

“Come on, Ralph, we don’t need this right now,” Iris said.

“I don’t need it ever!” Ralph continued. “What are you doing? Get away from him. He’s next!”

“Shut up, Ralph! I’m not dead.”

“Maybe not now, but you will be. You will be, and you’re not taking me with you!”

Ralph backed away further and further, and a piece of scrap metal trapped underneath the train from the car suddenly flew out and sliced Ralph’s head clear off his shoulders, killing him instantly.

Barry and Iris clung to each other, looking in horror at Ralph’s body, separated in two. Hunter looked on too, disgusted and horrified.

“You should’ve been next,” Barry whispered. “You should’ve been next after Horton! That’s the plan.” He scrambled to his feet and walked over to Hunter. “That’s the design. You should be dead.”

“You’re the fucking devil!” Hunter backed away.

“I saw the seat belt. I knew it would rip.” Sirens wailed in the distance. “That’s how I saved him,” he said, now talking to himself. “Just like the plane. Just like the explosion, I saw it.”

“The police are coming,” Iris tried to break through Barry’s ramblings.

“Fuck, I saved him,” he continued. “And because I saved him, it skipped Hunter, went to the next person in the path of the explosion, Ralph.” He took a breath. “I have to see it. And if I see it, then I intervene. And if I intervene, I cheat the design.”

“What, intervene?” Hunter gawked. “What are you, God now?”

Barry shook his head.

“Gods aren’t afraid to die! Gods don’t die. We do! You know?”

Iris came around and brought his face down to hers, cupping it tightly.

“Baby, you’re losing it, okay? The police will be here. We have to get you to my cabin. You can hide and get your head together.”

“Okay.” He swallowed, agreeing. “After Ralph, I’m next. I’m next!”

“And then me.” Her bottom lip trembled.

“Hey, hey, hey, listen: I’m not gonna let that happen, okay?” He cupped her face just as hard, forcing her to hear his words and believe them. “Listen to me, alright? Alright?”

“Why don’t you two just get the fuck out of here?” Hunter interrupted.

The two looked at each other, then the road on the other side of the tracks and took off running. The cabin wasn’t far now. They could make it.

…

One month passed, and no more deaths. Barry and Iris set up the cabin to be foolproof. Lots of duct tape, gloves, Neosporin, and covering up of anything sharp or deadly, anything that could easily be used to cause an ‘accident’. Iris also snuck out some canned foods once a week and left them inconspicuously on the back porch for Barry to grab. But they hadn’t seen each other since that night, and she was worried about him being alone out there where Death could strike at any moment.

The FBI sat outside her house every night in their car, and she was getting very close to telling them where he was just so he’d be with someone that was safe and not alone. She hadn’t caved yet, but she was getting close.

After all, she couldn’t be losing the father of her child.

A missed period and five pregnancy tests in a row, there was no more denying it. She was pregnant. Not a huge surprise, given they had been all urgency and feelings and fucking and hadn’t really thought twice about a condom that night. Still, now she had a baby to consider – a family to consider, and she was getting very, very worried.

Later that night, after dark had settled, she found herself wandering through her house, looking at old pictures in frames in the old office her dad had stopped using long ago. Wally was in bed, and her dad wasn’t home. It was a common state of affairs, but safer now than when their dad was home at this hour. Who knew if he was at his AA meeting or if he’d skipped it to get drunk at a bar again, but she hoped the former. If she was going to die, and her baby along with her, and Barry too, she didn’t want to leave Wally behind with an unsafe living situation, an unsafe father.

She wished she knew what Barry was thinking, if he missed her, if the thought of her getting pregnant had even entered his mind, or if he was too focused on not dying to think of the possibility of life and what that could mean for them.

She found an old picture of her dad and her at the cabin from before Wally was born. It had been a day trip, a daddy-daughter trip, one they’d meant to make a tradition of but never really got its footing. The picture had been taken by her mother, who’d driven out with them before heading back home for some good old-fashioned selfcare. She had plenty of that now.

Iris inhaled a breath and blew it out, turning away from the picture and heading outside. She went straight to the FBI’s car, surprising them when she appeared from behind.

“I’ll tell you where he is if I can come with you.”

“You can’t come,” one of the agents said point-blank.

Iris hesitated, wondering if she should still tell them. Barry would feel so betrayed, but even an interrogation room would be safer for him than that cabin they’d duct taped to the hilt.

“Tell us where he is, and we’ll make sure he’s safe in protective custody,” the other agent said, as if he’d read her mind.

She licked her lips, debating.

“He’s at my dad’s old cabin. It’s a couple miles from here on the lake.”

“And the address?”

She sighed, guilt weighing her down, as she rattled off the street and house number.

“We’ll be in touch,” the second one said, and she watched as they drove away, wondering if she had done the right thing.

…

At the cabin, Barry was looking at an old newspaper, one from a few weeks ago, detailing Ms. Horton’s death and him being the suspect, despite not naming him in the article. He rolled his eyes, annoyed at what his life had become, when another article beneath it caught his attention.

It listed two of the mothers of the two of the students from flight 180 starting a memorial fund for the families of students in the crash. The name of the two students took him by surprise and jolted a memory he’d long forgotten till now.

Lisa and Bette.

The two girls in the back of the plane who asked him to switch with them so that they could sit together.

Only he didn’t switch.

“I didn’t switch. I stayed where I was.”

He dug out the map of where everyone was seated on the plane that he always kept in his pocket and traced the line of the path of the explosion.

“If I didn’t move, then…shit.”

Iris sat in front of him in the original seating plan. That meant he wasn’t next now at all. Death was just biding its time, making them think Barry was next when actually…

“Iris is next.”

[thekittyfox2999]

!TW: Suicide, Death, Depression!

"So, you're immortal?" I shook my head. "As long as war rages on and continues to come back, I exist." My commander, Ralph, had worn the same look of perplexity since I accidentally revealed myself. But as I continued to explain my purpose, his expression lifted. He nodded. I took a sip from my tin mug of lukewarm black coffee. "So, when... were you born? Or should I say created?" I huffed in amusement. "I can't say for certain. But I believe it was within the Mesopotamian period. I stod before the gods, their lights blinding me. I was given my task. Then I awoke in a field, filled with straw and hay, and I began my quest." He took a sip from his cup, he coughed and our eyes met. He looked nervous. I could try and imagine what must've gone through his head at that moment. "What was the first thing you did?" Odd question. But I somehow found it comforting. "I stood up and took in the scenery. It was a warm morning. I could hear the wind swish through the crops. The sun shone down. And I thought about my assignment." I looked from Ralph and around us. We were sat in a green tent, worn with age. The other soldiers where elsewhere, outside defending, the underground taking a break, eating, seeking medical attention. My commander sat his empty cup down and sat in thought. "Did... They inform you about the immortality?" I shook my head. "Not the way you think. I knew I was going to survive till the day war stops, but I didn't know it was like, actually unkillable." Ralph listened intently. I felt a sort of weight lift from my body. Until it crashed down again. "I thought I would be a luck case. I thought the bullets and spears would miss me. I thought the fire would burn me, but the help I got would help it heal miraculously. It wasn't." I looked into the brown eyes of my commander, but I turned away after a second. "While I survive fire, it still burns. I will heal without help, and pain will still surge through my body. I learned the hard way. After a while of watching people you befriend fall down to the mud in endless sleep, you start to feel awful. Watching people bleed out of holes, wounds and scars. I was going insane. My head hurt. My own identity had collapsed. I was but a husk. I tried to take my own life. First one is the one I will always remember. I still have the scar on my leg from the pointed rock." Ralph looked terrified, scarred even. "Was that when you realized?" I nodded. "But like with insanity. You start to do the same thing over and over, expecting a different result. I've tried to take my 'life' over 10 times. All has failed, and one left me with headaches to torment me the next decade." Ralph was on the verge of tears before leaping out of his seat, pulling me into a hug. "Oh god. You have been through so much George." I was stunned and sat still, my hands pinned to their respective sides before I softly hugged Ralph back. It felt odd. I hadn't really gotten close enough to touch someone since 1982, but I felt my walls break down slowly. I felt water drip down from my eyes, and this time I didn't stop it.

