when i was a breeze i blew four dozen trees every morning to strengthen my gales and now that i’m grown i just raze them with ease, so i’m seven times bigger than wales!
Due to the well of my friends’ “def not an axe murderer” date recommendations drying up, I have turned to that most sacred of modern relationship institutions: online dating. As a very busy person trying to get it in with other very busy people, I prize honestly and directness above all else when it comes to profile creation. I include full body shots in my photos, try to minimize the use of MySpace angles in selfies, and write at the very top of the summary/caption/profile that I am fat. Not “curvy,” not “thick,” not “lots to love”–I’m f*cking fat. I’m not ashamed of it, but I also known that weight is a dealbreaker for lots of people. I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.
About a year ago I met “Evan” via Tinder. We exchanged friendly messages for a few hours one night and agreed to meet up for drinks the following evening. I waited for a full hour past the designated time, and just as I was getting up to leave, the texts started rolling in.
“I can see you sweating from here.” “How long does it take you to roll out of bed every morning?” “Is there an earthquake or are you just getting up for more pretzels?”
Really idiotic, juvenile shit. Four separate numbers, commenting on things like my clothes, which clued me in that the senders were nearby. This went on for 15 minutes before I finally saw Evan, trying to hide in at a corner table and giggling with a group of buddies. I made eye contact, saw that he saw me, and then walked out. The texts kept up until I blocked the numbers a few hours later.
I ran into Evan about 3 weeks later. We got on the same elevator, and he tried really hard at being super interested in the emergency phone instructions. I just confronted him, and he admitted it was just some “game” that him and his friends play. He knew I was fat before agreeing to meet up; they all did, because that’s what they do. Match up with fat women, then either ghost them or “troll” them at the meet-up. It was also kinda obvious he’d never seen any consequences from this bullshit, as he was sweating pretty hard and looked more humiliated than I felt. I just said whatever and walked out, expecting to never see him again.
About a month ago, some local foodie wrote a great review of the restaurant I own, and we’ve been slammed ever since. In the past, I stayed mostly in the kitchen, but I’ve been doing more and more front-of-house stuff lately, and Valentine’s Day I was working a bit of a split between the two.
I saw Evan just as he was pushing in his date’s chair. My name isn’t on the restaurant, and he didn’t see me. I checked the section up at the hostess stand and saw that one of my favorite old-timers, Nan, was going to be his waitress. I went to the bar till, took out $400, put it in her hands, and said, “This is going to be your only table for the rest of the night. You are going to make this the worst date he has ever been on.”
She spilled every single thing she brought out to the table, all over him. I was waiting for him to blow up on Nan, but he bottled it up, obviously trying to make a good impression on his date. She seemed like a perfectly lovely lady; I told Nan to make sure everything was good for her and terrible for Evan.
She poured ice water on his d*ck. She smacked the back of his head with the edge of a tray. Spilled soup on his shirt. Dropped every fork he asked for. I personally oversalted his food, used the shit liquor for his drinks, used flour instead of sugar on his dessert. To be honest, I don’t know why he didn’t just walk out. He must have really wanted to f*ck this woman.
Finally, he cracked. Demanded Nan find the manager and bring her out. I was only too happy to emerge from the kitchen with my chef’s coat and say what, I’m not ashamed to admit, I’d been planning out all night.
“I would have said hi earlier, but I didn’t want the earthquake to disturb your dinner.”
I will savor the look on Evan’s face for the rest of my life.
He was a little too flummoxed to explain, so I pulled a chair up to the table and introduced myself to his date, Amanda. Told her how I met Evan. Showed her some fun old messages. Then I told gave her a voucher for a free meal on her next visit and told Evan to get the f*ck out and never come back.
i love in fantasy when its like “king galamir the mighty golden eagle and his most trusted advisor who would never betray him, gruelworm bloodeye the treacherous”
When my sister and I were kids we had this one action figure, who was actually a brutalized batman doll without his cape (the dog chewed half his head, too), who we dubbed ‘Evil Chancellor Traytor’. The idea was that in the fictional society of our toys, ‘chancellor’ just came with the word ‘evil’ in front of it, as a matter of ancient tradition. Like ‘grand’ or ‘high’ or something along those lines.
