Masturdation Take 2: Date Night with Deadpool

First, for my writing and your reading pleasure:

Friday the 15th, I took myself out for a date. A masturdate, that is. Since I was already scheduled to be off work that day, I decided to make the best of it. There was an afternoon showing of Deadpool, which was good…because my anxiety levels are nowhere near low enough to masturdate on a Friday night when the place is packed with touchy-feely couples.

Unlike my Date Night with Bill Murray, my Date Night with Deadpool had a few people in the theater aside from myself. So. Let’s see. There was me – the only solo chick there to watch Deadpool. Then there were about eight or so solo dudes there. And there were two couples: one young teenage couple, and one couple with what looked to be a seven or eight year old little boy. Y’all. This is Deadpool we’re talking about, not TMNT. It took them until halfway through to realize they’d made a mistake…in spite of the fact that it was obvious on the opening credits.




I’ve never really gotten the appeal of Ryan Reynolds, as either an actor or as a hot piece of ass. But uhm. Yeah. Deadpool changed my mind. I’m not into Ryan Reynolds, but I definitely would fuck Deadpool to death. TO DEATH. That filthy mouth, the irreverence, the silliness, and yes the ass.

This isn’t going to be a review, because I’d rather talk to y’all about parks and shit. Not shit. I mean parks and shit. Not parks and poop. You know? Yeah, you know.

I laughed my ass off during the flick. It was interesting, because no one was laughing. So I felt self-conscious and tried to will myself not to laugh. Then I said fuck it. This shit is funny.

And you know what happened?

When I started laughing at funny shit, so did others. It’s as though we all had the same anxiety. The same reservation.

So me and this one dude in particular laughed at pretty much the exact same shit all throughout the movie.

The flick was filthy, vulgar, bloody, laden with sexual innuendo and overt sexual references. In other words, I wanted to marry it. Deadpool was so fucking funny I wanted to marry it.

I needed the humor. The filth. The irreverence. It made it worth striking out on my own. I didn’t even wear my hoodie, y’all. I laughed and had a blast and realized that when someone tries to tear you down, it’s best to realize it’s not about you. It really isn’t. So go out, masturdate and be like Deadpool.


P.S. Guess what?! I totally wrote this from work. So if the site is working up here tomorrow, I’ll get to the one about my little park visits and share some piccies!

Pom Poko: Review(ish) of a Fucked Up Animovie

The Geek Squad

I’ve recently been welcomed into the geek fold at work. They don’t know it (yet), but I refer to them as the Geek Squad (shut up, BestBuy, this isn’t about you). I’ve always known they were geeks – I mean, come on. Boys are usually pretty obvious about such things. But they (well, most of them) didn’t know it about me.

Over the last few weeks, I’ve had to work closely with a couple of them on a new project. The geekiness seeped out, and I found my people. Half a dozen or so dudes who say “fuck” a lot, trade anime and books and play video games together. Some of them are married, while others still live at home. I’m totally picturing a basement full of gadgets, anime and porn, maybe a D&D table, with mom or grandma scornfully delivering PB&J, laundry and classifieds every few hours.

Anatomy of a (Stephanie) Geek

For the record, I’m only about half-geek. Something like: Half anime/comics/gamer geek. Three-quarters introverted, dark corner dwelling book nerd. Four-fifths anti-establishment, pot-smoking smartass. (Just trust my math on this, okay? I’m smart.) Some of the guys are more overtly geeky, while some of them look like total heads but talk a very geeky game.

Herman the Hipster Slings Porn in the Parking Lot

A week or so ago, Herman the Hipster (seriously, no idea that one was a geek) received a boon. One of his recently married friends was ordered by his not-so-geeky wife to get rid of his anime collection. My argument, upon hearing this, was how in the fuck did she not know she was marrying a geek? Didn’t she know what she was getting? Didn’t he take her for a test drive in his replica batmobile? And how in the fuck did he not know he was marrying a controlling bitch? If he’s as geeky as his (formerly) outlandishly massive collection of anime indicates, then he was probably grateful to be getting any booty at all. (I somehow doubt he’ll remain grateful for long.)