you are soldier who served in every war known to man you are immortal one day in the middle of WW III you were shot in the head thinking nobody saw you continue firing until your commander yells “what the hell”

[if-weshadows-haveoffended]

Sunshine- James Bond x Reader

A/N: GUESS WHOS BACK BINCHES. Oh man uni really did run me over with a semi-trailer. Hot Tip: biochem really do be the work of the devil. Feel free to send in fic or mixtape requests, I’ve got all the time in the apocalypse for them.

Look, I know Judi Dench dies in Skyfall but she’s the only M I will ever recognise (even though I do love Ralph Fiennes). Nothing makes me happier than the time M straight up calls Brosnan!Bond a misogynist. Also, I decided to tell this from the perspective of Q, just because I feel like he’s the only one with the emotional range to articulate in vivid detail the absolute delight that would be watching James Bond have Soft Romantic Feelings. God he was just so soft in Casino Royale before all that shit went down (rest in pieces my girl vesper lynde).

Title: Sunshine Original Request: Could you do a James Bond x reader where the reader is a doctor at MI6 and when Bond comes back from his missions, she’s really gentle and sweet in taking care of his wounds? And Q and M hardcore shipping them because they have never seen Bond flustered ever, and the reader kinda just manages to make him blush when she smiles at him and immense fluff ensues (and sweet pet names for each other) (x) Tags: @roseslovedreams​ , Fluff, sass, S O F T N E S S, Craig!Bond, Q, M, Doctor!Reader Words: 1300+ Masterpost: here (x) Prompt List: here (x) Mixtape Archive: here (x)

“Bond? Bond, were you even fucking listening to anything I said?” Bond raised his head from staring at his hands with vague disinterest- no. No Q wouldn’t call it disinterest. He watched the way the man stood up, adjusting his suit and leaving M without his usual pathetic quips.

No, Q was intrigued. This was something wholly different. In fact, if he was so bold as to suggest it, the man was distracted… on edge almost.

“Did I just see what I just saw?” M asked him, disbelief clear on her face. “I almost miss the blatant insults.”

“Well, it’ll be a nice change for a while, I suppose. Keeps bullying me into making him exploding pens.” Q muttered under his breath.

“Oh, Q, don’t let the bastard get to you. Its just his way of trying to be helpful.”

But even later that afternoon, at his appointed meeting with the surprisingly forlorn agent, there were no questions about exploding pens. Absolutely no protest about having a fancier car than 006 (to be fair, he was glad, she would take care of that car far better than 007), and even no jab about how Q’s non-existent acne was today. Usually, it would be cause for celebration and something to tell his cats. But this was just unsettling. It seemed wrong.

In fact, Q was on the verge of considering himself genuinely concerned about 007. Or at least he would have been until he very quickly connected the dots. He watched as the man stared after the woman who had just entered the room, looking mildly irritated as she threw a stack of papers at the agent.

“Don’t fucking lie on my reports, Bond. I spent years training to be where I am now and I think I can tell when sample baselines have been meddled with.” Q considered this to be a fairly mild telling off by her standards, but oh no, the man appeared to be mildly enjoying it. He considered the slight rise of colour in his cheeks to be the most emotion he’d gotten out of him all month.

“I just don’t want you to concern yourself, Sunshine, I’m perfectly fine,” 007 murmured, struggling to make eye-contact with their resident doctor.

“You’re not.”

“I am, and I will be fine, and I will come back in one piece.” He protested stronger this time, his hands resting on her upper arms, trying to convince her that he would indeed be fine and not crash yet another expensive car into the mountainside.

“You promise?” Her question was softer this time, the intensity of her gaze and Bond’s solemn stillness had absolutely transfixed Q’s attention. The way the man released her from his grasp, his fingers barely, just barely brushing her skin for longer than would be deemed necessary- the way he cleared his throat and gave the shiest smile possible. He didn’t even know Bond could look that way.

Hopeful. Hopeful and for once scared of fucking up. He fidgeted with a well-polished cufflink, staring at his shoes before meeting her gaze once more.

“Of course, can’t have you spending your time around 006.” He scoffed sarcastically. The doctor raised a brow.

“Oh, but she’s far prettier to look at than you.” She teased, her smile sharp and predatory. If Q wasn’t mistaken, the small smile pulling at the corner of Bond’s mouth meant that he enjoyed the sensation of somehow looking like a rabbit about to be slaughtered by a wolf.

And so he hurriedly relayed everything back to M who, after clearing up the tea she had choked on and spilled over her paperwork, immediately descended into a minute forty-seven of breathless laughter. Tears spilling from the corners of her eyes, she asked him if it would be worth forcing the man to retire early. She would love nothing more, she had finally gotten out after a few seconds, than to see the man in a ‘kiss the chef’ apron and serving their doctor a home-made dinner.

“Oh god, could you imagine him taking dogs for a walk? Or just… just…” She faltered now, leaning back in her chair with a softer smile on her face.

“Just?” Q asked.

“Be happy.” She finished, “They all know what they signed up for. Just that none of us ever expect to find something worth losing. You don’t remember what he used to be like, do you?” He shook his head in response, “After Venice something happened to him. He lost whatever soul he had left. Most of us lose it along the way, but I didn’t realise it turned him into something else outright.”

Well, that made his decision for him.

Within the hour he and M and made the oh-so-very solemn pact that they would do everything possible to get Bond kicked out of the service due to his overwhelming feelings for one particular woman. He even made the note to prepare a best man’s speech just in case he was asked.

And eventually (after some days or maybe weeks, he wasn’t even sure anymore) Bond sauntered back home, bruised and bloody and sporting a smug grin as he handed M the stolen spyware.

“Must you drip blood everywhere?” M sniffed, though Q pretending to show interest in the gadgets that had just been handed over, noticed her stifle a grin. “Anyway go and get yourself patched up, god knows why I keep you here.”

“Oh you love me,” M only deigned to roll her eyes.

Q escorted the man down to the medical centre, watching with rapt attention at how the façade just crumbled before him. The man who naught but five minutes ago was all bravado and quips now reduced to nerves once again. Okay, okay, you got this. “So, 007…”

The agent let go of a long-suffering sigh, “Haven’t you got 006 to equip with some laser high-heels?”

He took a deep breath, trying to steel himself, “Well, no, actually I’ve got to remove your biometric chip. Doctor Y/N has agreed to assist me with the whole process.” Bond stopped in his tracks, turning to face him with a look somewhere between excitement and fear. “If you have no objections of course.” He winced at how brightly that last statement came out.

