#menace to society: male edition

[cocoabubbelle]

[gaybitchfx]

Hey!!!!

I love your writing!

Can i request Eddie Munson x male reader, where the reader is a total menace to society, and like Eddie is seen as a freak.

The type of guy to steal a street sign, just someone who hardly takes anything seriously and is just goofy the whole time.

But when the whole Vecna thing happens people start to see that the whole "I'm dumb, let's do something fun" front is just a facade and he's actually this insecure boy, with a fucked up family, that just tries to keep the others happy.

And like him kinda sacrificing himself in the Upside down, but he makes it out alive through dumb luck and a few skills he picked up while being a menace to society

Note: I’m so glad you love my writing! And I snorted when reading this 😭 This shit is long too since I had to rewatch episode 9 to remember what had happened.

A LITERAL MENACE

Character(s): Eddie Munson

Type of reader: M!Reader

Category: Fluff & Angst

Warning(s): Spoilers for season 4 and episode 9!

Edited: ❌

You were an…odd case.

Whenever Jason would throw insults are Eddie or call him a freak you would literally threaten him and throw your own insults till Eddie has to make you shut up. Like right now, Jason had decided to pick on Eddie once again for the 3rd time this week.

"Listen here you dirty blond bimbo, my patience with you is quickly becoming limited and I'm ready to just throw you out the goddamn window!" You pointed and shouted at him getting everyone's attention in the cafeteria. "Pssh...as if you could even pick me up L/n. You don't have the guts." Jason laughed making his little gang laugh as well.

"You think I'm playing games now huh?! I'll fuckin soccer kick you in the goddamn balls Carver!" You said and as you were walking towards him Eddie quickly grabbed you and just pulled you away from Jason.

"You're lucky I'm bein held!!" You shouted before Eddie put a hand over your mouth. “Just allow your little freak boyfriend to take you away you fucking menace.” Jason scoffed making your blood boil. Eventually everyone resumed to what they were doing and you just sighed when you calmed down. "Honestly, he's so goddamn annoying. Next time he bothers you Eddie make sure to tell me so I can get a stop sign and whack him in the head like a tennis ball." You said with a grin. Everyone at the table blinked owlishly at what you said.

"You don't...actually mean that, right?" Dustin asked as he nervously laugh. "Maybe I do maybe I don't. It all depends on how I feel." You shrugged as you took a bite of your apple.

"You really are a menace Y/n." Mike said making you laugh. "I've been told that for years Mike! Sometimes it's a compliment and others, like Jason and his little basketball friends, it's an insult. But I'll take what you said as a compliment!" You said and gave Mike a slap on the back making a small 'oof' sound come from him.

Now, when you got involved into the whole Vecna thing your personality did a whole 180. You were scared, worried, hell you didn't even know what other emotions you were experiencing all at once.

"I'm fuckin scared man, why did i even agree to this?!" You shouted over Eddie playing his guitar as you held a a baseball bat with nails close to you along with a shield that had more nails in them. "Don't worry Y/n! You'll be fine!!" Dustin shouted before putting goggles on and saw the bats weren't too far. "Eddie!! We gotta lock down in T-minus thirty seconds!" Dustin shouted at him as one hand showed a 3 and another showed a 0. Eddie nodded his head and began playing faster.

"T-minus twenty!" Dustin once again shouted and Eddie played faster. "T-minus ten!" You were pacing back and forth as you watched the bats get closer and closer making you scared shittless. "Five!" Dustin shouted and held up his hand. "One!" And with that Eddie did one last strum of his guitar before they all started running inside. Everyone was shouting at each other before they finally got inside.

"Dude...most metal ever!" "Oh my... Oh my God." They both hollered and jumped in excitement. You and the other hand was walking back and forth while gripping your hair in a panic state. "It's alright Y/n. Calm down we're all safe." Eddie said, trying his best to calm you down.

"Calm down?! How am I gonna calm down when there fucking man eating bats right outside that can come and get us at any second?!" You shouted at him, your voice cracked while doing so.

"Wow... This is the first time I'm seeing you like this.." Dustin said, his eyes widened in shock. "I'm not who you really think I am. I'm not so upbeat when it comes to things like this... I have family issues and I really just wanna keep you all happy so none of you have to worry so much when you might have your own problems.. I even worry about what you guys think of me so I put up this little facade to make you all like me." You blurted out while sniffling since you were crying from both stress and fear. They both stood there in silence as they allowed the information to sink in.

"You don't gotta put up an act to make us like you Y/n. You can just be you and we'll still like you." Eddie said as he placed a hand on your small and gave it a couple pats. Dustin nodded agreeing before he jumped since the banging outside became louder. All three males stood close to the exit and kept their guard up.

"Hey, dipshits! Give up that easy, huh?!" Dustin shouted as the banging became quiet. "Hush! Is this really necessary?" Eddie hushed Dustin. "They're on the roof." Eddie said and pointed his spear up at the ceiling. "Shit, shit shit," Dustin muttered under his breath as all three of them began to follow where they were heading.

"It's too quiet... Is there any other way to can get inside?" You asked as you looked at a certain hole in the roof before one had put its head inside scaring everyone. Dustin and Eddie both began stabbing at it since they were the ones with a spear while you only had a bat which you were pretty good at handling. Eddie then grabbed a chair and stood on it before placing his 'shield' over the hole.

"Wait... Are there any other vents in here somewhere?" You asked making Eddie's eyes widen. "Oh, shit!" Eddie quickly got off the chair and grabbed his spear before running to where he knows where one of the vents were, Dustin and Y/n followed right behind him.

When they got to his room a bunch of bats came flying out the vent. Eddie had quickly closed the door before they could come out of the room, but as soon as he did that one of them began hitting the door and soon more followed. "Shit!" Dustin shouted as he, you, and Eddie made a run for it to the exit.

"That's not gonna hold!" "Let's go! Let's go!" "Holy mother of mary!" The all shouted as Dustin climbed up the rope and Eddie followed right after him. "C'mon Y/n!! Hurry up!!" Dustin screamed. "That door isn't going to hold forever!!" Eddie shouted. You held onto the rope before a little thought crossed your mind.

You pulled on the rope completely making it fall down and then you moved the mattress out of the way. "Y/n!! What the fuck are you doing?!!" Eddie screamed at you, worry in his eyes. "I'll make sure to come back. If I don't than one of you can take all the shit I own!" You told them with a smile. "Y/n!" Dustin shouted but you were long gone. You pulled an Eddie and ran outside attracting all of them to you.

You stayed a couple feet away from the house and held the bat you hand in your hand ready to swing. So when one came at you, you didn't hesitate to hit it and a couple more followed after and you just went ham on hitting them. "C'mon you fuckers!! Let's play a lil baseball and see how things end!!" You shouted before whacking one off to the side.

Eddie and Dustin had to go quickly because now that max 'died' it caused four large splits into the ground. "What about Y/n?!" Eddie shouted at Dustin as they watched his house get split into slight halves. Dustin couldn't even answer that question because he didn't know if you were actually alive or not.

Dustin looked over at the slightly split house before seeing a hand on the side of the open part of the house. And out came you from around the corner limping, bleeding a bit, and really tired. "Y/n!!" Dustin shouted as he ran over to you. Eddie followed right behind Dustin before they both pulled you away from the large crack. You looked at the two with a smile. "Told ya I was gonna come back." You said with a thumbs up.

"H-...How? I thought you died in there..." Eddie sobbed as he hugged you with a tight ass grip along with Dustin. "Dumb luck I suppose. And my sweet baseball moves!" You laughed before groaning.

"Can we go to the hospital at least? I think I fractured my ribs and pulled a muscle in my leg. After that let's see if we can get Eddie's name cleared from being a murderer." You said. "O-...Oh right the hospital!" Dustin exclaimed as he wrapped one of your arms around his neck to help you walk. Eddie stood there about to say something, but instead he kept quiet.

"You too pretty boy, let's go." You said and motioned him over to you. Eddie let out a breathy chuckle before wrapping your other arm over his shoulder.

[roadtodiagnose]

Name: Orpheus

Pronouns: They/He

Age: 19

Gender: Nonbinary male

Sexuality: Straight BUT I would fuck Ryan Reynolds

Role: Protector

Sign off emoji:  💀

More on looks: I go called JD-looking ass while making this so honestly that probably tells you all you need to know. My hair is black but the brown looked better with the beanie. I hate the host body because it’s female so when I front in the mornings we look more masculine. I’m also super alt

Likes: Playing solitaire (it’s relaxing ok leave me alone), sitting in the sun, being a menace to society

Dislikes: Kids. I mean babies just kind of sit there. People in general. Being female. Capitalism, I mean I just gotta fuckin work then die?

Hobbies: Being a menace, fuckin around on Animal Crossing, solitaire (111 moves, 52 seconds, over 13k score, pussies EDIT: 34 seconds and 21k score now! Get fuckedddd), listening to music, reading and watching scary shit

Fun fact: I’d rather take a razor scooter to the ankle twenty seven times than tell you a fun fuckin fact

Chat shit below and I might reply

- Orph 💀 

[izzybbizzy02]

Im sick of having mainly male audiences when I post on social media somebody please tell me I'm correct in assuming Tumblr is for the girls? By the way if you're seeing this hi I'm Izzy B! I love doing aesthetic photo edits, making music, and just generally being a menace to society in the way any raccoon would.

[thingsifeelicantsayhere]

About Kink at Pride

One: Thanks SO Much to the person who decided to @ me about 6 different times after I already mentioned how I can’t reply. Edit: Just read them! Thank you for linking me to the same article twice. I saw that one to, and at least 7 others! I closed out of all of them. Read on to see why!! And I call everyone hon, hon - sorry if I offended you!

Two: Kink at Pride thoughts, below the cut. TL;DR: Yes, I was wrong on certain things. Does that change my opinion? Nope! Still think Kink shouldn’t be at Pride.

Note: an entire history of gay Pride is listed below, starting with the Reminder marches. I started there because it felt like the logical place to start, given the organizers of Pride participating in those as well. It’s a LONG one guys, so strap in.

So, starting out: Gay Rights Timeline (it’s brief, because I don’t have an entire night of getting triggered and showing I can research things)

July 4, 1965: “Gay rights activists gathered outside Independence Hall in Philadelphia carrying picket signs and demanding legislation that would secure the rights of LGBT Americans. Referencing the self-evident truth mentioned in the Declaration of Independence that “all men are created equal,” the activists called for legislative changes that would improve the lives of American homosexuals. Activist Craig Rodwell conceived of the event following an April 17, 1965 picket at the White House led by Frank Kameny and members of the New York City and Washington, D.C. chapters of the Mattachine Society, Philadelphia’s Janus Society and the New York chapter of the Daughters of Bilitus. The groups operated under the collective name East Coast Homophile Organizations (ECHO). It was called the “Annual Reminder” to remind the American people that a substantial number of American citizens were denied the rights of “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”

June 28, 1969: A police raid on Stonewall [a mafia run gay bar] occurs, leading to the Stonewall Riots. Marsha P. Johnson, a “transexual drag queen” and known sex worker, frequented the Stonewall Bar, being the first drag queen to go to what had previously been a bar only for gay men. Police raided the bar to check for unlicensed liquor sales, but also to arrest those who were in violation of the state’s “gender-appropriate clothing statute” (which meant that any female-presenting people in the bar who passed as female had their genitals checked by female police officers, and female-presenting people who did not pass were arrested). Fed up with harassment from the police, the community around the bar became agitated. After a policeman hit Stormé DeLarverie, a “dyke” lesbian on the head while pushing her into his police van, the crowd grew violent. Police barricaded themselves inside the Stonewall Inn for safety, which was soon set on fire. It is still debated whether police or the rioters began a fire in the building, but most sources claim the rioters began the fire. Marsha P. Johnson became well known as the one who “Threw the first brick at Stonewall” (though she herself has stated that she came late to the riots).

That night, while returning home, Craig Rodwell passed Stonewall, and alerted the press in order for there to be news coverage of the historic event. Rodwell was a well known activist at the time, one of the organizers of ECHO, sitting in on protests, opening the first Gay Bookstore (dedicated to Oscar Wilde), and of course, helping to organize the first Gay Pride Parade in the bookstore.

Five Months after the Riots: Among those who proposed the Gay Pride parades were Craig Rodwell and his partner Fred Sargeant (who later tried to claim transgender people and POC did nothing in the riots), Ellen Broidy (former member of the Gay Liberation Front, Lavender Menace, and Radicalesbians), and Linda Rhodes (genuinely having trouble finding information on her; I just know she was friends with Ellen and Craig). Together, they made a proposal for an annual march on the last Saturday in June where there were “no dress or age regulations.” Their proposal was given at the Eastern Regional Conference of Homophile Organizations (ERCHO) in Philadelphia.