So that was how Herman the Hipster happened upon three trunkfuls of anime. And I don’t mean a pocket-sized Prius trunk. I mean the back of a Toyota Forerunner. We’re talking individual films, box sets of entire anime seasons, leather-bound collector’s editions of super rare ones, and one super secret super pervy porny hentai box set at the bottom of a big bin.

Herman the Hipster decided to sell off his friend’s (former) collection at cut rates to any interested coworkers, then sell the rest on ebay at the going prices. So cigarillo-smoking, assumed-to-be-pothead Pookie informed me of the deals goin’ down in the parking lot. (Doesn’t everyone know a Pothead Pookie? This is at least the second one I’ve known.)

Apparently, like three of the lonelier geeks got into a serious bid-war for the hentai box set. I suppose they found the artwork enticing: picture a naked anime chick with a rack the size of the wheels on a monster truck. She’s floating in space – hovering, I imagine, directly over the bed of a sexually frustrated geekboy – covered in what I can only hope is icing. All of the icing in the world, after the cupcake factory exploded. On her tits.

Pookie Prophesies in the Parking Lot

But that all happened once I was out of the way…they couldn’t exactly let the chick see them locked in a bid-war for porntoons. While I was out there with Herman the Hipster, Pookie the Pothead and Manbun Merv, Herman shows us the ones he’s set aside for himself. One of which was Pom Poko.

Looks like a harmless little anime, doesn’t it? Looks can be deceiving, my friends.
Pookie looked to be in the throes of traumatic flashbacks.

Pookie the Parking Lot Prophet: Dude, what the fuck are you keeping that for? Burn it!
Herman the Hipster: What? It sounds cute. I’m gonna show it to my daughter.

Pookie the Parking Lot Prophet: What the fuck is the matter with you?! You can’t show that to your kid!
Herman the Hipster: Haha what? Why not?

Pookie the Parking Lot Prophet: Dude. You show that shit to your kid, and she’ll be traumatized for life. I’m telling you. It’s about these…these…these fucking fucked up fucking squirrels, man!

Manbun Merv: *chuckles* What’s wrong with squirrels?

Pookie the Parking Lot Prophet: OH MY GOD. DO NOT SHOW THIS SHIT TO YOUR KIDS. It’s…it’s about these squirrels, man…

Stephanie the Smartass She-Geek: Those look like raccoons to me, Pookie.
Pookie the Parking Lot Prophet: Oh my god, woman! That’s not the point! These fucked up little animals..they try to save their homeland, right? And they use their motherfucking nutsacks to do it!

Everyone dissolves into laughter. Pretty sure I snorted and doubled over.

Stephanie the She-Geek: That sounds like the best thing ever!
Pookie the Parking Lot Prophet: That’s because you don’t understand! Herman, you can not show this shit to your kid. I’m telling you, they use their nutsacks to fight the humans.

At this point, we all take turns quizzing him about the nature of these nutsacks. We’re all under the impression that he means…like a sack of nuts. Peanuts or something that they’ve gathered. Cuz Pookie keeps referring to them as squirrels.

Stephanie the She-Geek: But it’s Studio Ghibli!
Pookie the Parking Lot Prophet: It’s Studio FUCKED UP is what it is!
Stephanie the She-Geek: You’re just being a perv!
Manbun Merv: Pookie man, that’s kinda fucked up.

Herman the Hipster: Okay, okay, how about this. Stephanie, you take it home and watch it. Then bring it back to me and let me know if you think Pookie is just retarded. I really think my kids would like it.

Pookie the Parking Lot Prophet: I see how y’all are, man. Fine! That’s fine! All I can say is good luck, Stephanie. You’re gonna regret watching that fucked up shit.

Stephanie Regrets Watching that Fucked Up Shit

Dudes, Pookie was totally right. I was absolutely convinced that he was reading into it with a dirty mind. I do it, too. I mean, hell, a bunch of animals using their sacks of nuts to fight? I’d have had dirty thoughts about it, too. So I was totally convinced that Pookie was just being a perv, and the movie would be completely innocent.