“No… not at all.” And they continued on their way, eventually reaching the clinic.

And he couldn’t do anything but watch in amazement at how Bond suddenly shifted. He’d almost laugh if it didn’t genuinely hurt his cold heart at how happy the man looked. He watched as she’d gently cut away burned fabric, cleaning wounds and beginning her stitches. She would apologise and with an unfairly attractive smile he’d say she barely hurt him. Q wasn’t even sure if this sort of bodily contact was considered professional, the way her hand cradled against his jaw as she dabbed away at his bloodied temple. And he couldn’t help but smile as the man simply looked both flustered and confused at just how achingly gentle she was being, as if he deserved none of this. M had once described Bond as a blunt instrument, incapable of nothing but brute force. But here he was, nothing but softness in his manner and the blue of his eyes.

It felt as if he were intruding as he instructed her in removing the biometric chip, her hand caressing the nape of his neck as well-practised hands were expertly trying to remove the small implant. She would hum under her breath, like a soothing lullaby putting Bond at ease, her hand suddenly reaching for his as he held back a groan of pain and the bloodied chip hit the floor.

“Easy now darling, it’s done. I’m here.” Her voice was soft as she knelt before him now, her hands atop his.

Bond, his gaze never wavering from hers, brough her palm to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss. He murmured his thanks and she merely smiled back in return.

God help him, the man was a romantic. He was going to need a drink after this.

[average-guy-reviews]

The Menu (2022)

"The film, penned by Will Tracy and Seth Reiss, focuses on a young couple who visits an exclusive destination restaurant on a remote island where the acclaimed chef has prepared a lavish tasting menu, along with some shocking surprise."

To quote Ray Stantz, from Ghostbusters, this is either the work of a certified genius or an aesthetic wacko. The writers, and Mark Mylod, have brought us one of the most high concept comedy horror films I have ever had the pleasure to see. Don't get me wrong, the comedy aspect of it is, at times, very subtle, and very dark, though you will find yourself laughing out loud at points. The laughter is often in conflict with what has happened just before that moment..... And that is where I think the genius of this movie lies.

This is not a laugh out loud, rib breaking, humour fest......and yet it's also not an outright, gory, bloodbath. It walks the finest tightrope with almost perfect balance. Almost as if it is carrying the finest china it fears to drop, though is constantly on the verge of that one wobble that could bring it all crashing down.

It's difficult to say too much without spoilers but the film begins with a group of people heading to a highly sought after tasting experience costing $1,250 per head. It is on a remote island and comes with all the pretentious douche-baggery you might expect from such a place. It is run by a chef who demands perfection and is likely to forcefeed you the plate if you dared to return food. At least, that's how it begins. Needless to say it doesn't stay that way and there are surprises galore throughout the movie.

With a well rounded cast that does include John Leguizamo, Janet McTeer and Paul Adelstein the three main characters are Margot (Anya Taylor Joy), Tyler (Nicholas Hoult) and Chef Slowik (Ralph Fiennes).

Nicholas Hoult is always a delight to watch on screen, but from the beginning there is something not quite right about his character. Tyler is clearly obsessed with food and it makes sense that he would want to go to such an exclusive eatery. Hoult's performance is sublime. His timing is on point, and he juxtaposes this timing with unique character traits to bring a performance that you really aren't sure whether to root for or not.

Ralph Fiennes is, of course, an acting legend and this film could easily go down as one of his top performances. He brings life to Chef Slowik in such an easy way, and at times you can easily see yourself sitting down to a meal cooked by, or overseen by, this man. He is the heart of the kitchen and the conscience of the film.

Anya Taylor Joy is Margot, a last minute replacement for Tyler's original date, and it is clear that she is not comfortable in this kind of environment. Joy rides the crest of an emotional wave through the film. There are dips and there are highs, and Margot finds herself trying to navigate the choppy waters of a strata of society that she is not normally a part of. Her performance, as the central character, is key to making this film work as well as it does. She is an actor I know I've seen in other things, but for me this could be a launchpad into the hollywood stratosphere.

The film itself is split into courses, just like a menu. Each course is a chapter of the film, and each chapter is titled with what the food being served is. I love this as an idea, and it was this that sometimes pulled a laugh from the audience. It is incredibly well done.

Mark Mylod, as a director, does not have a long history of making movies. His career has mostly been based in television. I don't say this to put you off. On the contrary I tell you this because you need to realise the incredible skill this man has gained over the course of his career. He has clearly worked to hone his abilities in the big chair and this film proves just what a stunning director he can be. It is shot beautifully, with performances that it is difficult to fault. I look forward to what he does next, with baited breath.

Overall this is a film that drew me in, got me invested in the characters and their motivations, and made me want to see it again. I think I'll definitely be going to watch it at least once more. Given everything I've said it's getting a really well earned 8.5/10 with a definite go see recommendation.

[challengerbmxmag]

Sam Waller Interview

Sam Waller co-runs, the UK based Central Library, “a shop in the North West of England that sells zines, DVDs and other interesting bits and pieces.” He’s also part of the current resurgence of quality independent BMX media with his Red Steps magazine. In addition to that he finds the time to contribute to Challenger with his quarterly column, ‘Notes From A Fancy Island’ and of course, ride. And, when you talk to Sam, you can tell that riding reigns supreme.

Sam and I email back and forth fairly often because of the column but also about other random stuff like old spots, concrete skateparks, music, etc. It’s fun to email with Sam so I figured it would also be fun to ask Sam some more in-depth questions. Hit the link below for the full interview.

All photos by Gaz Hunt. Thanks, Gaz!

I know you live in Manchester, England now but where did you grow up and what is your BMX origin story? I grew up in the complete middle of nowhere in a place called Colton in the south of the Lake District. Whilst the countryside in film and television is often shown as a tranquil, quaint place, the reality is a fair bit different, and Colton in particular seemed like a hotbed for strange stuff going on. Only recently a large farmhouse was burned down by a wild woman who owned loads of pigs. She was exiled from the county, but the pigs remained to cause havoc.

Anyway, my older brother has played guitar since he was six or seven, but as I was a useless at it and couldn’t get my hands to move properly, I felt obliged to find a similar all-encompassing past-time.

I was mad on Formula 1 racing for a while (thoughts go out to the Schumacher family), and I went to a karate lesson once (a hobby quickly scrapped after the whole hour was spent being taught how to bow honourably), but up until the age of 12 or 13 it just felt like I was dawdling about.

All of this changed when, for some reason I’m not entirely sure of, me and my friends decided to make some jumps and drops and stuff to ride on our mountain bikes in some woods near a dual carriageway.

One of my friends knew some older lads from nearby who had proper bikes and Little Devil hoodies, so I think they must have planted the seed of raditude with him, but I think at that time I was just happy to be out the house and not playing Tekken 2. We later found out that the woodland we’d chosen was a popular dogging site frequented by truck drivers (I'm not sure if 'dogging' exists in America - maybe look it up), and quickly moved our spades and everything into another forest. By that point the damage was done and my mind was snagged.

After a bit of bouncing about on a mountain bike, I then splashed out on a second hand Standard that someone had painted post-box red, affixed some stunt nubs and never looked back (or lookbacked, for that matter).