After the proposal was made, Brenda Howard (a life-long bisexual and openly sex-positive activist, as well as anti-war feminist “radical” by some sources) helped plan it. Making use of the Oscar Wilde mailing list, word got out. It was Howard’s idea to turn this march into a week-long celebration. Also on this committee was L. Craig Schoonmaker, who had been arrested the previous year for talking to another male. He coined the term “Pride” for the slogan of the parade. (Note: L. Craig Schoonmaker was an INCREDIBLY problematic person, and discussing just how stupid that story is really deserves its own post – needless to say, I’m a little sad he’s the one who coined “Gay Pride” as the slogan.) This was the one and only contribution he had to the parade.

June 28, 1970: The first Parade, organized by Chicago Gay Liberation. The first parade was originally called the Christopher Street Liberation Day March, named after the street where Stonewall Inn was. These were different from the Annual Reminder marches, where those in the gay community “walk in an even line, wear professional clothing, and do not display affection for a partner of the same gender” (Waters, 1). “The march was 51 blocks long from west of Sixth Avenue at Waverly Place, in Greenwich Village, all the way to Sheep’s Meadow in Central Park, where activists held a “Gay-in.” Borrowing a technique that had been popularized by the Civil Rights Movement, the “Gay-in” was both a protest and a celebration.”

From there, there were more parades of course. But as promised, here’s all my research on Kink at Pride.

….

I would provide sources. I would share what I tried to look at for multiple hours tonight. But the fact of the matter is, this is the part where I got triggered, nearly threw up, and had to exit most tabs.

What I managed to find out: Yes, Kink has been a thing at Pride for a long time. I do not know the extent of this, but I do know at the very least (due to some image sourcing) that the 1980s saw men in leather that covered most of their skin (it was not inredibly revealing). I was incorrect about this fact, so shit on me I guess. Now, what all I saw was just… men in leather sometimes. I did NOT in fact see people on leashes, naked with only a bandana around their legs to hide genitals, or muzzles (as I have seen in modern-day prides). I saw people who took pride in being leather gays without doing strict sexual acts – costumes, not whipping their partners in broad daylight or walking them like dogs, which is sexually gratifying for the sub (which I have also seen at modern day prides).

Note: I have not personally been to a Pride parade, but I have seen pictures and videos of modern day prides showing these acts. For obvious reasons, I am not including them here.

The reason for the previous inclusion of kink in pride seems to have grown from the fact that, for many LGBT+ people, they are both kinky and LGBT+ in some way. I saw numerous sources talking about how being Kinky is just part of being LGBT, and how pride in being LGBT+ also means pride in being Kinky.

I deadass could not look at anymore sources because I am so physically nauseated by it, and reading about this (as I mentioned numerous times to every single person who DMed me tonight telling me to “Read fucking sources”) triggers me. But can’t stop getting screamed at unless I “do my research” right?? Joy of all joys.

So what do I think about getting rid of kink at Pride?

I still think we should move to phase it out.

Reasoning:

1.      The original people who thought up Pride were not the best. They thought up Pride through transphobic, sexist, radial feminist, insert-other-dated-views here. And I don’t blame them – it was the 1970s. But I feel that, by the 2020s, the idea of “Pride” should have changed. And it has! I saw that Ellen B. discussed how Pride had changed “Far” from what was originally intended in the interview with her (raising the entirely valid concerns that I agree with that Capitalism has too strong of a foothold in current pride). I just think that it should change more, to fit with what is currently needed.

2.      This leads to my next point: what is currently needed? Back in the 1970s, Gay Pride was about having pride in, well, sex. Pride was based so strongly in having sex with the same-sex, being deviant, being different. But that isn’t what Gay Pride is anymore, or at least, Gay Pride includes much more than just sex now. Pride is meant to be an inclusive place for all LGBT+ communities – including fucking asexuals. Like me. See, when researching all of this, I had a hell of a time, because I’m “damaged goods” so to speak. I’ve been hurt through sexual stuff in the past, and yes, that has probably influenced my asexuality. Am I against sex? No! I enjoy it! With my partner. And that’s basically it. Am I okay seeing sex stuff? Yes! Most of the time. On a consentual basis. Would I probably be okay seeing it at Pride? IDK Maybe? But it would spark bad memories, to the point that I would rather avoid Pride, avoid going to the Big Event™ that everyone always says You Have To Go To that would make me feel validated… than go to it. Because of Kink Gear. And I have had other people contact me tonight saying the same thing – they can’t go to Pride because you Kinksters. They can’t because of triggers, or the fact that it’s uncomfortable, or the fact that “well, my parents aren’t homophobic, but it’s too adult.”

3.      “Okay, so make a PG Space – we were here first.” “It’s not inclusive if Kink isn’t there.” “Children won’t even understand the kink in the first place.” Here’s my problem with all of this. Kink already has spaces, but PG spaces don’t exist in this much openness. See, I’ve always heard of kinky spaces. Expos, dungeons, etc. I’ve always heard of safe-spaces for kinky gays. Including Pride. But I rarely hear of PG Spaces for Gay People. I rarely hear of PG spaces at all. It’s hard to exist in this world without people making it about sex, so much so that I find myself often getting stuck in Children’s Fandoms, Children’s Spaces, because they’re the only spaces that haven’t been touched by sex stuff. So we need PG Spaces for Gay People - and yes, we COULD make a PG thing for gay people. I think that’s a great idea. I think a parade sounds nice. A PG Parade for Gay People!!! It sounds perfect, like a perfect solution ----- except now I’m not being Inclusive Enough.

We’ve wrapped around to my big problem with Kink at Pride. It always boils down to not being inclusive of Gay People. But the issue is… By keeping Kink at Pride, we aren’t being inclusive of a lot more people.

Banning Kink at Pride: We have gays, lesbians, trans folks, queer folks, people who still aren’t sure, allies, asexuals, aromantics, children, and yes, kinky people who are not wearing fetish gear. You can still come to pride and have pride in your sexuality. You have now excluded anyone who cannot stand to not wear leather/chains/leashes in a sexual manner for a few hours.

Keeping Kink at Pride: We have Kinky Gays, Kinky Lesbians, Kinky Trans Folks, Queer Trans Folks, People who aren’t sure but Are Kinky, Kinky Allies, a handful of Asexuals/Aros, please god don’t bring children, and kinky peope in fetish gear. You have now excluded anyone who is uncomfortable with sex, triggered by sex, or minors.

I assure you, the amount of people who are exluded keeping Pride Kinky is more than if you could just not be sexual for a few hours. Literally. I’m not saying Kink isn’t valid – fuck, dude, I’m kinky. But there is a reason sex isn’t meant to be public. Consent is important, and I’m shocked that people who insist they know about kinks and BDSM don’t understand that.

Pride has changed. In a lot of ways, not for the better, but in some ways, yes, for the better. It’s bigger, with more people, and more inclusiveness. But your idea of making a “PG Pride over there away from ours” --- well, where do you think we should? How can we do it without getting screamed at for not being inclusive? When can we do it without people screaming at us for “taking up too much time with being gay”? We already have a full month and a whole parade – and clearly everyone should be okay with the kinky shit that goes on.

My suggestion is this: Have Pride be PG, and have the Kinky Pride things isolated to Private Kink Party things that aren’t publicied on television because we don’t need people to know more about our sex lives – the majority of gay people just want to exist now. Those in 1970 needed to be loud, proud, and yes, openly kinky – but we don’t need that now. With keeping sex stuff private, you can still celebrate your Kinky Pride with all those who are capable of celebrating that Pride, while those who can’t, don’t need to be subjected to it. Because the fact of the matter is, Pride Parades are subjected to the eyes of the world – the most public thing you can have right now as a gay person. Subjecting people to nonconsentual kink is not the way to make people approve of sex work or kinky pride. It makes them rage against it. And I would rather be able to work for sex positivity through conversation and hard work, rather than alienating anyone who speaks against it (and those who speak for it).

 Some of the sources I used (not all - again, no kink sources here, because I closed all of them. I couldn’t handle it.)

http://www.phillygaypride.org/annual-reminders-50th-anniversary/

https://www.nbcnews.com/feature/nbc-out/lgbtq-history-month-road-america-s-first-gay-pride-march-n917096

https://www.history.com/topics/gay-rights/the-stonewall-riots

https://www.refinery29.com/en-us/when-was-first-gay-pride-parade-origin

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/history/first-pride-marches-photos-1-180972379/

https://greenwichvillage.nyc/blog/2019/06/13/remembering-craig-rodwell/

https://phaylen.medium.com/stonewall-vet-fred-sargeant-attempts-to-erase-black-trans-activists-from-history-2e82ac59e96f

https://addressesproject.com/memory/ellen-broidy

https://www.them.us/story/brenda-howard

https://talbertario.medium.com/pride-and-prejudice-the-craig-schoonmaker-story-122c8a4c1339

https://www.history.com/news/how-activists-plotted-the-first-gay-pride-parades

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marsha_P._Johnson

 One last thought, after the sources, because I work in Analogy the best:

Imagine this amazing bakery. This bakery sells a lot of cakes: chocolate cakes, strawberry ones, blueberry ones. This bakery gets national press coverage. Now, from day one, this bakery has used gluten in every single cake. It’s a time honored tradition! And every single Cake Eater goes to this bakery. It becomes a rite of passage, to the point that some people even say “You aren’t really a cake eater if you haven’t gone to this bakery.”

But as the bakery gets more and more popular, people start saying “Hey. We need some gluten free cakes too. Can you please keep the gluten away from our cakes?”

“NO!!! If you want gluten free, go somewhere else!”

“But everyone else only has gluten cakes. Even when they say they’re gluten free, they still bake other gluten cakes. Please, we know how to make the gluten free cakes taste just the same as gluten cakes – we’re only getting rid of the one thing. It’ll be taste almost exactly the same, and you can make those other cakes, so long as they don’t touch our cake. You can still enjoy your cakes. We just ask that we can enjoy ours.”

“NO! Go make your own then!”

“But… This is the bakery with the most famous cakes. We could always make our own, but the world will never know about it, because YOU’RE the biggest bakery in the world. And of those few who have tried, they’ve been yelled at for not using gluten because they aren’t inclusive. We wanted to be able to enjoy cake with everyone else – we just need our cake to be a little different.”

“If I make YOU Gluten Free cakes, that means the Gluten won’t be included!”

“That’s the point – gluten is bad for us. If we have gluten near us, it will actively hurt us.”

“No. This is a gluten bakery only. We refuse to change.”

And so, those who were going to enjoy the cakes there – who wanted to enjoy the cakes there – couldn’t. And even those who would try to make their own gluten-free cakes were overshadowed by the behemoth that was the gluten bakery.

That is how this entire night has felt.

Night, y’all.

[doomonfilm]

Thoughts : Spree (2020)

Social media has 100% changed the way that we view and interact with the world, but surprisingly, film has been a bit slow in regard to reflecting these changes.  Right around 2010, however, The Social Network came out, and once we received our brief history of how the most important social media tool came to be, the floodgates opened with the release of films like You, Unfriended, Ingrid Goes West, Searching, Guns Akimbo, Nerve and more.  With sociopathy and mental health finding a renewed interest within the public sphere, the inevitable mixture of the two was bound to happen, and while Spree isn’t necessarily the first of that batch, it’s one that has been on my watch queue for longer than I intended.

Spree hits a specific tone and presentation that instantly brings to mind a handful of films about the disjointed that step outside the standard film format, specifically the likes of Searching, Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer, Man Bites Dog and more.  Most of us take in our media via formats like YouTube, Instagram, Facebook and so on, and Spree finds a harmonic resonance that provides an experience somewhere between the aforementioned Searching and Nerve, with a much more layered experience provided to those who revisit the film and read the comments flowing on the livestreams.  We are given a set of expectations that do pay off in their own way, but in the immediate hangover of these actions, we get a coda that forces us to sit in the uncomfortable wake of these actions, with a nice little button on the end that not only puts a neat bow on the filmmaker’s intentions, but leaves us as viewers fulfilled.

The film really hums by letting the handful of characters interact in a Royal Rumble of deplorable personality aspects.  If there were ever such a thing as an anti-protagonist, Kurt Kunkle would make the shortlist based solely on his self-centered point of view, his complete lack of regard and awareness for others, and the fact that he is a legit menace to society.  With such a dark character as our main focus, you’d think those that surround him would have redeeming qualities, but in an unexpected twist, we are given a parade of social media tropes that get under all of our collective skins : Bobby Basecamp is only honest when it is to his advantage, Kris is an absent and unfocused father, Frederick is racist, Mario is an alpha male to a dangerously aggressive degree, Jessie Adams uses those around her as fodder for fame, and uNo uses her fame to bully others, not to mention the pure vapidness of Richard, Kendra and London.  What makes the entire experience really weigh the viewer down is how everyone involved is fueled by the validation they receive from social media, which ultimately stands out as the thread that connects everyone we see.