Anyway, the running gag was that the king (an old Power Rangers knock-off doll) had absolute and unwavering faith in Evil Chancellor Traytor, who basically comported himself like a mix between Grima Wormtongue and Jafar from the Aladdin movies. Everyone was always sure that Evil Chancellor Traytor had something to do with the nefarious scheme of the day. The dude even carried around a poisoned knife called ‘the kingslayer’.
The additional twist on the joke, though, was that he never was behind anything. The king was actually right. Evil Chancellor Traytor was the most devoted civil servant in the entire Action Figure Dystopia. He spent his nights working on writing up new legislature to ensure that broken toys had access to mobility devices, was always on the lookout to acquire new shoeboxes for expanding city infrastructure, and drafted a proposal that once got half the ‘settlement’ in my sister and I’s closet moved to the upper shelf so that vulnerable toys were less likely to be snatched up by the dog.
The knife, as it turned out, was as symbolic as the ‘evil’ in his name. See, Action Figure Dystopia had a long history of corrupted monarchs getting too big for their thrones and exploiting the underclasses. The job of the Evil Chancellor was to always remain vigilant, and loyally serve a good ruler – or, if the regent should became a despot, to slay them on behalf of the people.
But since killing the king would be a terrible crime, the Evil Chancellor had to be the kind of person who would willingly die to spare the people from the plight of a wicked leader; because the murder would be pinned on them, in order to keep the ‘machinery of politics’ working as smoothly as ever.
Anyway, Evil Chancellor Traytor had a diary, in which my sister I would take turns writing out the most over-the-top good shit he’d done behind the scenes. Usually after everyone else had finished talking shit about him. I don’t know why but we got the biggest kick out of being like:
Barbie With the Unfortunate Haircut: Oh that Evil Chancellor Traytor! Why can’t the king see how wicked he is?!
Charmander From the Vending Machine: Char!
Jurassic Park Toy of Jeff Goldblum With Disturbingly Realistic Face: At least if someone puts a knife in the king’s back, we’ll know where to look!
Evil Chancellor Traytor’s Diary: Today I was feeding ducks at the park when I noticed another legless action figure sitting by the benches. I put a hundred dollars into his bag while he wasn’t looking. I really need to increase budgeting to the medical treatment centers. If only we had enough glue, I think we would see far fewer toys trying to get by without limbs… *insert iconic evil laugh*
Anyway, Evil Chancellor Traytor eventually fell victim to one of my mom’s cleaning sprees, and she decided he was too busted up to keep and tossed him out. My littler brother, who tended to follow my sister and I’s games like he was watching a daily soap opera, cried so hard that we had to do a special ‘episode’ where one of the toys found the Evil Chancellor’s diary, and so he got a big huge memorial and the king threw himself into the empty grave and then ordered the toys driving the toy bulldozer to bury him so that ‘Traytor’s grave would have a body’ (this seemed very important for some reason).
And then we had the Quest For a New King. Somehow or another that ended up being a giant rubber snake called ‘Tyrant King Cobra’.
Why couldn’t Toy Story have been half this amazing?
At the EMP Museum, in the horror section, you can press a button to make waterphone music play over the speaker. I enjoy watching people get creeped out.
With Bateman, I thought he was trying to learn how to be a human being, so if he wanted to learn how to have sex, of course he watches porn. I talked to Christian a couple days before we shot it and he decided that because Bateman had watched pornography, we would watch pornography, so he got one of the PAs to get us a couple of videos and we both took notes. He came in the next day before rehearsal and he had done these little stick drawings, and there was one where two girls were giving Bateman a blow job at once. We were laughing, thinking, That’s ridiculous and it doesn’t make logistical sense, but we’ll do it anyway.
When we came to rehearse the thing, the little room they had given us happened to have a mirror on the door. When I saw that, I said, “Christian, watch yourself in the mirror as you’re having sex,” and then he really went with it and was so hilarious. But the thing I said to the actresses playing Christie and Sabrina is, “For your characters, it’s just a job. You just have to get through this.” I think that’s where a male director would have directed it differently. When does the prostitute ever find these things sexy? It’s a job to suck this guy’s dick. He’s having his fantasy, and their faces are adding a sort of counterpoint.