The nearby town of Ulverston had a pretty big riding and skating scene, but thinking now about us lot trying to lay down ‘street style’ in this small historic market town, we may as well have been the Jamaican bobsleigh team — the rough ledges were strictly for stalls, and the closest thing to a flatbank was a grass verge round the back of a Texaco garage.

What were some of your biggest inspirations as a kid and what about now? I always think about how the 16 year old me would probably make fun of some of the things I'm into now. Is that the case with you at all? Apart from the receding hairline and the slight increase in responsibilities, I think I’ve stayed pretty much exactly the same since I was 16. Back then I think my favourite film was probably Natural Born Killers, and my favourite album was maybe something like Bad Moon Rising by Sonic Youth. Whilst I’ve maybe expanded my interests a little, I’ve pretty much been in a rut since then.

I’m not into memes or internet humour in the slightest, but I remember someone once showing me a video of a wrestling fan in America crying and shouting, “It’s still real to me, dammit.” That’s how I feel about a lot of things I was into back then. A lot of people who I went to school with moved on from being into music and films and pissing around on bikes, whilst I’m still snagged on it all, listening to The Minutemen and wearing check shirts. It’s pretty stupid really.

What's The Fancy Island? Good question. Just next to Strangeways prison and only a mere stone’s throw from Manchester’s slick centre, lies a true rat-pit of questionable activity. I’ve seen loads of stuff happen here, such as an aggressive man chase a prostitute with a two-by-four and a creep lying in an alley trying to lure small boys into his lair.

In amongst all this, there’s loads of naff wholesale shops that sell everything from low-end Halloween costumes to fake Air Jordans made out of cardboard and fuzzy felt. All these shops have mad names like EEZZEE and Vibe Centre.

Getting to the point now, coming up with titles for things is pretty difficult, so a few years ago when I was cobbling together a zine, I nicked the name Urban Mist from one of these shops, and then, when I went to set up a Tumblr during the carefree pre-Instragram era, I nabbed ‘Fancy Island’ from a similar establishment.

I think Fancy Island has closed down now, but it’s no doubt been replaced with yet another shop with a daft name selling cheap batteries and t-shirts with swear words on the front.

Whilst I’m explaining names, I’ll state that Red Steps is a classic spot in Manchester that I ride past on my way to work every day. It boasts a rusty, needle-thin flatrail, a few small stair-sets (that are indeed red) and a large flow of gormless students to crash into. I’m not too sure why I named a magazine after it, but it just struck me as a funny name for a spot and I was struggling to think of anything else.

One thing I struggle with is balancing how to take BMX seriously while balancing a sense of humor about it as well; i.e. it's pretty goofy but is also this amazing vehicle for new experiences, ideas, and a pretty incredible community. Do you ever think about this? Like with most things in life (except crucial necessities like eating and breathing), riding bikes is pretty stupid and abstract if you try and think about it too hard. That said, I don’t see why bike riding should look goofy (apart from actual goofy-footed grinding - as a self-confessed goofy grinder myself I’ve got a lot of time for George D, Ralph and Dave McDermott) — riding is loads better than pretty much all other activities, but it’s constantly being made to look daft, when it could so easily look dope.

I think to stay juiced and not turn sour, you’ve got to completely ignore most things going on with riding and stick firmly to the bits that you like. I treat riding like music or films or anything else. In the same way I don’t go to the cinema to watch big summer blockbusters, I don’t spend my free time watching Corey Martinez edits or endless hours of footage from some zany mega-comp.

I’m a simple man. As far as riding is concerned, I like smith grinds, bottles of Heineken, Galaxy chocolate, black and white photos, sitting on benches and talking complete nonsense. The rest of it is irrelevant to me.

I constantly hear/read people complain about the lack of BMX magazines but there's so much cool stuff being printed right now. We've discussed this in email a bit but it seems weird that people are complaining. It's almost like people just have an idea of what they think a magazine should be and if it doesn't have look or read a certain way they are just confused. How do you feel about all of this? A solid group of people do buy things and support these independent projects and whatnot, but I think it’ll take a while for the loud-mouthed Instagram warlords to come to terms with the fact that the new magazines around might have different names to the ones they used to subscribe to 15 years ago. I suppose it’s maybe easier to talk about the lack of magazines out there than actually go to the effort of seeking them out, but having said that, it’s not exactly hard to find stuff these days.

I remember years ago hunting down anything beyond Dig or Ride was an absolute hassle involving a lot of e-mail mither and blind faith - but now with yourself, Berks St. and 90East stocking interesting stuff in America, me and Clarky doing Central Library over here and the newly formulated Wiretap down under, it’s easier than ever for anyone to get their hands on zines and DVDs and all that.

The new stuff that’s coming out now is ten times better than Dig or Ride ever were anyway. Endless contest reports and dull bike checks have fallen by the wayside, and I haven’t seen a photo of Jimmy Levan’s zebra-print leggings in years. Things are really looking up.

What do you do for work? Thoughts on pursuing money via BMX and also what's the best job you've ever had? By day I work in an office writing stuff for a clothes shop. As you can imagine, trying to come up with an interesting way to talk about the 659th blue shirt you’ve seen this week can get a bit tough, but I can’t complain too much really. The office is fairly warm and there’s a kettle in the kitchen.

As for pursuing ‘serious wonga’ via riding, I’m one step ahead of you. Central Library has just received big investment from Duncan Bannatyne and Deborah Meaden (of Dragon’s Den fame), meaning we’re finally able to stock all those bizarre Caramac-coloured tyres that real bike shops seem to stock. We’re also expanding our print line to offer crime fiction and the Goosebumps novels. My main aim in life is to become one of those creepy industry characters who spends their time sniffing around young and naïve talent in the hopes of flogging a few ‘dad caps’.

My finest job was probably working for my dad in the family trade of dry stone walling (which explains my surname). I’m not sure if dry stone walls exist in America, but they’re those fairly humble looking stone walls you see dividing up the fields and forests around the English countryside.

Anyway, building them isn’t too bad as far as manual labour goes. When it’s raining and you’re miles up some hill wallowing in the mud lugging big stones around with nothing more for lunch than a chicken and mushroom Pot Noodle and a Penguin biscuit, then it’s a little miserable – but on a good day when the sun is shining and you’re working with ‘good stone’, it’s hard to beat.

The best days were when my dad would fall asleep just a few minutes before the end of the lunch hour, basically extending the break for at least another 45 minutes. Thinking about this job now, I’m not sure why I ever gave it up.

Do you have any other hobbies besides riding? Yeah, but I’d say the lines were pretty blurred. This is maybe a pretty boring answer, but I suppose riding lends itself to other hobbies pretty well. I might be wrong, but I don’t think keen swimmers or budding javelin-throwers get into photography or making videos in quite the same way. It’s sort of like the ‘pillars of hip-hop’ or something – riding, taking pictures, messing round with video stuff and generally snooping around all fits together nicely (or at least it does in my peppered mind).

It’s not like I’m slipping on my Etnies t-shirt for my weekly two hour power sesh and then the next night I’m wearing some short-shorts down at the climbing wall. Even when I’m on holiday with my wife, I’m still just snooping around the same way - we’re not buying tickets for some naff rollercoaster or dining out at exclusive restaurants with Abe Froman.