But Pookie was right. Those little raccoons. They weren’t using sacks of peanuts. They were using their fucking testicles!

The basic premise of the movie is that humans have encroached upon the raccoons’ territory, to the point where they’re running out of places to live. So the raccoons devise a scheme to push the humans back and make them stop development. A pretty common theme for kid flicks. But these raccoons’ scheme involved teaching the youth the ancient skill of shape-shifting.

That’s right. And do you know one of the things that the little male raccoons liked to shapeshift?

Their nutsacks.

Pom Poko Nads
Just look at their little nuts! All up in your face!
Umbrellas, parachutes, carpets. Or murdering humans by stretching their nuts out over big chasms then pulling back when a vehicle drives upon it. I shit you not, y’all. Take a look:



pompoko 8

Pookie was right. I couldn’t even finish it. Not because of the nuts. That was super fucking bizarre and funny in a fucked up kinda way. But because it was boring. I just couldn’t get into the story at all.

I returned the DVD to Herman with a sticky that said, “2 out of 2 geeks agree: do NOT show this to your kids!” Unless he wants his daughter asking Santa for a pair of nuts so she can fight the man, too!

I did some digging afterward, wondering what was up with these testicularly gifted critters and found out that they’re modeled after the Tanuki: a Japanese raccoon-dog of lore, with pendulous nads and shape-shifting abilities.


I love learning about different cultures, but this was quite a surprise. I believe I could have gone my whole life without knowing about the…gifted tanuki.

So uhm. Yeah. Note to self: Listen to Pookie.

Your mom goes to college.

This bitch just had the nerve to insult my hair. It was all up in my face. And I hate when my hair is all up in my face. But rather than cut it all off, I usually just put it in a clip or ponytail. Lacking both of those implements today, I twisted my hair into a bun. And it’s being held in place by a Mirado Black Warrior pencil. (Seriously. Those are the best pencils on earth. At least of the No. 2 variety.)

So she’s all…*points and laughs* you have a pencil in your hair. (No shit, Sherlock. And what are we, fucking EIGHT?)

So then I was all…

So then she was all…*huff* What? *eye roll* (Please bitch. Roll it harder. Roll it so hard you go blind. I’m begging you.)

But then I was all…


Because I knew I’d just slain her with my epic wit. Does it matter whether or not she understood? Not really. Because she knew she was beaten. You could see it in her eyes. I bet that’s the last look in a gazelle’s eyes as the cheetah’s teeth penetrate its throat.

No wonder you looked so smug, Kip. You knew what pure gold that line was. Thank you. We all thank you.

Take it or Leave it: Steins;Gate (Episodes 1 through 3)


This anime with the weirdly punctuated name (Steins;Gate – REALLY?!) is supposed to be my jam. I’ve had it downloaded for a while, but I was busy finishing up FMAB (Full Metal Alchemist: Brotherhood…much better punctuation in that one). Barring a few exceptions, I’m super late to anime and only seriously got into it within the last five years.

This semi-wannabe-kinda sorta review thingy should be taken with this in consideration: I just came off of FMAB. And, quite frankly (hi again, Frank), I don’t think anything can or will ever top it. Naturally, after coming off of something of such epic magnitude, the first thing to follow is going to be a huge, flaccid disappointment. (Yes, I meant to say flaccid.) (Yes I know what flaccid means.) (Okay, I’ll stop saying flaccid.) (Prude.)

So. Steins;Gate.

The Premise

“After discovering time travel, a university student and his colleagues must use their knowledge of it to stop an evil organization and their diabolical plans.” (Premise brought to you by a direct copy/paste from IMDb. Because I’m lazy. But I’m no plagiarist – I cite my sources. Hmph.)

Here’s another direct copy/paste – this time from user j4x: “Okabe Rintarou, an university student who refers to himself as Crazy Mad Scientist Hououin Kyouma and his lab’s members work on a microwave device that can transfer messages to the past. Without getting captured, they should get it working in order to beat the evil organization, SERN and stop their evil plans.”

