...way out on the corner of fucked up and evil...

So Johnny has stolen my director's cut of Watchmen and tried to indoctrinate Hayley and the Prawn into its wonderment. Hayley is refusing to like any movie where one superhero is a rapist and another one is a ginger. Prawn is offended that the ginger dies in the end, because it's racist or something. Johnny's standard response to anyone talking to him is falling to his knees and going "NOOOOOOOOORRAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHH!" This is why we can't have nice things.

Also, I went into town today to meet up with an old friend from college, and when I was coming back I saw this girl who had made my life an absolute misery in highschool, and she looks like an absolute mess and it made me really happy. I know that makes me super-petty, but I can't bring myself to care.

So lately the universe has been hinting to me that I should watch Twin Peaks again - the adverts for it are showing on Sky, McNerdcakes mentioned it last week, and my brother described a roasted chicken he found at the back of the fridge as "dead, wrapped in plastic." Never one to ignore signs from the great Liamneeson, I of course have obeyed His will and dug out my old, non-Gold-Box DVDs.

On Saturday I had a few friends 'round that I haven't seen in nearly a decade - we all went to the College of Knowledge together back in the day, but our contact over the last ten years has all been via text messages, so we decided to have a movie-fest/catch-up/crazed-almost-fatal-sugar-high extravaganza.

When they turned up I was watching Twin Peaks, and it turns out that not a single one of them has ever heard of it.

You guys, this is totally inconceivable. Now I'm sad because Liamneeson is going to condemn all my old friends to Hell for not being cool enough to have seen Twin Peaks. I'm sort of tempted to try to save them from damnation by arranging a three-day Twin Peaks fest, where we watch the whole series and imbibe nothing but pie, coffee and doughnuts* until we all die from weirdness and sugar overload.

Clearly I will need to purchase the Gold Box edition before the event. I feel that is only right. Liamneeson would totally agree with me.

*Actually, I hate doughnuts, so I will subtly encourage them to bring pie and coffee only.

Wow, I suck at updating. In my defence though, I have been extremely distracted by a combination of Roar and Stargate Atlantis - in the episode I'm watching right now, Ronan has just invented a game where the sole purpose is to give him an excuse for grabbing Johns ass. And Sheppards just like, okay, that's a totally believable game, I'll go along with it. I mean, really. When I was in college, we did this whole bit on consent obtained by deception, and there was one case about a music teacher who touched up (euphamism for something much worse I don't want to go into this early in the morning) his students under the pretence that it would improve their singing. I always used to wonder how anyone could be that naive, and now I know - they were all related to John Sheppard.

Anyway, leaving aside random military dudes who don't even know when they're being molested, Roar is so... okay, it's like what would happen if Highlander and the Tribe had a baby - it's so poor, but at the same time, it has so much leather-clad Heath, and therefore it's really hard for me to form a definate opinion. And then there are a couple of really great episodes, not to mention a few scenes where you can totally tell it's done by the same guy who did American Gothic, and therefore at least temporarily awesome. Unfortunately, Longinus and Diana, the nominal baddies, are clearly meant to be cast from the same mould as Lucas and Selina, and they completely fail to measure up. Especially Longinus, who frankly is a whingy little Roman bitch. I kind of like Diana, though, if only because she shares my hatred for dance.

On the subject of how much I hate dance, Mama Froodle came to visit again last week - it was pretty enjoyable, apart from the part where she forced me to go to the ballet. Let me just state again - I HATE DANCE. Especially ballet, which is just a bunch of underfed white boys flailing around like spastics who've gone off their medication. It was like - you know that episode of Angel where they go to Pylea, and Lorne is explaining that they have no music, but unfortunately they still have dancing, and then Numquar does the dance of joy in complete silence? It was like that, for three hours. I only survived because I started fantasizing about shooting everyone onstage in their kneecaps. Fortunately, as with all great artists, pain and suffering leads to creativity, so I give you ( Read more... )

In other news, seven weeks 'til Halloween, yay! ASDA have already put their decorations and things out - this year they have a really cool skeleton in a hanging cage, and when you press a button the skeleton shouts and rattles the bars and tries to escape, and an awesome jug in the shape of a skull. I also got a set of four really cute votive candle holders decorated with bats which arrived today (hence why I'm up so early). Also, fair warning to anyone attending Casa Del Froodle this year who plans on turning up in a Nurse!Joker costume - I will try to grab your ass. I promise I won't pretend it's some lame homoeroticized version of Capture The Flag, though. Seriously, Ronan. Fail.

Thief Lord porn! With Princess Bride references, no less. Liam Neeson loves me, yes he does.

Watched Master & Commander this evening; I'd forgotten how much I adore that film, even if it is basically Tom Pullings' wet dream. The jokes, my God, the appalling yet hysterically funny jokes. Stephen being a pissy little bitch. Ickle Midshipman Blakeney, aww! The sealion that says "Argh!" Jack slagging off whalers in front of the head whaler dude. Poor, sad Tom and his unrequited Jacklove. Killick's cantankerous mutterings. Random appearence by a hobbit. And did I mention, the jokes? I thought I was going to die during that last scene; poor Stephen is handling his disappointment remarkably well for someone who is, as previously mentioned, a pissy little bitch, and Jack has to go and make that remark about flightless birds not going anywhere - it's hil-fucking-hairy-house, as we used to say back in college,

So, Richard Roxburgh.

Dracula in Van Helsing.

Moriarty in LXG.

And also, apparently, Holmes in the BBC version of Hound of the Baskervilles, which Jonathan informed me sucks more penis than an entire churchload of altarboys.

It doesn't help that, every time someone mentions Dracula, I feel compelled to yell 'The Napolean of the Undead!' while making dramatic gestures.

When I was in college, some of us spent three hours creating a chart that proved the centre of the world was Ken Barlow. I feel tempted to do the same with Sherlock Holmes.

That could be the urge to procrastinate kicking in, though.

Damn.