Using mostly in-world cameras to present our story dials the levels of immersion up to dizzying heights, and the way that the editing splits screen time between multiple feeds puts the immersion into overdrive.  As mentioned before, the attention to detail in the social media presentations really drives things home, with the nonstop comment threads giving a plethora of real-time commentary not often seen in film.  Juxtaposing the traditional fame of a comedian or musician against the information age fame that comes with being a social media influencer works surprisingly well as dramatic and suspense fodder, especially when the fixation that comes with the drive for both can be turned into a manic journey into the depths and horrors of sociopathy and psychopathy.  One factor that is easy to overlook is the score, which is plated and presented as music created by Kurt, which not only gives the uneasy subtext of a self-aggrandizing God complex, but further wraps us up in the already deeply immersive world, to the point it feels like we’re drowning in the same sorrows that Kurt is.

Joe Keery taps into some uncomfortable energy similar to that of a Jake Paul or Elliot Rodgers as he plays wholly to the camera with a dedication that is scary in its lack of basic human empathy searching to be replaced and filled by online validation.  Sasheer Zamata steps into her role as unaware and unwilling foil with a sly, revealing and unconventional version of a hero’s journey, going from reluctant social media darling to final girl in the blink of an eye.  Josh Ovalle locks in as a cold and emotionless influencer with a severe lack of empathy as he firmly stands his ground of being totally unwilling to lend even the slightest of a helping hand to a young man literally screaming for someone to listen to him.  David Arquette stands as a warning sign for those unwilling to put away their personal needs for the sake of their family, with his disability to provide proper guidance to his son spiraling wholly out of control.  Appearances by Kyle Mooney, Mischa Barton, Frankie Grande, Lala Kent, Sunny Kim, John DeLuca and more fill out the crazy world of Spree.

Spree feels to the Elliot Rodgers situation what Elephant does to Columbine… while not a one to one retelling of events, it captures the energy and tragedy of these sadly all too familiar situations.  Focus is not only given on the perpetrators of the horrible acts within the narratives, but on the immediate victims as well as those on the fringes of the perpetrator’s life.  If you find yourself fascinated by dark minds, fixated on how the information age is reshaping our world, or possibly even both things, then Spree is more than worth your time.

[floatingbook]

On names and naming

- Reading: Tales of the Lavender Menace by Karla Jay

Discussed during a consciousness-raising meeting:

“For instance, many of us grappled together and by ourselves with the implications of naming. The most obvious manifestation of this power is the fact that in most countries women bear the surname of their fathers and then of their husbands. A woman “loses” her name when she marries, but in fact she has never had her own name. only her father’s. Worse still is the possibility of not having a father because to be “illegitimate” is to lack the imprimatur of patriarchal approval.” p. 55

As a woman, you have your father’s or your husband’s name, you’re dispossessed of all your matriarchal origins. It also is very likely that your patriarchal origins are a lie—and I do not mean this as a critic of the women in our ancestry who had children who did not get the name of their biological father, but as a critic of this despicable tradition. Men do a fraction of the work and yet get to brand a newborn as their own, as if the woman giving birth was no more than a possession.

We all know what weights names carry. There’s no denying it. Some names get you despised, some get you laughed at, some drown you in their commonness. They used to reveal who you were: names were carved out of professions (take “Smith”, “Steward”, “Butler”, “Cook”, or “Lefevre/Lefebvre” in French, “Mercier” as well) or out of places of dwelling (e.g. “Hall”, “Brooks” in English; “Dupont”, “Dubois” in French). But that meaning is fast lost with physical and social mobility, with traumas and rebellions, with the pace of society.

“Many of the women in Redstockings changed their names in rebellion against the patriarchy, often choosing to use their mother’s names. In addition to being a symbolic gesture, adopting a nom de guerre made it just a tad more difficult for the government to figure out who we were and where our paltry bank accounts were stowed when it came time to incarcerate us. As much as I wanted to drop my patronymic, however, I wasn’t eager to claim my mother’s name. Instead I decided to substitute “Jay”, my middle initial, for my last name. // When I tried out my new name, Karla Jay, it felt immediately like a more accurate representation of who I was. I realized changing my name was not only about challenging the patriarchy—it was also about untangling my own identity from my family history.”

Changing your name, starting with a brand new one, is a way to give yourself a clean slate. It’s a statement: I don’t want to belong to this family, I am not one of your possession. It’s a form of rebellion against the tradition that hands out last names. The point is to get rid of the branding connotation of the last name (either inherited from the father or taken in marriage) that turns a woman into just another piece of furniture that makes up the wealth of the men in her life.

“I understood for the first time that I had, in fact, always detested my birth name, Karla Jayne Berlin. Well, not all of it. Karla seemed to me an original first name, and I felt comfortable with it. […] His [Karla Jay’s father] first fought was to name me Gale because I had  been born in a blizzard. My mother objected, so he chose my name from a list of freighters he spotted in the shipping news that he read every day in conjunction with his work. I’m lucky, I suppose, that a ship with a name like the Brunhilde didn’t dock then. Fortunately, the Karla Dane steamed into or out of port the week I was born, and my father was determined that would be my name. My mother persuaded him to change my middle name to Jayne instead of Dane, with the addition of an elegant Y.

But if I liked my first name, I hated the surname Berlin. For one thing, I’m not German. My ancestors came from the finest shtetls in England, Austria, and Ukraine. My paternal grandfather was from England, and for a long time I supposed that he had been assigned the name of a city when he entered the United States; immigration agents had a way back then of altering what they considered unpronounceable names. Years later, I discovered that my grandfather had changed his name himself. […]

I wasn’t particularly fond of my middle name either; people often assumed it was hyphenated to my first name. My mother and even Jessica, my best friend, called me Karla Jayne to get my attention when they were angry. As far back as I could remember, I had used my middle initial in place of Jayne. But I did like the “Jay” part. Some of my fond association with the word was based on pleasant times in summer camp. During my first summer there I was only five. I was placed in J-Bunk—probably an abbreviation for Junior Bunk—a place for children considered too young to be away from home for two months. J-Bunk was my first taste of freedom, a fun-filled life in the Catskills. Furthermore, Jay rhymes with “gay”.” p. 55-56

First names are given to us by our parents, who can be short-sighted, equipped with a taste that does not intersect with ours, or just unconscious of what a certain name entails. First names both mean a lot and nothing at all, and by that I mean that a first name is attached to you yourself first and foremost. Its main vocation is to designate you personally, to make you as individual, separated, specific in your existence, as opposed to the surname, which marks the bearer as part of a whole, the family, the bloodline, and as a woman a part of the possessions of a man. So it’s easier to grow into your first name, to make room into it for all the facets of your existence, than it is to get rid of the yoke of the surname. Hence the question, what to do with these patriarchal, misogynistic surnames?

Should we shun the surnames we were born or married into? What do we replace them with, then? Something that sounds nice to us? Something that holds a personal meaning? Something that describe an occupation we hold, a place we settled in? Do we choose a system that allows for the tracing of the matrilineal line? But then how do we agree collectively on a system, so that it is lisible and understandable? Where do we find the coherence? Do we even need the coherence?

“Changing my name was also a way of to “divorce” my parents, to let them know that I had never accepted them in that role. As children my brother and I both fantasized that we had been adopted.” p. 56

Again, a rupture with patriarchy and with abusive parents. We have surnames because there are too many humans on this planet to be able to identify them easily with just one name. Do we need those surnames to keep us sequestrated with our parents? Or could they just be changed to something like “of” followed by the name of the city we live in? Rejecting the surnames we get from birth is also a rejection of the obligatory love and respect we are supposed to feel for our parents, who can sometimes be undeserving of them.

“I didn’t change my name legally until 1978. I felt that it would be a paradox for me to petition a male court to change a name that patriarchal law had imposed on me in the first place. But after I had co-edited three anthologies as Karla Jay, only old friends, relatives, and old people at work new that I had any other name. I felt fragmented and decided to hire a lawyer to execute a legal name change.” p. 57

We live in a society, not in a vacuum. Sometimes we have to go through processes we find tasteless or distasteful, because we still need them to be understood, to be perceived by others around us. Here is information on the process in France (Site officiel de l’administration française).

“I have now spent a full three-fifths of my life as Karla Jay. In the rare instances when I run into someone from my childhood or high school who still calls me Karla Berlin, I have the distinct feeling that they have mistaken me for someone else.” p. 57

So who gets to do the naming? Are our names things that should be gifted from us by our parents? By our mothers only? Should every daughter get to name herself, when she feels or knows she has found a name for herself? When she has made name for herself?

[viltrumitesuperboy]

No Cops at Pride (Steve Rogers x Male Reader)

No cops at pride, just the Avengers. I’m kidding, there are still cops.

This is mostly for Pride. It’s kinda rushed and kinda bad cause I’m still in my writing slump but I edited it a bit and finished it today.

Happy Pride, kids.

Word count: 1158

When Steve knew of his attraction to men, he hid it and pushed it to the deepest parts of his soul. So when he found out that it was legal and that there was an entire month and parade dedicated to people like him, he knew that he had to come out and be proud for those who couldn't.

It helped that there were other LGBT people in the Avengers Tower, especially people he worked with. They were supportive and talked about issues regarding LGBT people in their current society. It wasn't too different from before he was in the ice, if he was honest.

He figured that all the Avengers and anyone with superpowers could join him at the Pride Parade in New York City that year, and he asked them all in small groups, to which they all agreed without hesitation. Natasha helped him pick out clothing with rainbows on them, telling him that it was an alternative if he didn't want to label his sexuality. He was thankful that there was someone on the team who understood his situation to an extent.

Then there was you. The man that made Steve realise that he had to come out. He wanted nothing more than to take you out on a date, and he knew that you were attracted to men. He didn't even have to go to you for help. The day after you were asked about going to pride, you showed up at his room the next morning holding a box full of rainbow everything. Thankfully, Natasha had already helped him, so he only had to take a flag and give you a genuine small smile that melted your insides every time you saw it.

"Good morning! It's the pride parade! Get dressed or get stressed!" your voice announced.

With Tony's permission, you managed to get your message as an alarm for the entire tower and as a wake up call for any person living outside of the tower. All you did was ask him if he wanted to infuriate some people and record some of their reactions, and he agreed instantly.

"What the fuck was that for?!" Clint groaned as he entered the kitchen where you were cooking to feed an army.

"Less stress. If you don't wake up and get dressed, I'm coming for your ass," you told him. "And you're gonna have a hell of a lot of stress dealing with me."

Clint sighed and left, getting ready for the day. Everyone who got a wake up message was eating the breakfast you made within 45 minutes, and you were rushing everyone to sit together.

"Unofficial team meeting. We're going to have to deal with homophobes and other assholes when we're there," you announced. "Let's say I'm someone religious holding a sign and saying that homosexuality is a sin. What's your response?"

"Depends what the sign says," Tony replied.

"It says 'God hates homos,'" you stated.

"Then I'd say 'God doesn't hate anyone, you prick.'"

"No."

Everyone was still laughing at Tony's comment, but you managed to get them all to answer respectfully and promise to pull any anti-LGBT people away from the parade if needed without killing them. That was mostly Natasha.

"So you all know where you're standing, right? Treat this like a mission. But we can have fun too. Just remember how important this is for the LGBT people around the world and especially for Steve."

You shot him a fond smile and he returned it, looking back down at his food as you grabbed your own plate and finally eat.

Everyone was prepared to stand outside for hours, with people taking ships to get lunch. You and Steve were prepared to be there for pretty much the entire day unless it was necessary to leave. He had packed you both a cooler bag full of food and water. You both stood next to the barricades watching the parade. He took photos with people showing off his pride flag and photos with you just enjoying the parade. If you hadn’t been standing with him, you would have missed the very small bi flag printed on the left side of his chest like a logo. The smile on his face told you everything you needed to know about how he felt.

"(Y/N), over there," he said to you, pointing in between floats that had stopped for a few minutes.

You saw a group of people with signs all on the topic of being against homosexuality. You both looked at each other and left your possessions with a police officer and crossed to the other side of the street to the group of people. As you got closer, you could hear them shouting, but the rest of the parade had drowned them out until you got to the other side.

"Excuse me, is there a problem?" Steve called out to them.

"Captain America! This entire parade is horrible. You have to do something about it," the man in the front said.

"What about it makes this a problem?" you asked them, crossing your arms.