Sounds right up my alley, alright. So I understand the recommendation. Anime? Check. Sci-fi? Check. Time travel? Check. Conspiracy theories? Check. Mental disturbances? Check. Social anxiety? Check. Good vs. Evil? Check. Geeky/pervy techy sidekick? Check. Smart women? Check. I mean, really. There are so many things for me to like about this.

But I’ve had problems with it, and I’m only three episodes in.

Problems I’ve had with it, only three episodes inMayuri_full_profile

Mayuri Shiina is a major character. As the lifelong friend and financier/snack supplier of the main character, Mayuri is around a lot. She works at some cafe where she dresses like a kitty cat and prances and meows for customers. Look, I get it. A lot of pre-teen or even teenaged geeks really dig watching adult anime girls dress and act like helpless little girls in short skirts and tiny little voices. And oh my god does Mayushii have a tiny little voice. It drives me batshit. The character is sweet, unassuming, just darling. Fine. But does she have to sound like an infant? Grump grump grump. Steins;Gate does have at least one strong female character that I’ve met thus far. But Mayuri gets under my skin. I think FMAB spoiled me to strong chicks in anime. To be fair, they haven’t fan serviced her yet. Yet.

Let’s not even talk about the pink-haired coworker of Mayuri. She’s up there in the promo pic. So far, I’ve only seen her in her work costume. With kitten ears and making her hands into paws. So she can act like a cat. And meow. I may have just vomited typing that. Not yet. But close.

There are also these scenes where the mad scientist is hanging out in hacker chat rooms trying to solve his mysteries. (Are they mysteries, or is he crazy? That’s a major plot point, and that is somewhat intriguing. But I’m also pretty sure the answer to that is obvious.) Okabe/Hououin goes into these underground hacker/conspiracy chat rooms, and you (the viewer) are looking at the screen and inundated with lines and lines of chat room text. It’s overwhelming, and I get superanxious trying to read all of it. How are you to know which pieces to pay attention to and which to discard as extraneous information? ARGH! I should have taken a screenshot so you can see what I mean. But I didn’t, and I’m at work. So. Yeah. I kept pausing over and over and over again so that I wouldn’t miss a single line of text. I’m sure most of it was extraneous and irrelevant, but I couldn’t help myself. Text was there! Demanding to be read!

I just haven’t been grabbed. It hasn’t captivated me yet. Is it because of the annoying little things I’m picking apart? Or do I have time to pick it apart and notice annoying little things because it hasn’t captivated me yet?

Things I do Like Thus FarDaru_profile

Itaru, better known as Daru, is the hacker of the top secret future lab. UGH. And I just got a fucking spoiler when I looked for a picture of him to include here. And now I’m pissed! Hmph. Don’t google the show unless you want spoilers. Anyway! Daru is the stereotypical otaku guy. Fat, lazy, geeky, whip-smart with all things techy/computer. And he’s a pervert. It’s funny watching him call Okabe out on his eccentricities and delusions. And it’s funnier still when he tries to make the girls say things like, “his banana is floppy.” I like Daru. Daru makes me laugh, and that’s super important.

I love how weird and eccentric and over-the top Okabe is. His labcoat. His maniacal laughter. The way he speaks into his phone…while it’s switched off. How convinced he is of his delusions. And how real I really think they are.

The time travel. The conspiracy theories. The phone microwave time machine thingy. The gel bananas. The floppy gel bananas. The mean (but not really) super. The time jumps and multiple timelines. Love it.

To Continue or Cut My Losses

Only three episodes in, now is the time to quit if I’m not diggin’ it. I mean, I’ve only put in an hour of my life thus far. And that’s not too bad at all, especially when there isn’t much else demanding my time. But there are things I hate about it…cut and run.

On the other hand, not everyone can be royalty. I mean. It’s unfair to hold all anime up to FMAB or Ghibli standards (puhleeze). It would be akin to choosing your favorite artist or musician and saying that all else is garbage because it’s not such and such artist or musician. We aren’t going to fall head-over-heels for everything. It’s acceptable to just like something, right? But it’s also probably not a good idea to leave a RHCP concert and expect me to swoon over Yanni five minutes later. I mean, let’s get real. For fucks sake.