Are you able to take time off of riding and not feel like you're missing out or feel guilty? I have one friend who really goes in on the guilt tripping if I don't ride. Related: You said you like sitting on benches. Can you do that on a nice day? At the age of 28, I’d like to feel like I can just about deal with a few missed sessions. Obviously I still need a comprehensive run down of spots seshed and feats accomplished when I’m away, but it’d be mad if I was out all the time. The human body can’t handle that much raditude.

Fear of things going un-photographed does creep in sometimes, but Clarky will have filmed it anyway, and Gaz and Wozzy are better photographers than me, so if they’re about then hopefully someone caught the action.

Moving onto the subject of benches, these babies really come into play during my dinner break at work. I get on fine with everyone there, but when the clock strikes twelve I’m not going to be sat in the office spilling reheated chilli over my keyboard… I’m straight out into the city centre on full sit-off mode – hopefully getting into some daft conversation with one of Manchester’s many vagabonds.

A few months ago I was sat in town when I was approached by a fairly scruffy gentleman who was bleeding loads from his forehead after someone kneed him in the skull. The rest of my lunch break was spent trying to sort him out a bit. One meal deal, some wet wipes and a pack of king-skins later, he seemed alright. You don’t get these hijinks sat inside all day.  

I was just thumbing through the new Red Steps (nice job) and I just realized how much I enjoy your interviews -- what is it that you like about interviews? Not trying to stroke the ego here but you are really good at it... Cheers. Any ego strokes are much appreciated. This maybe sounds a bit daft, but I want to know everything. This is probably evident to the people who know me, but I’m a complete mither, completely hassling everyone with questions all the time.

This pesky nature extends into everything, meaning that I spend a lot of time reading a lot of interviews about the things that I’m into. I buy a lot of old copies of magazines like Wire, Ray Gun and Sidewalk on eBay, and even though the interviews contained within those pages might have been conducted in the corner of a pub maybe 25 years ago, they’re still worth reading today.

A proper interview with a little intro and some photos laid out nicely on a page… it’s mint – it’s a finished thing – sort of like a well-edited video or something. I know a lot of people are into ‘podcasts’ these days, and that’s fair enough, but to me – they’re not complete enough. I don’t want to hear people say ‘um’ and ‘err’ all the time, and I want something sick to look at (and by that, I don’t mean a load of pundits sat around a table with headphones on).  

I’m going to rattle on here whilst I’ve got the chance. Anyone reading this who gets the opportunity to answer questions for an interview, a ‘bike check’ or anything else…don’t just write a lazy sentence for each answer – go mad. Tell some funny stories. Or if you’ve got nothing to say, just make something up. No one cares about how responsive your headtube angle is or how you ‘usually just cut the bars down’. This could be your only chance to air your thoughts into the wider world, and you’re going on about what PSI you put in your tyres? COME ON PLEASE TRY HARDER YOU BORING GIMPS.

(above) Spread from Sam’s zine, Latvia Photos. (below) Cover of Sam’s zine, Around Town.

You also make photo zines/books not related to riding. Do you have any high art aspirations with this stuff? No real aspirations I’m afraid. Wine gives me bad heartburn, so I generally try and swerve anything resembling a gallery opening schmooze-off. As I was sort of saying before, making photo zines is just an extension of everything else. I like taking photographs, so it makes sense to put them together. It’s all pretty small-time really – it’s not like I’m getting thousands printed.

To be honest, it’s all a complete faff that I could easily avoid by not bothering and just sitting around watching American power-dramas, but it’s good to have stuff to look back on – even if it’s just a 40 page zine that nine people will see.

Crouching under a tattered old curtain processing rolls of film every night whilst being mithered by my cat isn’t particularly glamorous and I’d imagine there are probably easier ways to get cosy with the artistic elite.

What's your favorite slang word? Going back to my walling days, my dad uses some pretty intriguing slang terms. Unlike inner-city slang, which will usually be documented in music or useless BBC3 comedies, these more rustic words don’t get much recognition. I don't use these terms myself, but I certainly respect them. Here’s a few choice cuts…

“A few skins on the job” – a large workforce “Keitel” – a fairly humble work-jacket “Bait” – lunch “Bray it – hit it “Kessen” – when an unclipped sheep falls over onto its back and can’t get up due to its weight. This happens more often than you’d think.

You can buy scoop up a copy of Sam’s magazine, Red Steps, in the Challenger web shop here, look at the online shop, The Central Library, that Sam runs with Clarky here, and check out some of his other photo zines/books here.

[newyorktheater]

Four shows are opening on Broadway in March. Two of them are transfers from Off-Broadway that thrilled audiences in very different ways: “Be More Chill” and “What The Constitution Means To Me.” The other two bring to Broadway some beloved tunes — a revival of Cole Porter’s “Kiss Me Kate” and “Ain’t Too Proud: The Life and Times of the Temptations”

But as savvy New York theatergoers know, Broadway ain’t the half of it: For every “Ain’t Too Proud” on Broadway, there’s an “Ain’t No Mo'” Off-Broadway.  Among the shows opening Off-Broadway in March:

Daveed Diggs in White Noise by Suzan-Lori Parks (Public Theater)

Playwright Suzan-Lori Parks – White Noise

Florian Zeller

Alan Cumming in Daddy by Jeremy O. Harris (Vineyard and the New Group)

Daveed Diggs in “White Noise,” a new play by Suzan-Lori Parks (Top Dog/Underdog); Isabelle Huppert in The Mother, a new play by Florian Zeller (The Father); Alan Cumming in “Daddy,” a new play by Jeremy O. Harris (Slave Play.)

Below is a selective list of Broadway, Off-Broadway, Off-Off Broadway and festival offerings in February, organized chronologically by opening date, with each title linked to a relevant website. Color key of theaters: Broadway: Red. Off Broadway: Black, Blue, or Purple. Off Off Broadway: Green. Theater festival: Orange. Puppetry: Brown. Immersive: Magenta.

To look at the Spring season as a whole, check out my Off Broadway Spring 2019 preview guide and my Broadway 2018-2019 season guide

March 1

  Ajijaak on Turtle Island (New Victory)

A “family-friendly First Nations spectacle.” Separated from her family in a Tar Sands fire, the crane Ajijaak makes her first migration from Canada to the Gulf Coast alone, discovering the strength of her song along the way.

Chained: A Victorian Nightmare: (FOST at Starrett-Leigh Building )

An immersive theater VR adaptation of Charles Dickens’s A Christmas Carol. Tickets sold only as an add-on to the FOST (Future of Storytelling) Story Arcade, which is described as a “pop-up, showcasing a… sampling of  immersive, experiential, and multi-sensory exhibits.”

March 5

Daddy (Vineyard at Signature)

In the second Off-Broadway play by Jeremy O. Harris (who gained some notoriety with his Slave Play in the fall), Alan Cumming plays Andre, an older white art collector who befriends Franklin, young black artist on the verge of his first show. Their bond creates a battle of wills with Franklin’s mother.

The Cake (MTC at City Center)

In what sounds like a recent Supreme Court case, Debra Jo Rupp portrays a baker in North Carolina who refuses to create a wedding cake for a same-sex couple. The difference — one of the brides is the daughter of a dear friend, now deceased. The play is by Bekah Brunstetter (who writes for the TV series This Is Us.)