"Gay people are abominations. They are disgusting and a menace to society. You can't just choose who you love," a woman next to the man said.

"You can't choose them. That's why they're born with it. LGBT people have existed since the beginning of time. They are who they are because that's how they feel, and they don't get to choose that. You certainly don't get to either," you explained curtly.

Immediately the group began shouting at you, waving their signs and pointing fingers.

"Hey, hey!" Steve exclaimed, putting himself between you and the crowd. "First of all, my partner here is an agent of shield and has trained with me, so if you resort to violence, he can easily take you all out. Second, he's right, and I'm going to have to ask you to leave because this parade is meant to celebrate people who are proud of who they are and to fight against those who oppress them like yourselves."

He waved over a few officers nearby to help the both of you to lead them away from the parade. Once they were a safe distance from the parade, and to he nearest subway station, Steve got their attention quickly.

"Hey, homophobes!"

He pulled you to him by your arms, put his hand facing away from the group on your cheek, and kissed you deeply in one smooth move. He pulled away just as quickly, and the group started shouting at the both of you. You grabbed his hand and walked back to the parade with him, showing off the bi flag printed on the back of his shirt and the pride flag in his back pocket.

The rest of the parade was spent with less protesters, but with a little more happiness knowing that you could kiss Steve any time you wanted.

[theblackmillennial]

I don't know all the details yet about the Jersey City Shooting, and I get the the Jersey City Police Department not wanting to let incremental bits of information come out incompletely without further investigation and all, BUT, if the little bit I'm hearing is true, then Hoteps aren't just funny, they aren't just wild, backwords, crazy, misguided, embarrasing, whatever...there's like a whole subgroup of them who are a legitimate MENACE to society and need to be ejected from our communtiy. It does no good when historically oppressed peoples start identifying with the aggressor and start killing each other off because they stay angry, in their feelings, and nurturing poorly educated, illogical thoughts.

When victims become victimizers.

When these victim-turned-victimizers feel entitled to murder, harassment of innocent minorities, and other forms of oppression, they're just stupidly doing the work of White supremacy for the White man under the guise of their own 'liberation'. They are equating themselves to White supremacists. It's like they're aware that they're Black but their motives and their thoughts are like a White-beta male's. I also want to acknowledge these misguided shea butter bitches who follow them too, though. Who even go on to enable that shit.

These are not the normal types of 'Broken Black people' who call women 'females', believe that Black women are the reason why Black homes and Black men are in shambles, feel the need to rule everybody else with an iron fist, etc. They are special and not in a redeemable way. These are people you can't entertain or ignore. Nah.

Those 'Lost Children of Israel' dudes who you see running around Harlem... They gotta go. They need to be either re-educated or gone.

Edit: I feel like their existence doesn't help actual Black Jews either in their communities.

[queennicoleinboots]

Bears, Eat Your Heart Out! Chrissy, The Baby Girl with Many Glorious Titles Is Trying To Arrive. Apparently, So Is Everyone Else.

Written by: Xara Nahara Campinelli

Proofread, Edited, and Examined Several Times by: Chrissy, The Baby Girl with Many Glorious Titles

Part 1: Prince Oliver: Werewolf of the United Planets Attempts to Address Everyone.

As Megara Ice, Abigail Ice, Kissy, Miss Oreo, and I scurried out of my house, the spaceship from the United Kingdom was making an abrupt landing to the left of the giant spaceship the bears arrived in. A leg of the spaceship from the United Kingdom was touching the wing of the giant spaceship because there was no other place to land. (And even if there were, Mayor Mr. Bill told everyone to land immediately, so they had to land there.)

The large door of the spaceship from the United Kingdom opened dramatically, and a royal red carpet splattered out in front of most of us. A few bears looked puzzled behind the ship as Prince Oliver: Werewolf of the United Planets walked dramatically outside of it and stood to address us.

Kiel the Frog croaked to greet him. Duke and Riley Ice barked five times in unison to greet him. Maxwell Ice had to bark 10 times to match the song Duke and Riley Ice were barking.

"Thank you, great frog and great dogs," Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets spoke. "And thank you all for letting us land, but with the current announcement, I don't believe you had much choice."

A few bears chuckled.

All of a sudden, a giant man wearing a black, gray, white, and silver spandex suit that was a cross between Captain America and Superman was holding his big house over his head and flying down from the sky. He had a silver "S" across his chest and had a shield with a silver star in a white circle on the back of it. He had red hair, a full beard, green eyes, and muscles. "Ahhhhh.... it's so hard to land anywhere! The fuck is going on?!" the giant man asked in his naturally loud voice as he was still holding his house above his head upon landing.

"Oh I know, Captain Slammer! We were in orbit for ages before Mayor Mr. Bill commanded us to land!" Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets said dramatically.

Yes. That 12-foot-man was indeed Captain Slammer.

"It's crazy. It's bullshit. My brother, Captain Mechanic is buying land from the guy who owns Chipotle Mexican Grill so I can finally put my house somewhere. This is bullshit. And I DOUBT it's Earth's fault. I just couldn't stay there anymore because it's fucked. It's FUCKED!" Captain Slammer's booming voice naturally shouted.

Captain Slammer is a great superhero. He travels throughout time. He has helped restore balance to the universe. Joebear and I used to read his comics when we were younger. But he has a really loud voice. And it's giving me a headache.

"I'm well aware. Now if you excuse me, I need to address the people," Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets said.

Several wolf pups yelped inside the United Kingdom spaceship.

"OH WILL YOU BE QUIET!? YOU HAVE BEEN BARKING FOR HOURS! I CAN'T BEAR IT ANY LONGER!" Chrissy, Baby Wolf Mama shouted to her pups in her sharp yet pleasant English voice.

The yelps were silenced.

"THANK YOU!" Chrissy, Baby Wolf Mama said joyfully.

"We have arrived in hopes of finding a better life than we could have ever on the burning rock called Earth," Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets spoke.

"Yes," Captain Slammer said to affirm Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets's statement.

The bears, goats, and the wolves inside the ship howled to affirm his statement.

"We wish to bring peace, prosperity, and happiness to everyone. We are working with the reasonable powers that be to make this life workable for all!" Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets spoke.

The bears, goats, and the wolves inside the ship howled to affirm his statement. Count Vanilla growled nine times while his head was out of his freezer.

"Thank you, Count Vanilla. Your affirmation means more to me than you know," Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets said.

Count Vanilla growled proudly nine times as he crawled out of the freezer and approached Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets.

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Part 2: Two bears and two hamsters arrive in a small black spaceship that looked similar to Batman's automobile.

A black small spaceship that looked like the batmobile quickly flew in from space and decided to land on my house. Who the fuck did these people think they were?

A brownish gray female bear, a light orange male bear, and two chestnut giant hamsters crawled out of the batmobile and climbed down off my roof.

"WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!" Joebear shouted with a menacing growl.

All four creatures froze and stared at Joebear with eyes that were ready to fall out of their heads.

"Oh my God we're sorry! There is literally no other place to land! Every legal landing spot has been taken!" the orange male bear shouted down in a shaky voice as his periwinkle eyes were hanging onto his skull through their optic nerves. He had goggly googly goofy eyes. My husbear had that effect on other bears some times. "Under any other circumstance, we would never even think about landing on someone's house! We absolutely HAD to land here!"

"All right. What are you doing here?" Joebear asked as he stared at them with his dark brown eyes.

"We are looking for Bruce Balalalalalalalalalas. Crazy last name, I know. It's French for 'banana split made with crack cocaine and vanilla ice cream.' I'm his father, Skipper Balalalalalalalalalas, sort of like from Gilligan's Island when it was still being erected from tectonic plate activity on Earth. I'm THAT OLD... sorry. I'm an interdimensional-" the light orange bear started to say.

The female brownish gray bear growled fiercely with sharp teeth and almost shook my house. She shot eye lasers at Skipper Balalalalalalalalalas.

"Gee! Gloria! I'm getting to the point. Excuse me! Gloria! Those eye lasers are giving me third-degree burns!" Skipper Balalalalalalalalalas said with a growl before he spoke again. "Anyway, Gloria, Johnnio, Kavana, and I came to deliver Bruce's items that he was forced to leave during the Mass Bear Exodus from Earth. It took FOREVER to even get the clearance to be allowed here. Every bear and his brother is coming here. It's a great place to live, apparently. It looks like we're living here, too. I will not get jabbed. Fuck the mansion back home. We left that for the housing association in Logantown, GA, in what used to be the United States of America. Now that place is bought and sold by China. Unbelievable. Don't remind our son about that if you ever meet him. He still believes strongly in the American Dream. Do you know where Logantown in a place formerly known as America is? Excuse my syntax. English is not my native language. We're French. My wife, Gloria has Italian and German in her bear blood, but she has the heart of a true French woman." He continued his descent from our roof to the ground.

"Oh wow. I'm German Italian, too. I knew there was something special about you, Gloria. Bruce Balalalalalalalalalas was telling me about you. And yes, we know where Logantown is. We used to conduct our Secret American, when it was American, Society of Sexually-Frustrated Bears meetings there. But I don't think it's so secret anymore," I answered.

Joebear growled at me.

"Haha! You don't know what secret is, kiddo!" Skipper Balalalalalalalalalas said as he and the other three creatures climbed down from the roof.

Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas narrowed her brownish hazel eyes at her husband. I see where Banana Ice gets his looks and mannerisms from.

"Will you relax, Gloria? I have been feeling the sting from those eyes for over a week straight now. Your eye lasers are starting to permanently damage to my skin. Do you mind?" Skipper Balalalalalalalalalas asked her.

"Absolutely I mind. It didn't help that you made a wrong turn at the planet Alberqueque in the New Milkway galaxy. We would have been here much sooner had you just listened to me," Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas said in her still heavy French accent as she crawled over him to get to the ground first. Then she looked at us. "Excuse the squabbling. I'm quite fed up with this space travel and all of the political 'onsense that led us to these current events. Do you know where our son is? I miss him terribly." She looked like she was going to cry.

"Your son tends to disappear a lot, but the last I heard of him, he was contemplating getting piercings," I said.

"He was? I had no idea," Abigail Ice said.

"Neither did I. That's news to me!" Megara Ice said.

Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas growled fiercely and then cussed in French. "I am so sick of him destroying such a beautiful face like that. It's an insult to me! Ugh. I curse the invention of facial piercings!!!" Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas said loudly in her French accent.

"So do I. Fuck those things," Megara Ice said.

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Part 3: Three large cargo ships carrying items that belonged to the Balalalalalalalalalas family arrived.

Then three large cargo ships landed one in front of the other on top of the large bear spaceship that was as large as the spaceship in the beginning scene of Spaceballs (1987) and Space Odyssey: 2001.

"Oh what the hell?!" Bruce Ice shouted.

"What the hell indeed?! How many interruptions are we going to have before I can finish my address?" Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets asked.

"Ugh. I'm sorry. I just can't be on that spaceship anymore! I must stretch my legs!" Princess Lindsay Carrington burst out of the spaceship wearing a large red space helmet and a royal red dress. I've never seen that woman walk so fast in my life. I thought she was going to trip over her dress.

"Oh I know! It's dreadful! Where is the latrine? I can't handle the one on the ship. It's absolutely ATROCIOUS!" Prince Carrington asked as he followed Princess Lindsay Carrington and wore a bright purple suit, a green shirt, a lavender tie, black shoes, and a purple space helmet. A wolf pup attached itself to Prince Carrington's shoulder. He walked swiftly in step behind his wife.

"Go into the forest for a quarter mile and take a left on Alberqueque Street," Bruce Ice answered.

Prince and Princess Carrington grumbled a "thank you" as they waddled through the forest. The wolf pup squeaked at Bruce Ice.

The men from the cargo ship flew to the elder Balalalalalalalalalas bears. "Your cargo is on the only place we can land. We will have to unpack when living arrangements are addressed. We hope it's soon," one of them said.

"We're working on it," Skipper Balalalalalalalalalas said.

"Where can we get some water in this joint? I'm thirsty as all get-out. AND IT'S HOT!" the male hamster shouted in a loud New York accent.

"Johnnio, please!" Skipper Balalalalalalalalalas shouted.

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Part 4: The New Bruce Balalalalalalalalalas a.k.a. Banana Ice appears and surprises everyone.

Banana Ice walked out of a random place in the forest with a giant mohawk, seven eyebrow piercings above his right eye, six eyebrow piercings above his left eye, a piercing in each nostril, six piercings on his top lip, seven piercings on his bottom lip, 13 piercings along the side of each ear, a black collar with bright yellow bananas hanging off of it, a black T-shirt with a large banana on it, black cargo pants with several silver chains hanging off of them, a spiked belt, and bright white hightop Converses with a light yellow trim around the bottom of his feet. That bear went through a transformation.