Yeah. I’m gonna give it more time. It’s not like I’m hating it. So I’ll watch a few more episodes and reassess.

See? That wasn’t so difficult, now, was it? Now to figure out dinner. Decisions suck. Grump grump grump.

Salvaging Saturday: Anime & You

ShaoMayMiniPandaI don’t have heaps to say right now. My head still isn’t right. But it’s super important to me to say: THANK YOU. Thank you to everyone who messaged me. Everyone who read and related or just heard. Thank you to everyone who stopped by and didn’t message. Seriously, thanks. Y’all got me out of bed – or at least awake and functioning – today. Those little “plings” of support, alerting me to each new like or message. At first I resisted even reading them. And then I realize that means that I was resisting feeling better. So I called myself out and read your warm messages. And let you pull me out of my funk, far enough out that I’ve fed myself and played with the cats and am watching anime and letting myself smile and relax a bit. Thank you.

And thanks anime. I mean, seriously. Check out that spirited little mini-panda. Who could resist smiling at that?

I’m going to shower and scrounge up food. Maybe I’ll even get out and go to the grocery store. What?! Thanks, y’all.

MR. ROBOT: Season 1

Before I get started with my little review of MR. ROBOT (which will be CHOCK full of spoilers)…can we just take a moment to drool over Rami Malek’s face? I mean, just look at that structure. Those eyes. That mouth. That stubble.

I don’t mean just any ole iteration of Rami Malek. I specifically mean the Rami Malek of MR. ROBOT. Okay. I really really mean Elliot Alderson. Because who really gives a shit about Rami Malek. Let’s be real, here. I’m here for the Elliot.


That Elliot. Oh he’s different alright. Different. Wide-eyed, rarely blinking, hoodie-wearing, superbrilliant, superparanoid hackerboy. I’m gonna need another moment.


Oh, hello. I wasn’t staring and totally losing the plot again. Pinky swear. (That’s not the same as a promise, right? Cuz I don’t break promises. But I do break pinkies.) (Hang on, I don’t break actual fingerpinkies.) (Yet.)

Yeah. Kidding. Mostly. In all seriousness, what the fuck am I supposed to be writing about? Oh yeah. MR. ROBOT.

MR. ROBOT was the shit! And one more time for those of you who were distracted by the Elliot, I’m gonna write spoilers. I’m gonna throw that shit around like they’re going out of style. I’m telling you, warning you, because I fucking hate spoilers. But what I hate more than spoilers is posts full of spoilers that are like, “Hey cutie. Yeah you. Come look at this flower.” *BLAMMO* “This isn’t a flower at all! This is a certain evil character in Game of Thrones having his guts exploded! Got ya, bitch!” Yeah. That shit pisses me off. So consider yourself warned.

Second point I want to make is this – I have zero confidence in my reviews. This isn’t going to be some award-winning Amazon Prime 5,000 upvoted review kinda posts. Not only that, but this isn’t even gonna be a coherent, episode by episode break down. Wanna know why?


I BINGEWATCHED THE FUCK OUTTA THIS FUCKER. THAT’S WHY. BOOYAH. Seriously, it was that damned good. If you’re into hackery stuff, conspiracies (government, corporate, dark web hackers), down with the man, fuck society, geekboys with social anxiety and drug problems in hoodies because fuck yeah hoodies, fuck the popo ho and the one percent? Yeah, this show is your jam, man. IT’S YOUR JAM.

Oh and if your thing isn’t those things, but is instead suit-wearing assdouches, then this is your jam, too. No it’s not. Get the fuck outta here.

I watch the best shows. Seriously. Cuz I have the best informant on the best shows. So I don’t even have to do any work. Just say, “Oh yeah? Good one?” And he’s like, “Oh yeah, man. This is your jam.” And bam. BEST FUCKING SHOW.