  March 7

Fleabag (Soho Playhouse)

The play by Phoebe Waller-Bridge that inspired the BBC television series currently being shown on Amazon Prime.

Actually We’re F**ked (Cherry Lane)

In this play by  Matt Williams, “four millennials gather every Thursday to order take-out, drink too much wine, and argue over how to unf**k the planet.”

Chick Flick The Musical (Westside Theater)

In this musical by Suzy Conn, four friends gather to unwind, watch a chick flick and play their favorite chick flick drinking game.

Chimpanzee (HERE)

A “non-verbal puppet play based on true events.” An aging, isolated chimpanzee pieces together the fragments of her childhood in a human family

March 10

  Be More Chill (Lyceum)

Broadway transfer of the teenage cult musical about high school student  Jeremy Heere who sees himself as a loser but then swallows a pill containing a supercomputer and becomes cool — but at what cost?

My review of Be More Chill Off-Broadway

  If Pretty Hurts Ugly Must Be a Muhfucka(Playwrights Horizons)

In the village of Affreakah-Amirrorkah, no one questions that Akim is the one true, perfect beauty — not even her jealous classmates. But they’ll be damned before they let her be the leading lady in this story. A decidedly contemporary riff on a West African fable by Tori Sampson

March 11

The Mother (Atlantic)

Isabelle Huppert stars in a play by Florian Zeller (The Father) as a woman suffering from clinical depression and grasping for stability after her grown children move on to build lives of their own.

Southern Promises (Flea)

A revival of Thomas Bradshaw’s incendiary 2008 play: On his deathbed, a plantation owner vows to set his slaves free, but when his wife rejects the request chaos erupts on the plantation.

  March 12

Ashes (HERE)

In a small village in the south of Norway, a young man sets houses on fire, and a writer seizes them as literary material several decades later. From Plexus/Polaire, the Norwegian/French avant-garde theater company that in January presented Chambre Noir

March 13

Surely Goodness and Mercy (Keen Company at Theater Row)

In this play by Chisa Hutchinson (“She Like Girls,” “Dead & Breathing”), a Bible-toting boy with a photographic memory befriends the cantankerous old lunch lady in an underfunded public school in Newark.

Hatef**k (WP)

In this play by Rehana Lew Mirza, passions ignite when Layla, an intense literature professor, accuses Imran, a brashly iconoclastic novelist, of trading in anti-Muslim stereotypes. But as their attraction grows into something more, they discover that good sex doesn’t always make good bedfellows.

March 14

Kiss Me Kate (Roundabout at Studio 54)

Kelli O’Hara and Will Chase star as warring ex-lovers forced to portray the warring couple of Shakespeare’s ‘The Taming of the Shrew’  in this third Broadway revival of Cole Porter’s 1948 musical. The winner of the first-ever Tony Award for Best Musical, the show features such familiar tunes as “Too Darn Hot,” “So In Love” and “Always True To You In My Fashion.”

  Georgia Mertching is Dead (EST)

In this play by Catya McMullen, three 30-year-old women who have been friends since high school set off on a road trip south–with homemade female urination devices, too much pie, ill-advised sexual escapades–to celebrate and mourn a figure from their past.

Rogues Gallery (Broken Ghost)

Unleash your inner villain in this fully immersive evening of world conquest and inevitable betrayal!

March 18

Culturemart Festival (HERE)

Cannabis! by Baba Israel, 9000 Paper Balloons by Spencer Lott & Maiko Kikuchi,Songs of Sanctuary for the Black Madonna by Imani Uzuri,A Voluptuary Life by James Scruggs,Paper Room by Laura Peterson 

Nantucket Sleigh Ride (Lincoln Center’s Mitzi Newhouse)

Written by John Guare and directed by Jerry Zaks (the pair behind House of Blue Leaves and Six Degrees of Separation) this new play stars  John Larroquette as a New York playwright turned stockbroker revisiting a wild event that happened 35 years ago on that island.

March 19

Juno and the Paycock (Irish Rep)

Part of the theater’s season of Sean O’Casey, the play is a devastating portrait of wasted potential in a Dublin torn apart by the chaos of the Irish Civil War. When a handsome visitor arrives with news of an inheritance, the Boyle family begins to plan their new life, but their apparent salvation soon reveals itself to be the cause of their ruin

March 20

White Noise (Public)

Daveed Diggs (Hamilton) returns Off-Broadway in a new play by Suzan-Lori Parks, directed by Public Theater artistic director Oskar Eustis. Long-time friends and lovers Leo, Misha, Ralph, and Dawn are educated, progressive, cosmopolitan, and woke. But when a racially motivated incident with the cops leaves Leo shaken, he decides extreme measures must be taken for self-preservation

St. Peter’s Foot (UP Theater)

Mike and Roma think they made the right decision in not having children. Then a baby is left on their doorstep

March 21

Aint Too Proud (Imperial)

“Ain’t Too Proud: The Life and Times of the Temptations” stars Jeremy Pope (Choir Boy) as Eddie Kendricks, Ephraim Sykes as David Ruffin, etc. This new musical with a book by Dominique Morisseau helmed by the director of “Jersey Boys” follows The Temptations’ journey from the streets of Detroit to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

March 25

Accidentally Brave (DR2 Theater)

Actor and playwright Maddie Corman shares her true story of what happened after her husband was arrested on a shocking charge.

March 27

The Lehman Trilogy (Park Ave Armory)

Italian playwright Stefano Massini’s play, adapted by Ben Power and directed by Sam Mendes (The Ferryman!) stars acclaimed actors Simon Russell Beale, Adam Godley, and Ben Miles and the Lehman brothers and their sons and grandsons over nearly two centuries, climaxing with the end of the firm that bore their name in the crash of 2008.

Ain’t No Mo’ (Public)

In this satire by Jordan E. Cooper that began at the Fire This Time Festival, African-Americans leave en masse a country plagued with injustice.

March 31

What The Constitution Means To Me (Helen Hayes)

Fifteen-year-old Heidi Schreck earned enough money for her college tuition by winning Constitutional debate competitions across the United States. Now, the Obie Award winner resurrects her teenage self in order to trace the profound relationship between four generations of women in her own family and the founding document that dictated their rights and citizenship. My review of the play Off-Broadway

  Do You Feel Anger? (Vineyard)

In this play by Mara Nelson-Greenberg , Sophia is hired as an empathy coach at a debt collection agency

March 2019 New York Theater Openings Four shows are opening on Broadway in March. Two of them are transfers from Off-Broadway that thrilled audiences in very different ways: "Be More Chill" and "What The Constitution Means To Me." The other two bring to Broadway some beloved tunes -- a revival of Cole Porter's "Kiss Me Kate" and "Ain't Too Proud: The Life and Times of the Temptations"

[cashsyyq038-blog]