"What the hell, Bruce?" Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas asked as her mouth dropped.

"Indeed! What the fuck, Bruce Bananas?!" Megara Ice shouted.

"Wow! Who knew piercings could be so sexy?!" Abigail Ice asked as her tongue was drooping out of her mouth.

"Hi Mom. I got collared. I transformed to surprise my new wife, Abigail Ice," Banana Ice said as he stood by Abigail Ice. Abigail Ice wrapped her arm around Banana Ice's waist. "She's the daughter of Bruce and Megara Ice and my Domme. She's great. Also, thank you for arriving. With you, Dad, Johnnio, Kavana, Maxwell, my batmobile car (thank you, Dad, for fixing it.), and cargo, I now feel at home."

"What?! You got married, Abigail Ice?! When?! Why wasn't I informed of this?! What the fuck is going on?!" Megara Ice rattled on with the questions.

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Part 5: Female bears growl at each other and find their role in the pack.

Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas walked over to Banana Ice and Abigail Ice and hugged Banana Ice while narrowing her eyes and growling at Abigail Ice. Abigail Ice stepped back and had wide eyes as she stared at Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas. Megara Ice then walked next to Banana Ice and Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas and growled at Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas. Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas growled at Megara Ice.

"Mom. Megara Ice. Please. If I may explain. We eloped. We don't really have the time for a ceremony, given the current political climate and volatile Plague situation, right now. I'll explain more when given the chance," Banana Ice said.

Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas kissed Banana Ice loudly on the cheek. Megara and Abigail Ice growled at Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas. Skipper Balalalalalalalalalas growled at Banana Ice. Banana Ice gulped and stared at his father.

Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas growled loudly at Abigail and Megara Ice before she hugged Banana Ice more tightly and spoke softly to him, "Fair enough, Bruce m'dear. I missed you. But you're more ridiculous than ever. And what the HELL are those shoes? They look like actual bananas," she said.

"I agree with you," Megara Ice said to Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas.

"Merci. At least we can agree with something other than how ridiculous Bruce's piercings are. Why would he do this to such a gorgeous face?" Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas asked as she rubbed his chin.

Megara Ice nodded as she crossed her arms. "It's beyond my comprehension as well," she said.

"Oh these?" Banana Ice said as he smirked and pointed to his shoes. "They're super comfortable. And they're pretty fly, even for a white bear. It only took me a minute to buy them."

Megara Ice then stared daggers at Banana Ice.

"And how long did the piercings take?" Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas asked as she analyzed him.

"Two and a half hours, give or take a minute," Banana Ice answered.

Maxwell Ice rushed over before rolling on the ground and laugh-barking.

"I know this is off topic, but I'm technically Johnnio Ice, and my sister-" Johnnio, the male hamster said with a heavy New York accent.

Kavana, the female hamster who oddly had the same brownish hazel eyes that Banana Ice and Gloria Balalalalalalalalalas had, stared at Johnnio with a snarled upper lip.

"Half-sister, is now Kavana Ice. Am I correct?" Johnnio continued.

"Yes, Johnnio. You are correct," Banana Ice said.

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Part 6: Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets interjects because he is tired of the interruptions.

Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets interjected after being interjected umpteen times in this story, "I am glad we are getting to know each other on this planet! It's great that we have such a strong community among ourselves despite all of the bureaucratic nonsense going on with the powers that be. But are there any other characters or anyone else that absolutely HAS to speak before I can get the rest of my crew OFF the ship?!"

"Captain Slammer! I have land available to put our house down on. Everyone! I am Captain Mechanic!" a smaller but even more muscular man with a red beard who wore an obnoxious white cap, a greasy white shirt, blue oil-stained overalls, and yellowish brown large boots shouted in his naturally loud voice. He looked like an Irish version of Bluto from Popeye.

"Thank you," Captain Slammer shouted as he began to fly away with his house.

A brunette lady with a nurse cap had her head sticking out of the window of the house. "Hello everyone. I am Wonder Nurse, and I come in peace. Praise God. Praise Jesus. Thank you, Lord. Hallelujah! Amen!"

Most of us shouted back to her, "Praise God! Praise Jesus! Thank you, Lord. Hallelujah! Amen!" Godiva, Peter W. Parker's mother, bleated to her.

"Nice to meet you," I shouted to Wonder Nurse. But I wanted her to remain more than 10 feet away from me. I still don't trust the medical system or anyone in it. I hope she doesn't float.

"YES YES YES! I'VE BEEN WAITING TO BE IN THIS STORYLINE FOR A YEAR NOW! I'M TIMON FROM COVINGTON GROVE, GEORGIA, THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA AS IT IS AMERICAN. I REFUSE TO BE PART OF THIS NEW SYSTEM!" a golden, short grizzly bear with sparkling blue eyes shouted. He even sounded like Nathan Lane from The Lion King, Birdcage, and Mrs. Doubtfire.

The bears growled loudly, clapped, and cheered. Banana Ice's growl was particularly loud.

"PREACH! I WAS BORN A PATRIOT, ALWAYS A PATRIOT! STOP THE FUCKING TYRANNY! THESE GOVERNMENTS ARE PERFORMING TYRANNY!" Banana Ice shouted.

"PREACH!" Bruce Ice shouted. "Fuck the system! Fuck da Police State!"

"Are you for the idea of defunding the police?" a random brown bear asked Bruce Ice.

Bruce Ice shot infrared lasers out of his green eyes and aimed them at the random bear's stomach and lowered the lasered gaze to his crotch. Bruce Ice is not gay. He's just pissed.

The brown bear covered his genitalia instantly with his paws and groaned as he was slipping to the ground. "AWWWWWWW!!! I'll take that as a no...."

"There is a difference between the Po-lice and Police State," Bruce Ice stated as he walked near Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets and stayed six feet away from him.

"PREACH! PR-" Count Vanilla started to shout.

"PREACH! PREACH! PREACH! PREACH! PREACH! PREACH! PREACH! PREACH!" all other bears except Bruce Ice shouted with Count Vanilla.

"I absolutely agree. There is a stark difference between a police officer and the Police State," Prince Oliver: Werewolf of the United Planet stated. "Now may I please finish my address so that we can all get back to a normal life?"

Count Vanilla's cousin, Blinky, growled in a distinctly loud voice. He didn't growl often, so his growl was raspy. He was a big white bear who had the exact same eyes as Count Vanilla. He even wore the same style glasses. Usually, he communicated with blinks.

"I BEG YOUR PARDON!" Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets shouted.

"He says there is no going back to normal. He says there is no going back to normal. He says there is no going back to normal. He says there is no going back to normal. He says there is no going back to normal. He says there is no going back to normal. He says there is no going back to normal. He says there is no going back to normal. He says there is no going back to normal," Count Vanilla translated.

"He said all of that in a growl?" Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets asked.

"Yes. His name is Blinky. Yes. His name is Blinky. Yes. His name is Blinky. Yes. His name is Blinky. Yes. His name is Blinky. Yes. His name is Blinky. Yes. His name is Blinky. Yes. His name is Blinky. Yes. His name is Blinky," Count Vanilla said.

Blinky blinked twice to confirm and then approached the stand with Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets and Bruce Ice. He remained six feet from them and started to blink rapidly.

Count Vanilla followed Blinky and began to translate what he was saying in bear language. Due to the lack of space on the red carpet, Count Vanilla had to stand three feet apart from Blinky and Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets. He was definitely growling a lot, and I could tell his voice was getting sore.

Banana Ice blinked three times, threw his paws in the air, sighed, and then flew over to the stand with his new rocket shoes. Banana Ice had to stand three feet apart from Count Vanilla and Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets. He had to translate in English the translation in Count Vanilla's bear language from Blinky's blinks:

"Okay. There is a huge diversity of people here. That's why we literally need three translators to communicate our message. It's going to take a minute for each sentence to get out. Count Vanilla, please. I'm working on it. Blinky, can you pause? Holy Shit, you look like you're possessed. ARE YOU GOOD?!" Banana Ice began.

"Apparently not," Bruce Ice chimed in.

Blinky blinked rapidly at Bruce Ice. Count Vanilla growled several times.

"Yes. Yes. We're getting on with it! If you guys would just slow the fuck down, the rest of the audience would understand you. Jesus!" Banana Ice said before he cleared his throat.

"Blinky, with all due respect, can you wait a second for the rest of us to speak. It's apparent you have a lot to say. It's very important! Let's save that for another story, please. Chrissy with her ungodly amount of glorious titles is fucking exhausted and would love to get her hungry pups the hell off of my ship!" Prince Oliver, Werewolf of the United Planets said as politely as possible given the circumstances.

Blinky blinked an apology. Count Vanilla growled apologetically nine times. Banana Ice actually repeated "Sorry" nine times.

[weeklyhumorist]

I’m the Guy who Makes the Fake Crowd Noise at Baseball Games, and Yes, I Have Been Secretly Inserting Rupi Kaur Poems

Hey guys,

I’ll start by saying that being a sound mixer is not as glamorous as the worst part of the Oscars makes it seem. Some of my recent “gigs” have included sitting in front of a crackling fireplace for 10 hours and filtering Michael Barbaro’s nonsensical pauses out of interviews, the auditory equivalent of draining salt from the sea. So, as you can imagine, I jumped at the chance to create fake fan noise to accompany the dystopian human cut-outs in baseball stadiums. At first, I was doing a “good job,” but then I had a better idea; I decided- let’s show those sound editing guys how to really “steal focus from the things people actually care about”! I played maniacallaugh.wav and then downloaded the audiobooks of Rupi Kaur.

Like all menaces to society, I started small. It was the bottom of the 5th, and after their third out, the Cardinals left a man “stranded” on base. “Aww, shucks!” said the voice of a child. “Booo!” grumbled an inebriated male. Then, from amidst the general discontentment, a serene, ethereal proclamation: “fall/ in love/ with your solitude.” Boy, what a rush! I hadn’t felt that alive since playing the wrong track for Ashlee Simpson.

Once I got a taste, I couldn’t stop. “Let’s go Pirates!!!” screamed the “crowd” at the beginning of a home game. “C’mon ‘Buccos!” cried a local. “your name is/ the strongest/ positive and negative/ connotation in any language/ it either lights me up or/ leaves me aching for days,” said Rupi, truly articulating the experience of rooting for a team that’s 4–16.

The game began, and soon the opposing coach got mad at the referee over a perceived misjudgment. “Grow up!” screamed a fan. “Play the game!!” yelled another. Rupi cleared her throat, hydrated; “a lot of times/ we are angry at other people/ for not doing what/ we should have done for ourselves,” she declared. “Yeah!!!” cried the peanut guy.

At a certain point, however, Rupi began to go against the general sentiment of the crowd, focusing less on the statistical minutiae of the game and more on its implications for the human condition. When a Pirate managed to “steal” second base, he was met with enthusiastic approval from the crowd. Rupi, on the other hand, found cause for concern: “you have so much/but are always hungry for more,” she chastised the runner. “stop looking at everything you don’t have/ and look around at everything you do.” The player blushed, looking back at first base with remorse.

As my experiment continued, I began to lose control, and soon my work was causing controversy among the public. It turns out that Rupi Kaur poems are somewhat of a millennial dog whistle; people were watching the same game but having very different auditory experiences. If you’re a quarantined 20-something who’s been watching baseball with your family, you’re probably familiar with the following exchange:

“Nice hit, Trout!” says Dad.

“Succinct metaphor, Rupe!” you cry.

“He’s out!” cries Dad.

“She’s melancholic yet introspective!!!” you scream.

“Wow,” says Dad. “I like the crowd noise. It’s like you’re there!”

“I agree!” you say, “if by there, you mean perched on a rock overlooking a forested valley, a brisk autumn wind biting your cheeks as you contemplate the closure of a chapter in your life, a chapter that’s setting like the sanguine sun before your eye-

“[Your name],” he says. “What the fuck are you talking about!?”

“Dad,” you say. “It’s poetry!”

“NO,” he yells. “It’s BASEBALL. We should have never sent you to [liberal arts college]!!”

Of course, you were both right. Which is why I’m coming clean; I don’t want to drive a wedge between American families during this difficult time. Intergenerational conflict is bubbling throughout this nation, over important topics like unemployment, healthcare, WAP, who ruined the world; the last thing we need to be arguing about is subliminal Instagram poetry. I could even see this issue taking up important airtime in this fall’s political debates (Kamala is the only one who hears it). I know I’ll suffer personal and professional consequences for coming clean, but I’ll sacrifice my well-being for the comfort of the American people, just like the players themselves.