So. Elliot is fucked in the head. Seriously fucked. He’s suffering from very real mental illness(es), which is significantly exacerbated by his drug abuse. You know right away that he’s aware that he’s ill. He’s talking to his imaginary friend (or is he talking to you). And he can’t stop. Probably shouldn’t stop. It keeps him sane. Crazysane. Sanecrazy. Crane. No. That’s a fucking bird. Something. He needs that outlet to work his thoughts out. To try to make sense of the storms in his head and in his life.

I love that a major cable network created a show with a mentally unstable main character. Not only is Elliot suffering from mental illness and something else. Gah, I REALLY don’t wanna spoil this part. So I won’t. Yet. Maybe. We’ll see. I’ve decided: I’m totally gonna spoil it. Elliot has..what? Split personality? Dissociative Disorder is a definite, but I’m not sure the actual term for the next part. Is it split personality? Dissociative Identity Disorder? Because there’s a whole character in the show that isn’t actually a separate character. This character is only visible to Elliot. Only Elliot doesn’t know that. Not at all. Not only that, but Elliot actually is both characters. What I mean to say is that Elliot actually acts as both characters. He just doesn’t know it and neither do we, until the end of the season. I saw it coming a mile off, but actually WHO that second personality is to Elliot and why he created him? Now that, I did not see coming. Pretty sure I’ve made it clear at this point that Elliot has more than one issue going on in his head.

His social anxiety is significant, as is his depression and anxiety in general. He sucks at relationships. He really only has one long-lasting relationship in his life, and he fucks it up on the regular by not being…”normal.” Oh and I’m by no means bashing “abnormal.” I say fuck normal. Normal is boring. Normal is vanilla. Vanilla is boring. You get the idea. Elliot is nowhere close to being boring vanilla. He’s complex and withdrawn and completely inward and introverted and devious and conniving and at-times diabolical and sad and lonely and hates being touched. Major. Major props to USA Network for doing a show with an Elliot as the main character.

I don’t know what it says about me that I totally wanna do Elliot. And I don’t really give a fuck. Oh. Shit. How’d we get back here? Y’all set me up.

MR. ROBOT is intense. Emotional. Dramatic. Edgy. Fast-paced. Climactic. It’s a fucking rollercoaster, and you will not be able to stop watching. It’s got the aforementioned and aforedrooledupon Elliot. It’s got criminals and drug dealers, soft sweet weary ones and murderous crazyeyemotherfucker ones. It’s got besties and coworkers. It’s got douchebag executives. It’s got The Man. And The Man is keeping everyone down. It has dead parents and arcade games. It has crazy girls in combat boots and a hijabi hacker. It’s got an arcade and sweaty withdrawal. It’s got V for Vendetta callouts and sedated masses. It’s got everything for someone like me. Probably for someone like some of you, too.

Hm, what else? Maybe I should mention other characters, yes? Elliot is your guide through most of the show. But he is the quintessential unreliable narrator. I love the Unreliable Narrator, and Elliot is an epic one. But that also means we need other characters to help us create a better frame of reference for reality. While we see them almost exclusively through Elliot’s eyes, and I dig that you have to willfully think outside of his box. Hints are dropped along the way of truths that many will miss. Hints that are at times subtle and other times in your face. Let’s take Darlene for instance.

Darlene. Darlene is crazy. Darlene is wild and eccentric, wears combat boots and hoodies with short skirts and big socks. Her eyes are rimmed in thick black makeup, and her unkempt hair is nearly its own character. Nothing wrong with any of that. Darlene – on the surface – is the kind of person I would get along with. On first glance, I would think our characters would mesh. But no. No. Let’s be plain, here. I hated Darlene. From the moment I met her, I hated this crazy bitch. She was loud and mouthy and obnoxious and bossy and flighty and bitchy and selfish. She was annoying and pushy. And she reminded me, somewhat, of a person (that used to be) in my life. That was not helping her case with me. I loved her style. Her eccentricity. But the rest of it was ew. Despite all of the things going against her, there was something nagging about Darlene. Something nagging at the back of my mind. All through the season, I wondered, “Just who is Darlene? I mean, who is she really?”