WHO Recognizes Video Gaming Addiction As Mental Disorder

Dark moments have surrounded the Personal computer gaming market. Welcome to now we'll be counting down our top picks for the ten best years in gaming history. As computing resources continued to expand over the remainder of the decade through the adoption of period sharing and the advancement of simpler high-level programming languages like BASIC , a growing number of college students started programming and sharing basic sports, puzzle, cards, logic, and board video games as the decade progressed. The "Brown Box" could be programmed to play a number of games by flipping the switches along leading of the machine, as can be seen in the picture. This brings classic slot video games from arcades to the modern mobile player. Luckily, enjoying these traditional games of yesteryear is very easy because of emulators. The Verge's gaming section brings the most recent gaming news, reviews of the very most interesting releases, and interviews with the industry's biggest names.|Just how do the NES and SNES traditional run all those retro games? In 1983, the ultimate game that Shaw completely programmed and designed herself, Happy Trails, released simply as the gaming market crashed. However, video game consoles are preferred because they're cheaper. The Wii U gamepad isn't honestly that bad, and most the video games I perform on that system I enjoy with the pro controller in any case. Indeed, it's even more a case of finding the time to game than weighing up what to play, therefore i wish you the very best of luck to make those tough choices. As the first console with a built-in modem for Internet support and on-line play, it was at first successful, but sales and reputation would start to fall. What began a custom ROM project that later on gave rise to a whole smartphone and electronics company, the MIUI is one of the biggest success tales of days gone by decade.|Aside from the pointlessly short controller cables, the only other complaint we have with Nintendo's NES Classic Edition can be that it only includes 30 classic games. Classic coin-operated games have largely become the province of devoted hobbyists and as a tertiary attraction for some businesses, such as concert halls, batting cages , miniature golf courses, and arcades attached to game stores such as for example F.Y.E. The annual gamescom in Cologne in August is the world's leading expo for video games in attendance. Embrace the continuing future of video gaming with the PS4 Slim & PS4 Pro at GameStop. With innovative Joy-Con controllers, a continuously developing library of fun video games, and a great collection of accessories, the Switch is a warm commodity since its start for good reason. I fell off the Nintendo hype teach sometime through the Nintendo 64's lifespan and only Sony's PlayStation. You think multi-player mobile game development is the discovery of latest generation?|The market has come a long way, however, not everything was always smooth sailing when you look back again at gaming history. Oh, last thing to mention, I don't like console that very much because in this console vs Computer war, a whole lot of gaming console supporters are fan males. Consoles are some of the most popular devices for gaming, aswell as for alternative activities , especially among global gamers aged 25 to 34 The mass selling point of consoles predates the introduction of the widespread home computer, as the initial video system, Magnavox Odyssey, was released in the first 1970s in the usa. A PC that is sufficient for running the most recent games can easily cost twice that much. Survival Games ,” a competitive take on the game modeled following the Hunger Games movies, gained popularity now there, and that community spread the idea to others. The online multiplayer games are similar to sports- ie, on the web shooters to name the biggest 'type' of on-line multiplayer game.|The nexus 5 came out in 2013, which was one of the best phones of that year, for the reason that was because this is a mobile phone that google helped create. 26 By that season the computer gaming marketplace required over from the system market following a crash of this year; computers offered equal gaming capability and, since their simple design allowed games to take complete order of the equipment after power-on, they were nearly as simple to start using as consoles. The Personal computer is in a good spot-probably the very best it's ever been, and improving all the time. At least, he looks like he'll become playing the function of a mentor - Kratos is a dad right now (and there'll apparently become some conversation as the participant using both Kratos and his boy). Handheld electronic games had been popular for greater than a decade by enough time Nintendo introduces the overall game Boy. With music like Rednex playing Cotton Eyes Joe, and our gaming consoles desperately trying to let us play games over the internet, the 90s is a little awkward.|Todd Rogers may not be a household name but he's certainly popular among speedrun enthusiasts and those who monitor retro gaming records. 1 There are many types of video game consoles, including home gaming consoles , handheld game consoles , microconsoles and dedicated consoles Although Ralph Baer experienced built working video game consoles by 1966, it had been nearly a decade before the Pong game made them commonplace in regular people's living rooms. Ned Blakley and Matt Fico possess spent the bulk of the past five months in an area filled with arcade games-and they didn't actually need any tokens. %displayPrice% at %seller% For the uninitiated, The Old Republic is an MMO that occurs thousands of years just before the events of A FRESH Hope. For PC gamers it's all about customizing, optimizing and upgrading. Did we point out that gaming consoles are costly too? Vintage video games from that era are the electronic equivalent of what classic vehicles or good China are to old generations.|A lot more than 30 years after Atari popularized the interchangeable video game cartridge, gaming-software sales top $33 billion annually, with the global industry value higher than $100 billion. It's filled with PS3 classics like Uncharted 2 and Fallout: New Vegas, however the PS4 game selection is weak, so it is worthwhile only if you would like to play older video games. Taito released this game in 1978 as Space Invaders. FireHound is a Custom ROM developed concentrating on Stability + Features. Nintendo remained the lone hold-out, using cartridges because of their Nintendo 64 system; the company did not transition to optical mass media until 2001's GameCube SNK still released video games on the cartridge-structured Neo Geo until 2004, with the final official release getting Samurai Shodown V Special Nintendo's handheld consoles, meanwhile, continued to make use of cartridges due to their faster loading instances and minimal equipment for data reading being beneficial for playing video games in a nutshell, several-minute intervals.|Pricey but essential, may be the case for some game consoles. The PlayStation 2 (PS2) represents a substantial change in the idea of game consoles. He informed Polygon that he would prefer that clinical study of gaming addiction examine specific mechanisms in a few games that could be problematic,” such as for example loot boxes. Syd Bolton has been around love with video gaming since the start of Pong and provides been involved in the industry in various methods since its inception. If you're not used to video games - or want to expose the form to somebody - there's something to become said for starting with the classics. During the 1980s, gaming computer systems, early online video gaming and handheld LCD video games emerged; this period was affected by the video game crash of 1983. This Complete Edition includes the original console game, in addition to all of the DLC content, therefore newcomers have a large number of hours of action to understand.|Since its launch, the $35 Raspberry Pi mini-computer provides been hailed as an ideal all-in-one retro game system. The beastly system came with a pack-in cartridge which, like the various other three cartridges released, held three games. There's no two ways about it: A decently powerful Personal computer can display better graphics than its console brethren. His first design, called the Brown Package, allowed users to play several different games on a typical television set, including ping pong game (presaging Atari's Pong), without requiring a pc, microprocessor, or software. They're beautiful wonderlands of great experiences, but it's hard to dive right into a 10 to 20 hour Mario game another time when I've currently played the levels to loss of life trying to gather everything once. 7 It had been in this environment that the initial video gaming were born. Since gaming PCs currently produce the highest framerate and highest quality, picking the very best gaming console comes down to several factors including its design, features, and game library.|As someone who was created in the 1980s, I experienced the golden age of video games. In addition to access for online multiplayer games, you get free Games with Gold” on a monthly basis, as well as discounts on additional Xbox purchases. Accessories such as for example batteries, cables and chargers have a one month the phone is faulty within one year (counted from the time of delivery), customers can send them back for free repair. We see the release of Super Nintendo, Mortal Kombat, Warcraft: Orc & Human beings for PC, the initial Sony PlayStation, and the Nintendo 64. Most video gaming enthusiasts will concur that although we didn't realize it at that time, that the release of the Sony PlayStation would go on to revolutionize the whole gaming industry. Keep the main ROMs and the Software Lists in folders of their very own. Dominate from your living area with PS4 and Xbox One headsets and controllers made for total console supremacy.}

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[thecarexpertuk]

Just before 8.30am on the morning of 4th January 1967, Donald Campbell eased his Bluebird K7 boat away from the jetty on the edge of Lake Coniston and headed out onto the water. His aim: a new record to add to the world-beating speeds he had already achieved in both boats and cars.