Now that we’ve reached the Scooby-Doo unmasking moment, there remains only one question: Why did I do it? Was it a mental break? A desperate call for help? By way of an answer, allow me to emulate my favorite poet, a prolific author with a gift for profound brevity;

sometimes, in life,

you just want to watch

the world

burn.

I’m the Guy who Makes the Fake Crowd Noise at Baseball Games, and Yes, I Have Been Secretly Inserting Rupi Kaur Poems was originally published on Weekly Humorist

[mlleedom]

White Frights - The Villains and the Fall Guys

White Frights - The Villains and the Fall Guys

February 2002

I don't know what it is, but every time I see a white guy walking towards me, I tense up. My heart starts racing, and I immediately begin to look for an escape route and a means to defend myself. I kick myself for even being in this part of town after dark. Didn't I notice the suspicious gangs of white people lurking on every street corner, drinking Starbucks and wearing their gang colors of Gap turquoise or J Crew mauve? What an idiot! Now the white person is coming closer, closer - and then - whew! He walks by without harming me, and I breathe a sigh of relief.

White people scare the crap out of me. This may be hard for you to understand - considering that I am white - but then again, my colour gives me a certain insight. For instance, I find myself pretty scary a lot of the time, so I know what I'm talking about. You can take my word for it: if you find yourself suddenly surrounded by white people, you better watch out. Anything can happen. As white people, we've been lulled into thinking it's safe to be around other white people. We've been taught since birth that it's the people of that other colour we need to fear. They're the ones who'll slit your throat!

Yet as I look back on my life, a strange but unmistakable pattern seems to emerge. Every person who has ever harmed me in my lifetime - the boss who fired me, the teacher who flunked me, the principal who punished me, the kid who hit me in the eye with a rock, the executive who didn't renew TV Nation, the guy who was stalking me for three years, the accountant who double-paid my taxes, the drunk who smashed into me, the burglar who stole my stereo, the contractor who overcharged me, the girlfriend who left me, the next girlfriend who left even sooner, the person in the office who stole cheques from my chequebook and wrote them out to himself for a total of $16,000 - every one of these individuals has been a white person. Coincidence? I think not.

I have never been attacked by a black person, never been evicted by a black person, never had my security deposit ripped off by a black landlord, never had a black landlord, never had a meeting at a Hollywood studio with a black executive in charge, never had a black person deny my child the college of her choice, never been puked on by a black teenager at a Mötley Crüe concert, never been pulled over by a black cop, never been sold a lemon by a black car salesman, never seen a black car salesman, never had a black person deny me a bank loan, and I've never heard a black person say, "We're going to eliminate 10,000 jobs here - have a nice day!"

I don't think that I'm the only white guy who can make these claims. Every mean word, every cruel act, every bit of pain and suffering in my life has had a Caucasian face attached to it.

So, um, why is it exactly that I should be afraid of black people?

I look around at the world I live in - and, I hate to tell tales out of school, but it's not the African-Americans who have made this planet such a pitiful, scary place. Recently, a headline on the front of the Science section of the New York Times asked Who Built The H-Bomb? The article went on to discuss a dispute between the men who claim credit for making the first bomb. Frankly, I could have cared less - because I already know the only pertinent answer: "It was a white guy!" No black guy ever built or used a bomb designed to wipe out hordes of innocent people, whether in Oklahoma City, Columbine or Hiroshima. No, friends, it's always the white guy. Let's go to the tote board:

· Who gave us the black plague? A white guy.

· Who invented PBC, PVC, PBB, and a host of chemicals that are killing us? White guys.

· Who has started every war America has been in? White men.

· Who invented the punchcard ballot? A white man.

· Whose idea was it to pollute the world with the internal combustion engine? Whitey, that's who.

· The Holocaust? That guy really gave white people a bad name.

· The genocide of Native Americans? White man.

· Slavery? Whitey!

· US companies laid off more than 700,000 people in 2001. Who ordered the lay-offs? White CEOs.

You name the problem, the disease, the human suffering, or the abject misery visited upon millions, and I'll bet you 10 bucks I can put a white face on it faster than you can name the members of 'NSync.

And yet, when I turn on the news each night, what do I see again and again? Black men alleged to be killing, raping, mugging, stabbing, gang banging, looting, rioting, selling drugs, pimping, ho-ing, having too many babies, fatherless, motherless, Godless, penniless. "The suspect is described as a black male... the suspect is described as a black male... THE SUSPECT IS DESCRIBED AS A BLACK MALE..." No matter what city I'm in, the news is always the same, the suspect always the same unidentified black male. I'm in Atlanta tonight, and I swear the police sketch of the black male suspect on TV looks just like the black male suspect I saw on the news last night in Denver and the night before in LA. In every sketch he's frowning, he's menacing - and he's wearing the same knit cap! Is it possible that it's the same black guy committing every crime in America?

I believe we've become so used to this image of the black man as predator that we are forever ruined by this brainwashing. In my first film, Roger & Me, a white woman on social security clubs a rabbit to death so that she can sell him as "meat" instead of as a pet. I wish I had a nickel for every time in the past 10 years that someone has come up to me and told me how "horrified" they were when they saw that "poor little cute bunny" bonked on the head. The scene, they say, made them physically sick. The Motion Picture Association of America gave Roger & Me an R [18] rating in response to that rabbit killing. Teachers write to me and say they have to edit that part out of the film, if they want to show it to their students.

But less than two minutes after the bunny lady does her deed, I included footage of a scene in which police in Flint, Michigan, shot a black man who was wearing a Superman cape and holding a plastic toy gun. Not once - not ever - has anyone said to me, "I can't believe you showed a black man being shot in your movie! How horrible! How disgusting! I couldn't sleep for weeks." After all, he was just a black man, not a cute, cuddly bunny. The ratings board saw absolutely nothing wrong with that scene. Why? Because it's normal, natural. We've become so accustomed to seeing black men killed - in the movies and on the evening news - that we now accept it as standard operating procedure. No big deal! That's what blacks do - kill and die. Ho-hum. Pass the butter.

It's odd that, despite the fact that most crimes are committed by whites, black faces are usually attached to what we think of as "crime". Ask any white person who they fear might break into their home or harm them on the street and, if they're honest, they'll admit that the person they have in mind doesn't look much like them. The imaginary criminal in their heads looks like Mookie or Hakim or Kareem, not little freckle-faced Jimmy.

No matter how many times their fellow whites make it clear that the white man is the one to fear, it simply fails to register. Every time you turn on the TV to news of another school shooting, it's always a white kid who's conducting the massacre. Every time they catch a serial killer, it's a crazy white guy. Every time a terrorist blows up a federal building, or a madman gets 400 people to drink Kool-Aid, or a Beach Boys songwriter casts a spell causing half a dozen nymphets to murder "all the piggies" in the Hollywood Hills, you know it's a member of the white race up to his old tricks.

So why don't we run like hell when we see whitey coming toward us? Why don't we ever greet the Caucasian job applicant with, "Gee, uh, I'm sorry, there aren't any positions available right now"? Why aren't we worried sick about our daughters marrying white guys? And why isn't Congress trying to ban the scary and offensive lyrics of Johnny Cash ("I shot a man in Reno/just to watch him die"), the Dixie Chicks ("Earl had to die"), or Bruce Springsteen ("I killed everything in my path/I can't say that I'm sorry for the things that we done").

Why the focus on rap lyrics? Why doesn't the media print lyrics such as the following, and tell the truth? "I sold bottles of sorrow, then chose poems and novels" (Wu-Tang Clan); "People use yo' brain to gain" (Ice Cube); "A poor single mother on welfare... tell me how ya did it" (Tupac Shakur); "I'm trying to change my life, see I don't wanna die a sinner" (Master P).

African-Americans have been on the lowest rung of the economic ladder since the day they were dragged here in chains. Every other immigrant group has been able to advance from the bottom to the higher levels of our society. Even Native Americans, who are among the poorest of the poor, have fewer children living in poverty than African-Americans.

You probably thought things had got better for blacks in this country. After all, considering the advances we've made eliminating racism in our society, one would think our black citizens might have seen their standard of living rise. A survey published in the Washington Post in July 2001 showed that 40%-60% of white people thought the average black person had it as good or better than the average white person.

Think again. According to a study conducted by the economists Richard Vedder, Lowell Gallaway and David C Clingaman, the average income for a black American is 61% less per year than the average white income. That is the same percentage difference as it was in 1880. Not a damned thing has changed in more than 120 years.

Want more proof? Consider the following:

· Black heart attack patients are far less likely than whites to undergo cardiac catheterisation, regardless of the race of their doctors.

· Whites are five times more likely than blacks to receive emergency clot-busting treatment after suffering a stroke.

· Black women are four times more likely than white women to die while giving birth.

· Black levels of unemployment have been roughly twice those of whites since 1954.

So how have we white people been able to get away with this? Caucasian ingenuity! You see, we used to be real dumb. Like idiots, we wore our racism on our sleeve. We did really obvious things, like putting up signs on rest-room doors that said WHITES ONLY. We made black people sit at the back of the bus. We prevented them from attending our schools or living in our neighbourhoods. They got the crappiest jobs (those advertised for NEGROES ONLY), and we made it clear that, if you weren't white, you were going to be paid a lower wage.

Well, this overt, over-the-top segregation got us into a heap of trouble. A bunch of uppity lawyers went to court. They pointed out that the 14th Amendment doesn't allow for anyone to be treated differently because of their race. Eventually, after a long procession of court losses, demonstrations and riots, we got the message: if you're going to be a successful racist, better find a way to do it with a smile on your face.

We even got magnanimous enough to say, "Sure, you can live here in our neighborhood; your kids can go to our kids' school. Why the hell not? We were just leaving, anyway." We smiled, gave black America a pat on the back - and then ran like the devil to the suburbs.

At work, we whites still get the plum jobs, double the pay, and a seat in the front of the bus to happiness and success. We've rigged the system from birth, guaranteeing that black people will go to the worst schools, thus preventing them from admission to the best colleges, and paving their way to a fulfilling life making our caffe lattes, servicing our BMWs, and picking up our trash. Oh, sure, a few slip by - but they pay an extra tariff for the privilege: the black doctor driving his BMW gets pulled over continually by the cops; the black Broadway actress can't get a cab after the standing ovation; the black broker is the first to be laid off because of "seniority".

We whites really deserve some kind of genius award for this. We talk the talk of inclusion, we celebrate the birthday of Dr King, we frown upon racist jokes. We never fail to drop a mention of "my friend - he's black..." We make sure we put our lone black employee up at the front reception desk so we can say, "See - we don't discriminate. We hire black people."

Yes, we are a very crafty, cagey race - and damn if we haven't got away with it!

I wonder how long we will have to live with the legacy of slavery. That's right. I brought it up. SLAVERY. You can almost hear the groans of white America whenever you bring up the fact that we still suffer from the impact of the slave system. Well, I'm sorry, but the roots of most of our social ills can be traced straight back to this sick chapter of our history. African-Americans never got a chance to have the same fair start that the rest of us got. Their families were willfully destroyed, their language and culture and religion stripped from them. Their poverty was institutionalized so that our cotton could get picked, our wars could be fought, our convenience stores could remain open all night. The America we've come to know would never have come to pass if not for the millions of slaves who built it and created its booming economy - and for the millions of their descendants who do the same dirty work for whites today.

It's not as if we're talking ancient Rome here. My grandfather was born just three years after the Civil War. That's right, my grandfather. My great-uncle was born before the Civil War. And I'm only in my 40s. Sure, people in my family seem to marry late, but the truth remains: I'm just two generations from slave times. That, my friends, is not a "long time ago". In the vast breadth of human history, it was only yesterday. Until we realize that, and accept that we do have a responsibility to correct an immoral act that still has repercussions today, we will never remove the single greatest stain on the soul of our country

© Michael Moore, 2002.

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2002/mar/30/features.weekend

I read this excerpt from Moore’s book at an open mic night at a coffee shop shortly after the book release in 2002. Moore has been labeled contentious and divisive. He was at the cutting edge in helping those impacted by the water crisis in Flint, MI. I can relate to this piece as I have never been harmed by a black person and what I have seen in the media throughout my 4+ decades has been a complete disconnect. 

[nitrateglow]

Halloween 2017 movie marathon: The Mummy (dir. Karl Freund, 1932)

“Do you have to open graves to find girls to fall in love with?”