You can just feel that there’s more to Darlene than is presented. And if you pick up on any of the subtle little hints, you’ll know – long before they tell you – that Darlene is (somehow) more than just some random hackergirl. Will it make you like her in the end? Will it endear her to you? Perhaps. Before the reveal of just who she really is, her character began to soften somewhat. You could see chinks in her carefully crafted armor. And through those chinks, vulnerability was revealed. And it made her more whole, more beautiful. So, for me, by the time of the (surprising) reveal, I began to soften toward her. And it made the reveal all the more poignant.

Angela. Elliot tells you about Angela right from the start. She’s important to him, and she’s really his only friend and ongoing relationship. I don’t mean love-affair relationship, FYI. Angela is solid and good in Elliot’s eyes. And that’s true in mine, too…for most of the season. She’s definitely plain vanilla. She’s the good girl who doesn’t want to make waves. With anyone. Not even with her cheatingass boyfriend. Not with her employer who allows clients to demean her. Not with Elliot who is never there for her. She shows up to work on time, good little worker bee that she is. She jogs on the regular, iPod earbuds firmly in place. Starbucks Vanilla Latte kinda girl. But, due to myriad circumstances and events, she begins to change. Slowly at first and then more quickly. She’s practically unrecognizable (to me) by the end of the season, compared with the cloying, skittish, unsure Angela we meet in the beginning. Let’s not even get into the fact that the actress develops duck-face by the end of the season. I mean what the fuck. She’s in her twenties, for crying out loud. Did she (they) really have to botox her lips to hell and back? Gross. Anyway. I’m worried about Angela, about who she may be turning into. About what has happened to her now that she’s finally accepted that she can’t rely on Elliot to be her protector. Blank slate Angela has finally been written upon. But we don’t know yet, if she’s writing her own story now instead of waiting for someone else to keep writing it for her…or if she’s found a new author for her story. If the latter is the case, Angela as we knew her is in trouble.

Tyrell. Ooooo Tyrell is one big crazy douchebag mess of a tyrant. He’s pouty and whiny and needy and demanding and scary and posturing and fucking nuts. I said I’m fine with Elliot’s brand of crazy. Tyrell’s brand of crazy is another matter altogether. I said Elliot has moments of behaving diabolically. Tyrell is diabolical. Diabolical and egomaniacal and and ohmyfuck how does one describe him? He is an excellent villain to watch. He will stop at nothing to succeed. And if he can’t achieve his aims, he will stop at nothing to stomp the everlovingshit out of those that thwart him. He will use any means necessary. He and his equally diabolical wife have Tyrell screwing other people to get ahead. And while that may sound bad enough, it gets worse. It gets much worse. Tyrell is the kind of guy that pays homeless people to let him vent his rage upon them. Tyrell is the kind of guy that buttfucks a male assistant to get access to his phone. Tyrell is the kind of guy that murders someone who damages his pride. Tyrell. Tyrell is awesomely wicked.

Shayla. I don’t really want to talk about Shayla. I loved Shayla’s character so so much. Shayla’s character and storylines broke my heart, from the start. She was beautiful and broken. She was lost and hopeful. She was so many dichotomous things wrapped into one vulnerable but strong girl. I don’t want to talk about Shayla anymore.

There are other characters that deserve mention. Hell that deserve more than mention. Like Krista. Krista is Elliot’s therapist. Elliot is obligated to see her because of something unknown in his past. Elliot hacks the shit out of Krista and totally invades her privacy, her life. Elliot hacks everyone. Krista is sweet and kind and broken and really does care about Elliot. And and oh god, Bill. I will never forgive Elliot for what he did to Bill. Team Bill. But I’ve given so many shittons of spoilers that I kinda want to stop myself and let this post fly.

Geez, I haven’t even talked about the acting in this show. Stellar! Or the Christian Slater. Still the same guy with the never-aging face and that cool, distinct way of speaking. It’s Christian Slater! My old pre-teen crush! “Pump Up The Volume,” anyone? I mean, hello! Or the soundtrack. Ambient and found-sounds kinda things. Subways and computer sounds and soft music and manic music and you usually forget there is a soundtrack. It’s just back there, doing it’s job, modifying pace and tempo and heart rhythms. I’m still rambling. I can’t seem to stop.

