minstrelwarlock said: no seriously. moustache is correct. mustache is also correct, but the o is just a british english thing; it’s not “wrong” and yeah that photo is awesome
Spelling color as colour?!
The humourous colour of my moustache is somewhat out of favour, but if you go to the harbour and listen to the rumours from an honourable labourer (like my neighbour), he’ll tell you that pink is a wondrous visual flavour.
#moustache extravaGANza
First of all, this is awesome. Second, why does Chrome see “moustache” as a misspelled word? Screw you, Google. You DON’T know everything.
Adapting Novels into Screenplays. Yep, sounds about right for my final words.
P.S. Mustache doesn’t have an “O” in it. lol
#moustache extravaGANza
First of all, this is awesome. Second, why does Chrome see “moustache” as a misspelled word? Screw you, Google. You DON’T know everything.
I want you for reasons I could never share with others.
I want you stretched out on my floor, arms straight out
Pointed like a compass, north towards the bedroom,
Smiling at the way the carpet feels on your bare ass.
I want you when you get a cold, because you tip down
Your head and look at me up through your eyebrows,
Which is your mean-face, all because I called you Rudolph,
Because your nose was red, and because your nose is red
The mean face is far from convincing. I want you asleep
With your arm casually slapping me across the face,
When you snore and kick me and steal my sheets and
I can see your eyeballs move under the lids, seeing things
In your dreams, pictures you will probably tell me about
At breakfast time, and I want you then too, hair messy
And your face bright and natural without makeup, and
I call you beautiful and say, why do you wear that shit?
I certainly don’t need it, and you say it’s for other people,
And I take you in my arms, I say screw other people, and I
Kiss your naked lips saying, wanna be late for work today?
Describe the setting when it matters to your characters, not out of some misplaced desire for verisimilitude. This ain’t a novel — nobody cares what the clouds look like when the sunlight hits them just so.
And even in a novel, don’t mix sentimental descriptions of wallpaper with a go-getting car salesman. Match your details to your plot, and in all things, less is more.
This is easily one of the most important messages to give a student, whether in grade school or in high school or in university. It boils down to hard work. Even if the work seems pointless, or boring, or stupid, or difficult, or torturous, it almost always pays off in the end in the form of a lesson, a goal achieved, or success attained. So work your ass off, because your education, knowledge, and intelligence (which are ALL things you have to earn, not things you are born with) are your greatest tools for reaching happiness.
“The Universe is a hologram,” he said,
“So of course the first thing we did
After we noticed this strange fact
Was to plant our Russian flag on the moon,
And then bring back aliens for study.
But we were thinking too small, initially.
Anyway, I could tell you about
Planet-crushers, people who play with
Black holes, and couples more connected
Than literally anything ever,
On a subatomic particle level, vibrating
With harmonic frequencies of electricity
And magnetism and love, which turns out
To also be tangible if there is enough of it,
But in the end you won’t believe me,
Because after a while we decided it was best
If we left everything the way it was.
The Universe, though, is still a hologram,
And if I wanted to, I could…
Poof! Disappear.” I shook my head
And smiled at him, and when I blinked
He was gone.
Suicide is a private thing.
Nobody ever squeezes
The blood from their veins
Or the cold trigger
With family watching,
Mom in the front row, teary-eyed
Because her baby is in a show
And he’s the star.
Damn if he doesn’t look good
In his fancy white suit,
And damn if those tears
Aren’t convincing, and damn
Those are some great special effects.
Wonderful performance.
Applause…
Curtains.
I think sometimes that being great
Is basically really easy.
All you really have to do
Is become really popular, as in
Knowing a lot of people, and
Having a lot of people know
Or at least know of you, and
You should probably have
At least half of them like you,
And just as a matter of custom,
Probably ten percent or so
Will fall in love with you,
And the rest of the population,
Even if they don’t like you,
Will have to agree you’re great,
Because greatness is just a derivative
Of (or maybe integral to) popularity.
Like popularity over time, you get it?
(calculus students get it)
But the thing is though…
If that’s what greatness is,
I don’t want it,
Because it seems popular people
Are almost always fucked up.
Talk to any cheerleaders lately?
You can make a really nasty character sympathetic just by showing us what they love. The cliché here is the opera-loving serial killer, but it works for almost any kind of villain.
Also paintings, sculptures, theater, horses, dogs, dogs, cats, birds, ancient artifacts, a young daughter, piano, violin, hard candy, peppermints, and of course, chess.
Woman goes into doctor. Says she’s depressed. Says life seems harsh and cruel. Says she feels all alone in a threatening world where what lies ahead is vague and uncertain. Doctor says “Treatment is simple. Manly Guys Doing Manly Things site is being restored. Go and see that. That should pick you up.” Woman bursts into tears. Says “But, Doctor…I draw Manly Guys Doing Manly Things.” Good joke. Everybody laugh. Roll on snare drum. Curtains.
Oh fuck. This is a brilliant combination of two of my absolute favorite comics. If you don’t get the Manly Guys reference, look it up NOW. If you don’t get the other one, you need to read Watchmen again. By the way, even if you get the reference, you probably should read Watchmen again too.
I wish people still wrote songs and sang like this. Everything is moving towards a grimy, indie, unproduced, “realistic” sound, and it seems that all the hipsters are slowly forgetting that being cool doesn’t preclude sounding smooth. And I’m sorry, but some people just can’t sing well, and no amount of computer enhancement can fix that. It takes time, like any instrument. And when you spend the time, you end up with stuff like this. And by “stuff like this,” I mean, “a song that will last decades instead of days.”
I write because people like Skrillex,
But more than that, because people hate
Skrillex, and hate his fans, and why
Why is that so bad? You said it yourself:
It’s just noise. So why care?
I write because little boys still grow up
In a world where being mean
Is bad, but being nice is worse,
And because bullies are more popular
Than “homos.” And that’s awful.
I write because there are still things
That white people get wrong
About what it means to be a minority,
And also because you can’t ever say
“White People are…” and be right.
I write because anger is expected.
Road rage and angry sex are just
Normal little bits of life, and to deal
We sometimes have to let loose.
That’s what booze is for, nowadays.
I write because the writers today
Don’t know what they’re talking about.
Don’t get me wrong; some writers
Are doing great work, but they never
Seem to get paid as much as Snooki.
Really what it comes down to is,
I write because the world sucks,
Sometimes, and when it doesn’t,
It’s not as awesome as it could be,
And although it’s not hugely effective,
Writing helps.