In 1921, a British expedition in Egypt unearths a mysterious mummy and an ancient document known as the Scroll of Thoth. The mummified man was known as Imhotep (Boris Karloff) and buried alive for sacrilege. One of the younger archaeologists reads the forbidden spell on the scroll, bringing Imhotep’s corpse back to life. The archaeologist goes mad from fright, and both Imhotep and the scroll disappear for a decade. In 1932, the disenchanted half-Egyptian socialite Helen Grosvenor (Zita Johann) returns to the land of her mother. Her presence does not go unnoticed by Imhotep, who has integrated himself into normal society under the identity of Ardeth Bey. Imhotep believes Helen to be the reincarnation of the Egyptian princess he defied his gods to love. Using the Scroll of Thoth, he strives to destroy Helen’s body and possess her soul so that he may be reunited with his long-lost lover, but Helen, her suitor Frank Whemple (David Manners), and Egyptologist Dr. Muller (Edward van Sloan) fight to keep the past in the past.

When most people think of the mummy as a movie monster, they imagine a bandaged husk with glowing eyes that prowls about slowly, killing people too stupid to just outrun it. That or Brendan Fraser. Or Universal trying to cash in on Marvel’s success with cinematic universes in the most shameless, desperate way possible. These images do not apply to the original The Mummy from 1932. Far from a cheesy schlock-fest, the original Mummy has aged rather well. In his Trailers from Hell review, make-up artist Joe Dante claims The Mummy is probably the most modern of the classic horror movies in terms of its sophistication and “pop poetry.” On a technical level, I would argue that it surpasses Dracula and even Frankenstein, with its fluid cinematography and understated use of background score. On a storytelling level, it is creepy and even Romantic in the early nineteenth-century sense. It’s hard for me to pick a favorite classic Universal horror movie, as so many of them range from good to great in quality, but for me it’s a toss-up between The Old Dark House and this haunting film.

Pretty much all the classic Universal horror pictures are gorgeous to look at, but The Mummy is stunning in its use of chiaroscuro and evocation of macabre atmosphere. The camera drifts slowly through the moody sets, giving the images a sense of depth not often found in early sound cinema. The cinematography and editing are often brilliant too, though in a rather understated way. “Understated” might be the best word to describe the entire film; from the get-go, it takes its time in getting us to the action, setting up the suspense from the first scene, where a group of archaeologists unearth Imhotep’s mummy and are told not to recite this spell that will bring it back from death. You just know one of them will! This quiet sense of dread, that something terrible will happen any moment, is suffused throughout the picture, lending it a genuine creepiness that works to this day. It relies less on cheap scares or things going bump in the night, and more on suggestion and mood; this may be the secret of how it has weathered the years well.

The Mummy is a true gothic story, not only because it features classic gothic tropes and images (tombs, premature burial, vengeance, forbidden desire, religious iconography, etc.) but because above all it is concerned with how the past lingers in the present—or as William Faulkner once put it, how the past is never really past. This happens on a literal level with, well, the movie being about an undead priest in modern Cairo seeking to recreate a romantic relationship cut short centuries ago. However, the past concerns all the characters in some manner. At the beginning of the film, Helen describes her surroundings as “this dreadful modern Cairo.” Johann’s detached quality gives the character a sense of displacement, as though her heart were elsewhere. Though it’s never explicitly stated within the movie itself, one could almost believe the princess persona was trying to emerge even before Imhotep walks (back) into Helen’s life. Helen’s modern love interest Frank admits he “sort of fell in love with” the ancient Egyptian princess who’s tomb he has helped unearth; he transplants this desire onto the living Helen, the next-best thing to the long-departed princess of his dreams. Helen, Frank, and Imhotep all yearn for the past, for something dead, but only the latter goes to evil extremes to achieve this goal.

Imhotep is such an underrated horror icon and Karloff truly shines as this tragic villain. While he was menacing as the drunk, horny butler Morgan in The Old Dark House, he was a very small part of a larger cast, and The Mummy allows him to take center stage with a worthy follow-up role to the Monster in Frankenstein. Initially appearing as the bandaged, slow-gaited figure we all know from pop cultural osmosis, Imhotep spends the lion’s share of the movie as the tall, imposing wizard who integrates himself into Egyptian society as Ardeth Bey. We never see Imhotep choke the life out of someone or stalk folks in the night. Like a proto-Darth Vader, he is able to strangle his enemies from afar using magic. His intense, glowing stare is uncanny, emphasizing his otherworldly menace and mystery. Yet despite his mystical power and height, Imhotep is physically weak. His face is wrinkled, his body thin; we also learn that his flesh can literally crumble right off his bones because his magic can barely keep him together. While the movie never gets graphic about Imhotep’s decaying body, the suggestion alone is eerie, especially when Helen finds this out for herself. After being grabbed by her one-time-lover, Helen notices that Imhotep’s hand leaves behind ashy residue. All the glamor of “eternal love” vanishes.

Imhotep is at once inhuman and yet deeply human, a guy who’s okay with cold-blooded murder yet seeks nothing more than to be with the only woman he ever loved. When he shows Helen the events of their doomed past life love affair in his mystical pool, there is a muted anguish in his voice. Even more tragic is the comparison between the stiff, aloof Imhotep of the present and the warm, very animated Imhotep of the flashback scenes. In the past, Imhotep kneels before the dying princess and kisses her hand before tenderly bringing it to his face with all the familiarity of a lover. In the present, Imhotep cannot even touch someone without physically falling to pieces. He lives forever, but it’s only a half-life, where even his love is twisted into something possessive and fatal. I have always wondered what Imhotep planned on doing had he succeeded in bringing his princess back; I don’t think he even thought that far. He is a man obsessed with stasis, unable to accept that a life worth living involves change—death is only part of that cycle. He isn’t interested in anything new and cannot come to terms with loss, which traps him in a kind of eternal death rather than eternal life.

The other standout performance comes from Zita Johann as Helen/Princess Ankh-es-en-amon. Johann took on few movie roles and hated Hollywood until she died, but her work in The Mummy is phenomenal, for Helen is one of the most fleshed-out of the Universal horror heroines. No screaming, passive damsel, Helen is a haunted woman, troubled enough to be seeing a psychiatrist regularly (we’re never told why, though her melancholy and obsession with the past provide the audience some good inferences) and smart enough to view Frank’s awkward flirting with healthy though good-natured skepticism. When she first meets Imhotep, she is mesmerized, and I don’t think that only comes from his magic powers. Johann projects a sense of weariness and yearning; she’s someone who wants to be engaged in the modern world and live a full life, but there’s something deep inside holding her back, more than likely the lack of closure from her life in Ancient Egypt. There are few histrionic moments in her performance; like Karloff, she mostly underplays the role, lending Helen a sense of dignity and maturity. She gives the illusion of having an inner life that few other 1930s horror leading ladies possess. She’s also active, fighting back against Imhotep even as she is initially tempted by his promise of eternal love. As much as her heart yearns for the passion they once shared, she’s wise enough to know there is no going back and not just because Imhotep is now an amoral heap of rotting flesh. I don’t want to spoil the film’s climax, but let’s just say, Helen does not lie back and wait for the male characters to rescue her.

I have returned to this movie again and again throughout the years, always hypnotized by its quiet power. Some people find it boring or too slow, but fans are captivated by that tortured love story and the confident, ahead-of-its-time filmmaking on display. The Mummy has been resurrected several times as both proto-slasher schlock and bombastic summer blockbusters, making the original film stand out even more. This is a quiet, slow experience with all the qualities of a dream. The movie wasn’t a success when first released; filmgoers likely expected a quicker pace and more outright scares. Nevertheless, time has mostly been kind to The Mummy (excepting the nasty imperialist overtones) and it remains one of the best horror movies of the classic Hollywood period.

[fameinhistory]

2face Idibia

2face Idibia biography 2face Idibia is a Nigerian singer, songwriter, record producer, entrepreneur, philanthropist, Humanitarian, and activist. Background information Full Name: Innocent Ujah Idibia Also known as: 2face, 2baba, Tuface Born: 18 September 1975 Birth place: Jos, Plateau, Nigeria Nationality: Nigerian Genres: Afrobeats, R&B, hip hop, reggae, gospel, Afropop Famous as: Singer, songwriter, record producer, entrepreneur, activist Instruments: Vocals, vocal percussion Years active: 1994–present Labels: Hypertek Digital Spouse(s): Annie Macaulay-Idibia (m. 2012) Height: 2.04 m Children: Isabella Idibia, Nino Idibia, Justin Idibia, Rose Idibia, Zii Idibia, Innocent Idibia Religion: Christian

Early childhood and educational career 2face Idibia was born in Jos, Nigeria . He is from the Idoma ethnic group in the southern part of Benue State, in central Nigeria. He attended Mount Saint Gabriel's Secondary School in Makurdi, Benue State. He enrolled at Institute of Management & Technology, Enugu (IMT), where he did his preliminary National Diploma course in business administration and management. While attending IMT, he performed at school organised shows and parties, as well as other regional schools such as the University of Nigeria and Enugu State University of Science & Technology. He eventually dropped out to pursue his music career. While attending IMT, 2face Idibia started composing and singing jingles at the GB Fan Club at Enugu State Broadcasting Services (ESBS) in 1996. Also in 1996, he adopted the stage name "2Face" (Tuface). He cited the reason as "trying to demarcate my personal life with my business life. Prior to July 2014, he went by the stage name 2face Idibia. In 2016, he officially changed his name to 2Baba Also Read About: Nkem Owoh

  Music career and Album release He moved to Lagos and started performing with rapper Blackface Naija. He met BlackFace during his secondary education in Benue. With Blackface (Ahmedu Augustine Obiabo) and with musician Faze (Chibuzor Oji), he went on to form the trio band Plantashun Boiz. Plantashun Boiz released two successful albums: Body and Soul (2000) and Sold Out (2003) under the Nelson Brown's owned Label (Dove Records) before disbanding in 2004. Relations were marred for many years during which the band broke up and its members started their solo careers. Long after the break-up known as the "Faze vs Tuface" beef, the band came back together in 2007 for the purpose of recording a third and final album entitled Plan B (2007). On numerous occasions, BlackFace claimed 2Face was performing songs co-written by both of them and not remitting revenues to him. After a long legal and media battle, the matter was finally laid to rest amicably..

Solo career After the disbandment of Plantashun Boyz in 2004, all band members sought separate musical careers. 2face Idibia released his debut solo album Face 2 Face (2004), which established him as a viable solo artist. Following the release of his debut album, he released his second album Grass 2 Grace in 2006, which contained hits "One Love", "True Love, "4 Instance". He is the founder of Hypertek Entertainment. In 2006, his song "African Queen" was used in the soundtrack for the film Phat Girlz, which was released internationally   He released an experimental album in 2009 called The Unstoppable releasing the single "Enter the Place". Problems with album distribution in 2007 caused as shift of the release date of the album from 2008 to early 2009.

In 2010, 2Baba released an "International Edition" of the same under the title The Unstoppable International Edition making him the first Nigerian artist to have an appropriately priced international album. 2face Idibia released two more singles from the international version of his The Unstoppable album. The international edition of the album won two awards at the 2010 SoundCity Music Video Awards. Best African Western award and the MTV Africa Music Awards for Best Male and Artist of the year. Upon leaving the music label Kennis Music after the release of his second solo album, he set up his own record label known as Hypertek Entertainment. He is part of the Sony All African One8 Project alongside seven other musicians across Africa recording a single with R. Kelly and Prince Lee titled "Hands Across the World". 2face Idibia has several collaborations all over the globe, giving his collaborators the opportunity to win an awards for each duet such as street credibility by 9ice, possibility by p-square and lots more. He is adored by his colleagues and every entertainer in Nigeria music industry as a role model. 2Baba and heavy weight American Rapper Jay Z met in NYC 2014. Also Read About: Ibadan Zoological Garden

Endorsement deal and ambassadorship 2face Idibia has also been an ambassador for quite a number of brands including Guinness, Nigerian Breweries etc. He is also the brand ambassador for National Agency for Food and Drug Administration and Control. In August 2019, 2Face was appointed as the Good cause Ambassador for the Nigerian Stock Exchange (NSE). He has been named Red cross ambassador society of Nigeria.

FORTYfied All-Star Tribute Concert The FORTYfied All-Star Tribute Concert, stylised as #FORTYfied, was an all-star tribute concert organised by 2Baba to celebrate his 40th birthday and influence in the music of Nigeria. Hosted by Basketmouth, the STAR Lager Beer-sponsored concert was held on 20 September 2015 at the Eko Hotel and Suites Convention Centre. The concert was attended by dignitaries and featured performances from notable musicians including Wizkid, Burna Boy, Timaya, D'banj, Sound Sultan, Patoranking, Vector tha Viper, Wande Coal and Seyi Shay. He is also the owner of the Buckwyld and Breathless concert Also Read About: Biola Alabi

Philanthropy work and legacy Guinness World Record for "Longest Dance Party" Kaffy and Multiple Award Winning Singer 2baba with the Executive Producer of My Funky Birthday TV Nig and PadMan Initiative Crooner at a reunion to work with this superstar on a Charity Project. 2Baba has established an NGO called The 2Baba Foundation. whose motto is "service to humanity". Formerly known as The 2Face Reachout Foundation, and eventually The 2Face Foundation, the foundation underwent a name change in September 2016, and is now known as The 2Baba Foundation. The foundation's work is centred around nation building, peaceful co-existence, and accountability in governance. In 2009, 2face Idibia was appointed as ambassador by National Agency for Food and Drug Administration and Control. He released a song "Man Unkind" to raise awareness on the menace of fake and sub-standard food and drug products in Nigeria. In 2009, he was presented with the prestigious International Youth Ambassador for Peace Summit and the Nigeria Youth Merit Award by the National Youth Council of Nigeria in recognition of his contributions to youth development in Nigeria.