I probably cried more while watching this show than is normal. Some of it hit a bit close to home for me. Some of it I related to to a freakish amount. Some of it broke my heart. Some of it scared me. Some of it weirded me right the fuck out. Some of it was exhilarating and funny, and sometimes I cry at those things, too. Yeah. I don’t think you’ll cry as much as I did during this show. Pretty sure those weren’t normal reactions I was having. But it also made me laugh out loud and snort and guffaw and clap my hands together with delight and grin like a fool. More than any of that, though, it made me nod my head and think FUCK YEAH DAMN THE MAN!

I anxiously await season two. Until then, I’ll be pondering the fsociety’s next move(s). In the meantime, you should catch up. Watch season one and tell me: Are you in on the conspiracy? Are you even aware there is one? Is there really one? Is any of it even real?

I wonder if he’s found my bug. Is this my bug? Are you my bug?

Anatomy of a Neighbor’s House: AKA The Second-Coming of Gozer

I have this neighbor. Okay, I have many neighbors, but I’m speaking of one in particular. Now this particular neighbor lives directly across the street from me. And she has…let’s call it weird…tastes in decorating.

First off, her house suffers from severe structural degradation as well as massive damage sustained in a recent storm. She – let’s call her Zuul, because there is no neighbor, only Zuul – she has not made any repairs to her house since the storm (or before). Now look. I’m not one of those people who goes around gossiping about neighbors and pressuring them to maintain their homes to a certain standard. Frankly, I don’t give a shit. Maybe I should, but I don’t. Never have. It’s her house, not mine. And I certainly don’t want to be held to anyone else’s standard(s) myself. All of this is coming around to a point, damnit.

So yeah. Back to the story. Her garage collapsed before the storm – she did actually have a buddy haul those remains away after a couple of years. Her roof has had bright blue tarps covering 72.6% of the roof for a year now (that’s an accurate statistic. I did a study. With engineers and everything. I paid them. With cookies and tequila.). Her porch is collapsing, due to rotting columns and a holey roof. Her fence collapsed years ago, its remains still lying where they fell in battle. Against fence ogres. Anyway. I think you’re getting the idea.

But dude. She does have money – whether hers or borrowed – money is not an issue for Neighborzuul (Zuulbor?). You know how I know? She bought a car. Shortly after the storm, she bought a brand new car. The kind with a price in excess of forty grand. She parks it in the driveway next to her two suburbans and her antique bug. And she’s constantly landscaping and re-landscaping.

There are these buckets of flowers everywhere. And a hammock. In the front yard. With one of those old bright green, rusted to within an inch of its lifeless life, round, metal tables with the matching chairs that aren’t rocking chairs but rock anyway. With a red and yellow tablecloth between the surface of the table and another – this one blue – bucket of flowers. There are hanging flowers. Bird feeders. A bird bath. Buckets and cans, some with flowers, some without. There’s a sawhorse. Just sitting there with no discernible purpose.

For the most part, I just smile and shake my head. But dude. DUDE. The latest edition just blows my mind! Sometime in mid-August, Zuul installed some ground lights in the flower bushes adjacent to her porch. And these lights are…wait for it. Wait for it. These lights are LIME GREEN. I shit you not. My first thought was maybe this is some Halloween thing, but I quickly dismissed that because AUGUST. Oh yeah, and she still has a giant pink and baby blue Easter wreath adorning her front door. I can’t make this shit up!

So now, late at night, when all is dark and quiet…you can look outside and see the abode of the Gatekeeper. Zuul is totally preparing for the second-coming of Gozer. Eerie lime-green light cast upward at the rotting columns of the dilapidated minimanse.


Because my neighbor is a fucking member of the Cult of Gozer. Because Ghostbusters. And more importantly because I fear the Staypuft Marshmallow Man (it’s not like I own a fucking proton pack). For all of these reasons, I have a newfound respect for Neighborzuul. Do you, Neighborzuul. Do you.