The first run, made just after 8.45, saw Bluebird cover the measured kilometre on the Cumbrian lake at an average of 297.6mph, with a peak of around 315mph. Then, unaccountably, without waiting for the wake to subside and the water to return to its traditional stillness, Campbell turned the boat round and began the second, opposite direction, run.

At 8.48, travelling at around 290mph, Bluebird’s bow suddenly lifted. In a scene that was to be repeatedly played out on newspaper front pages and TV newsreels for days and ultimately years afterwards, the catamaran performed a graceful backflip, crashing back into the lake to sink to the bottom and take Donald to his death.

So ended the life of a man who had relentlessly pursued, and achieved, outright speed records; a man who had perennially fought to escape the shadow of his equally speed-obsessed father. Lost that day was a true British hero who – this writer at least believes – has still, some 50 years on, not been given the recognition he deserves, especially in the leafy Surrey-Sussex border area in which he spent his life.

Visit Coniston lake today and you will find that air of stillness remains – it’s a tranquil place seemingly quite removed from the dramas of 1967 and before. But Campbell reminders are everywhere, his spirit very much pervading Coniston.

There are summer boat trips, retracing the route of the record runs with detailed descriptions of what went on. The shoreline Bluebird Café offers a wide range of memorabilia, while the museum built to commemorate Victorian great John Ruskin includes a Campbell wing with photos and artifacts.

Donald Campbell with his wife Tonia on Bluebird K7, the final record boat.

Eventually this museum will also house the restored Bluebird K7, salvaged from the lake in 2000. Since then, a small team has been working to restore the shattered boat to working order – the Campbell family having decided that K7 should be displayed in a condition that recalls the many speed records set by Donald, not the one major failure that still overshadows all he achieved.

The same salvage operation also eventually located the body of Donald himself. Today he lies at peace in Coniston churchyard – a plot which, each year, sees pilgrimages from many fans of speed.

Away from home

Yet neither Donald Campbell, nor his equally speed-record setting father Malcolm, came from the Coniston area. Both spent the vast majority of their lives in two neighbouring boroughs of East Surrey.

The writer grew up in the small town of Horley, in the shadow of Gatwick airport, and soon became aware that the Campbells were locals. Various properties formerly owned by both Donald and Malcolm still exist today, as do the tales, such as how in the 1920s the earliest giant Bluebirds cars would be unloaded at Horley railway station and driven home along public roads.

It was in these cars that Malcolm eventually took the Land Speed Record past 300mph in 1935. He followed this by raising the water speed record to 141.470mph, on Coniston lake in 1939. In total Campbell senior set nine land and four water speed records.

Donald spent much of his life feeling overshadowed by his father Malcolm, here sitting in the 1935 Bluebird car at his home, Povey Cross House, in Horley.

Against father’s wishes

Malcolm had not wanted his son to follow him into record-breaking, and before his death, from a stroke on 1st January 1949, he sold off his Bluebirds. After hearing that an American was set to take his father’s water speed record, Donald became determined to keep the record in Britain. First he had to buy the pre-war K4 Bluebird boat, and the Bluebird car, from the estate. Never enjoying the wealthy comfort of his father, Donald would eventually have to resell the car to help fund his record breaking.

It took great determination and many setbacks, but the younger Campbell finally became a world record holder in his own right in July 1955, when he reached 202.32mph on the lake at Ullswater, not far from Coniston.

Bluebird CN7 was a futuristic-looking car for its time.

Before heading to America, Bluebird CN7 was demonstrated to racegoers at Goodwood. Photo courtesy Veloce Books.

Donald and Tonia Campbell were centre of attention at Goodwood. Photo courtesy Veloce Books.

Today, Bluebird CN7 can be seen at the National Motor Museum, Beaulieu.

Donald then turned to the Land Speed Record (LSR), which at the time stood at 394.19mph. For this he had built the jet-powered CN7 car – reputedly testing the first jet engine he acquired by strapping it to the floor of a barn at his then home of Abbotts in the village of Leigh, midway between Reigate and Dorking. The barn is still there, while two miles away in the garden of his next home, still visible from the road today, is a large concrete shed specifically built to house the Bluebird car and boat.

The LSR effort proved fraught with difficulties. But by August 1960 everything was ready and at the famed Bonneville salt flats in Utah, USA, Campbell began his test runs, targeting 400mph and a new record. But on the sixth run, he lost control at around 360mph and Bluebird flipped into a shattering crash. Donald escaped with a fractured skull and burst eardrum, with only the sheer strength of the car saving him from more serious consequences.

Undeterred, he had Bluebird CN7 rebuilt and shipped to a new site, the Lake Eyre salt beds in Australia. On 17th July 1964, he drove the car to 403.1mph and finally secured an officially-recognised Land Speed Record. In the eyes of many Donald had at last exorcised the fatherly demons that had haunted him for years.

The rebuilding following its 1960 crash saw Bluebird gain a tail, seen here at Lake Eyre just before setting the record.

Then on the very last day of 1964, at Lake Dumbleyung near Perth in Australia, Campbell raised the WSR to 276.33mph. To this day he remains the only man to set land and water records in the same year. But this feat did not catch the public imagination, and worse, his LSR marker was soon left far behind by the new breed of rocket-powered American cars.

A fateful decision

As a result, instead of retiring as he had planned to do, Donald decided to raise the water speed record past 300mph, which he hoped would produce the funding he needed to build his own rocket-powered car and regain the LSR. And it was as he was on the verge of achieving that 300mph record, on 4th January 1967, that Donald Campbell’s luck ran out…

The 403.10mph that Donald achieved in July 1964 was the last outright LSR set by a wheel-driven car. By 1970, American Gary Gabelich’s ‘Blue Flame’ rocket car had taken the record to 630mph, where it stayed for 13 years until October 1983 when Briton Richard Noble added just 4mph in ‘Thrust 2’ to return the LSR to Britain.

A further 14 years on, Noble was the head of the project that saw RAF pilot Andy Green achieve the first supersonic LSR, at 760mph in ‘Thrust SSC’. And now Green is preparing to go record-hunting once again with ‘Project Bloodhound’, seeking to push the speed past 1,000mph.

The father-and-son Campbells are suitably celebrated at the Lakeland Motor Museum.

Noble and Green are very much in the mould of the Campbells. Today Malcolm and Donald are remembered at Coniston, and in a very good display housed in a bespoke building added to the Lakeland Motor Museum on the edge of Cumbria. Here are displayed full-size replicas of the Bluebird cars and boats.

But go to the Surrey-Sussex border districts where the two men spent their lives, had their homes, and you will find statues proudly erected by the local authority, recalling other local famous sons, composer Ralph Vaughan-Williams and the 19th century builder Thomas Cubitt. Of the Campbells there is nothing…

Buebird at her best, beautifully captured by artist Jonathan Clay.

50 years on from Bluebird’s last run Just before 8.30am on the morning of 4th January 1967, Donald Campbell eased his Bluebird K7 boat away from the jetty on the edge of Lake Coniston and headed out onto the water.