There’s not a lot of nudity in the scene — Christian wore a sock, and I think the girls were wearing underwear — but there was definitely a lot of digital removal if you saw this or that. Still, it was a very lengthy process in the editing room of taking out frames. The MPAA was okay with the violence, but they really objected to that three-way sex scene where it looks like there might be rear-entry sex. At the time, I had very young children, and the studio was sending me VHS tapes of the latest cuts of the sex scene. I had one of those VHS tapes next to a children’s video from the library, and I remember I put the wrong one in the envelope. Fortunately, I checked it before I turned it in, and I was like, “Oh my God, it’s the American Psycho sex scene! This is not Barney.”
me talking about my mental illness in front of my therapist: … i ,,, might have? some sadness… somewhere in me… but it’s? not bad… i’m just whiny… i don’t know i just… never sleep and … me in front of complete strangers: move greg i have depression and i want the pasta it’s an emergency
thranduil sleeps calmer knowing even if his son married a dwarf at least he married The Supermodel dwarf and singlehandedly crushed the hopes of single dwarves and dwarrowdams everywhere
this is my headcanon and you will never take it from me.
listen, just Listen for a second, okay.
Gimli Gloinul is from the line of Durin okay, he’s from the line of KINGS, his bloodline stands up against Legolas’ perfectly, if the elves and dwarves got their shit together for a hot second they would be like “YES, PERFECT, A DIPLOMATIC MARRIAGE TO BIND OUR HOUSES TOGETHER AND NEVER SHALL THE TWAIN THROW ONE ANOTHER TO DRAGONS…again.” because you have a king’s son and a king’s nephew which, well, I love Dain but he’s not an EREBOR KING and GIMLI IS FROM THE FAMILY OF EREBOR KINGS.
And Gimli acts like he’s from the line of Erebor kings, too, okay, he’s a diplomat and a warrior and a nobleman, he’s the sort of person who SAYS things like ‘faithless is he who says fairwell when the road darkens’ and stares down Elrond Peredhil in his own home when his strength and faith are questioned. And he’s the kind of person who swears his allegiance to people he barely knows because it’s Right and Good and Gimli knows it.
And Thorin Oakenshield was handsome, and his sister the lady Dis is beautiful, and Gimli’s cousins Fili and Kili were fine young dwarrows, and Gimli’s mother is a great beauty.
Basically my point here is that Gimli, proud strong gimli with his firebeard hair and bold laugh and mithril tongue and clever fingers, broke the hearts of everyone in Erebor and not a few people outside of Erebor when he married a goddamn elf. Like. Not even Arwen Undomiel (WHO MARRIED A GODDAMN HUMAN, it’s been a weird couple of years in Middle-Earth, everyone wonders strongly if they’ve been drinking too much). Like he’s not even marrying a great beauty of the elves, Legolas isn’t ugly by elvish standards but also he’s nothing particularly special, and he’s not a great diplomat, and he’s BARELY a king’s son because everyone knows that Mirkwood elves are…a little odd. Legolas is a big cheerful hunter who sings songs he doesn’t remember all of, who chatters to trees and has no sense of the right thing to say even if he’s developed enough self-preservation to know the wrong thing to say, and FOR THE LOVE OF MAHAL HE FIGHTS WITH A BOW.
“GIMLI” Gloin bellows “YOU TURNED DOWN THIRTY-TWO SUITORS FROM FINE DWARVISH LINES FOR THIS”
“Ignore him, amrâlime, he’ll get over it” Gimli says in amusement as he beckons Legolas over to his forge, where he’s carefully smithing mithril-inlaid gold marriage clasps that will grip fine elvish hair. It’s too hot in the forge to wear shirts, if you’re working. Every dwarf in twenty feet stops what they’re doing to watch Gimli’s biceps flex as he holds up a jewel for Legolas’ inspection.
“YOU COULD HAVE HAD A HAREM” Gloin wails from down the hall.
#a headcanon I never knew I needed until this very moment
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