In January 2017, 2Baba announced a partnership with United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR). He made an initial donation of over US$11,000 to UNHCR for IDPs and returnees. In June 2017, he released a dedicated IDP-awareness song titled Hold My Hand to mark the World Refugee Day, and promised 60 percent of the proceeds from the song to the IDP cause. He has also collaborated with other NGOs like The Nigerian RedCross Society, Enough is Enough (EiE)(Office of the Citizen campaign), Youngstars Foundation and National Democratic Institute (for Vote Not Fight campaign). He is one of the most decorated and successful Afro pop artists in Africa, and is also one of the most bankable performing music artistes in Africa. With over 2 decades in the industry, 2Baba remains influential in the Nigerian Entertainment space.

Controversies On January 25, 2017, Tuface made an announcement through his Instagram handle that he would be leading a nationwide protest on February 5, 2017, the protest was against obnoxious policies implemented by the Muhammadu Buhari administration. In a way to stop the protest, the administration through the Lagos state police commissioner Fatai Owoseni, released a statement that the protest was ban in the state, stating that hoodlums would hijack it and use the protest to cause havoc, the statement was rebuffed and ignored publicly why publicity of the protest continued on social media. On February 4, 2017, Tuface released a video that he was cancelling the protest due to security reasons but rumors circulating around the digital space have it that the administration through the DSS picked him up earlier that day and pressured him to cancel the much-hyped protest, though he later made a series of tweets from his official Twitter account to deny the claim.

Discography With 8 successful studio albums and several single tracks and features, 2Baba's music catalog is an enviable one. Albums: 2004: Face 2 Face 2006: Grass 2 Grace 2009: The Unstoppable 2010: The Unstoppable International Edition 2012: Away & Beyond 2014: The Ascension 2014: Face 2 Face 10.0 2015: Rewind.Select.Update Singles: Man Unkind It's In There ft. Ishmeal Celebration (Naija @ 50) – ft. King David Play Your Part – 2face ft. Sanni Danja and Eve B. Break The Silence Vote Not Fight Coded Tinz – ft Phyno & Chief Obi. Officially Blind Oya Come Make We Go Babylon ft MI Mr Senator Officially Blind Remix Amplifier Hold My Hand Unconditional Love In Love And Ashes Holy Holy Gaga Shuffle ft. Larry Gaaga Amaka ft Peruzzi Oyi ft HI Idibia Frenemies Important

Awards and recognitions Innocent '2Baba' Idibia is Africa's most decorated and awarded artistes. 2Baba has received one MTV Europe Music Award One World Music Award Five Headies Awards (Hip-hop award) Four Channel O Music Video Awards One BET award for his musical work Four MTV Africa Music Awards One MOBO award One KORA award 3 Afrima Awards and numerous additional nominations. 2face Idibia is the first non-Liberian to become an honorary member of the Liberian music society in recognition for his outstanding contribution to the growth of music in Africa. In May 2016, 2Baba received an honorary Master of Arts in Music degree from Igbinedion University, Okada, Edo State, Nigeria. In March 2019, he was awarded a honorary fellow of the school of music by the Music Department, Obafemi Awolowo University. This made him the pioneer recipient of the award which was presented to him at the first public lecture and fellowship award, held on the 20th of March 2019.

Family and personal life 2face Idibia is married to Nigerian award-winning actress, movie producer, model and serial entrepreneur Annie Macaulay - Idibia. On 2 May 2012, 2Baba and Annie Macaulay married in Lagos, Nigeria in a private ceremony. A civil ceremony also held in Dubai, UAE on March 23, 2013 and had a high attendance of celebrities. The celebrity couple are parents to 2 girls; Olivia Idibia and Isabella Idibia. 2Baba is father to 7 kids; 5 kids from 2 previous relationships. 2face Idibia has survived near-death events, including gunshots from an armed robbery incident near Oshodi, Lagos. He is also a known philanthropist and humanitarian. Reference: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/2Baba Read the full article

[festivalists]

Through the olive trees

This is not the first time we turn our gaze to the cinema of Iran, yet it is the first time we actually had our own envoy in Tehran – we give you the 35th edition of Fajr International Film Festival as seen and instagrammed by Irina Trocan!

Starting with Abbas Kiarostami’s 1987 WHERE IS THE FRIEND’S HOME? / KHANE-YE DOUST KODJAST? (1987) and leading up to Asghar Farhadi’s THE SALESMAN / FORUSHANDE (2016), Iranian cinema has enjoyed great visibility abroad. Since there are strong similarities between many of these films, it even comes across as a unitary style, a national school, with Kiarostami as a mentor and Jafar Panahi as one of the most prominent representatives working today. These films are dramaturgically subtle (and supple), intended to give a sense of the bigger picture of Iranian society, as well as custom, self-reflexive, and with obvious framing devices (observing adult behavior from a child’s perspective, driving through the city with different passengers, summing up a marriage in front of a judge – to refer to just a few high-profile Iranian films from the past decades).

However, as it is the case with many new waves and cinemas, the fragment of yearly production that is visible abroad is a small and misleadingly homogenous one, while the view from within the borders of Iran is radically different. Reza Mirkarimi, Director of Fajr International Film Festival, claims that there were 60 Iranian film submissions for this edition of FIFF, while the total number of films made within a year is even higher – reportedly, 90-100 features every year, with over 130 made between March 2016 and March 2017. The overall production (you guessed it) is trying to do many different things beside emulating Kiarostami and Panahi.

But I would like to properly begin by making a specification about the Fajr festival – the source for a potential confusion that took me the first two days of the festival to clear up completely. A couple of months ahead of the international festival, there is the national event where a larger number of Iranian films is being shown, some of which are only programmed during FIFF as market screenings in order not to affect their chances to have an international-festival premiere somewhere else. What is added with FIFF is, well, the “international” bit of the programming, a line-up of recent festival darlings from around the world. According to the festival regulations, the team is on the lookout for films “that seek justice, defend the oppressed and underline humane and moral values.” Since several of the titles in the selection are by now well-known, I believe it is useful to give an overall impression: Cristian Mungiu’s GRADUATION / BACALAUREAT (2016), Agnieszka Holland's SPOOR / POKOT (2017), Andrzej Wajda's AFTERIMAGE / POWIDOKI (2016), the Dardenne brothers' THE UNKNOWN GIRL / LA FILLE INCONNUE (2016), François Ozon's FRANTZ (2016). The listed films are all tempered social critiques, with most of them taking no sides, although I will say that SPOOR is – due to its ending, which I will not spoil – radically ecologist.

Some of the international films might have worked well as double bills, especially Kim Ki-duk’s THE NET / GEUMUL (2016) and Bulgarian filmmakers Kristina Grozeva & Petar Valchanov’s GLORY / SLAVA (2016). The former – appropriately named for its tightly knit narrative construction – follows a North-Korean fisherman, Nam Chul-woo (Ryoo Seung-bum), whose boat engine malfunctions and, before he knows it, he drifts to the coast of South Korea. Held in awe as the author’s one-off political film, it might after all be about something rather philosophical, like the blight of power and/or the hopelessness of an individual who is unlucky enough to get caught between the wheels of the social machinery. It is hardly more socio-economically precise than, say, Park Chan-wook’s OLDBOY / OLDEUBOI (2003).

In a concrete sense, the fisherman suffers from the strictness of the South Korean intelligence service – he is suspected of being a spy until he is proven innocent and falls into the hands of an agent who does not shy away from using torture to get confessions. Back in North Korea, after having endured a lot, the protagonist is suspected of having been seduced by capitalism with his brief glimpse of a better life, and this time he is a suspect to his own government. Bottom line is: do not get on the wrong side of people who can ruin your life in the name of higher order. Although the protagonist is a larger-than-life honest citizen (and would hardly be believable were it not for the actor’s restrained ferocity in facing his oppressors), several allegorical scenes in the film are pretty effective: Nam Chul-woo is left alone on a Seoul street and desperately tries to keep his eyes closed, to resist taking in images of capitalism and a different way of life than the one he made for himself. The souvenir he takes home from South Korea is so innocent that it only becomes ridiculous when authorities of his homeland classify it as “evidence.” In short, Kim Ki-duk convincingly constructs a negative world view, and there is definitely a lot of craft to how the misery keeps on coming, but it helps to be a pessimist from the start to get on his wavelength.

In GLORY, a stuttered railway worker finds a pile of money on the train tracks and decides to hand it over to the authorities, and his honesty similarly does him in. Before he knows it, he is stuck between, on one side, the Ministry of Transport (they hold a public ceremony in his praise but otherwise neglect to pay him the previous months’ salaries and “award” him by giving him a watch while losing the better one he had already) and, on the other side, the press. The protagonist finds sympathy with a journalist for the way he has been mistreated by the Ministry, but is soon abandoned again and further abused by the Ministry for being a snitch. Again, the story, inspired by actual events and co-authored with screenwriter Decho Taralezhkov, strikes a chord for viewers who are cynical about social order in Eastern Europe – a temptation that is truly hard to resist, especially with the majority of us who work for neither the government, nor the press, and are forced to passively observe as everything goes awry. There are several fine touches in GLORY – for example, Stefan Denolyubov handles his character’s speech impediment as just one element of his life-long aloofness. He never thought to claim his rights before, and when he finally dared to do it, he discovered he does not have the necessary skills. The ceremony in his honor makes for a well-scripted scene: it is mostly a PR show of Ministry insiders, directing an extra to make the Minister look good on stage.

Since I had heard of what Iranian films are not allowed to show (kisses, nudity, women’s uncovered heads, physical contact between male and female performers who are not married in real life) I must admit I was curious as to how these restrictions applied to foreign films, since they did not need to respect them from script development onwards. By themselves, THE NET and GLORY, which I had not seen before FIFF, gave me an introduction to what censorship looked like. A woman wearing (what seemed to be) a sexy red dress in THE NET had her silhouette completely blurred out. Another woman, this time in GLORY, quietly sitting in the background and showing somewhat of a cleavage, had an extra patch of blurred pixels added on top of her blouse. Naked women’s legs (but not men’s legs!) were also hidden. To me, paradoxically, these edits rather had the effect of drawing attention to details that would not have seemed erotic in an unmodified shot. Festival films are less regulated to conform with morality than those aimed at a larger audience, and earnestness could not have been unflinchingly observed as the programmers selected Werner Herzog’s SALT AND FIRE (2016), but it seems to still be hard to find films that do not need edits.

The most moving film I have seen was Rithy Panh’s EXILE / EXIL (2016), which continues the endeavor of his THE MISSING PICTURE / L'IMAGE MANQUANTE (2013) of retelling recent history, for which no official image archive exists. A poetic reenactment of human suffering in late 1970s Cambodia (then known as Democratic Kampuchea), it takes place entirely inside a hut (or, more precisely, a theatrical set resembling it) and has a sole character – a nameless, quiet young male, whom one might suspect of being the filmmaker’s alter ego. The space is versatile enough to gain cosmic dimensions – a cardboard cut-out of the moon and a flock of menacing seagulls appear on occasion, hovering over the protagonist’s head, the floor magically morphs into a field or a patch of grass.

One scene is a leveled-surface reenactment of a Sisyphean task: as the man rolls a boulder from one wall of the room to the other, another boulder appears (through a cross-fade) where the first one had been. There are biographical allusions in the film, including a picture of a woman we assume to be Rithy Panh’s mother – but it all builds up to an essay film of life in poverty and isolation rather than anything more narratively precise. Close-ups of the protagonist eating an insect, or a chicken that does not come in ready-made crispy nuggets, remind viewers that basic survival is historically not a timeless, universal human right. The soundtrack is made up on meditations on exile that are no less devastating for being abstract – from thinkers and artists (Karl Marx, René Clair) to political leaders (Ho Chi Minh) – and their rapport to the image is always loose, engaging spectators in a poetic guessing-game.

Turning to even more recent history, Fajr IFF had a section of (mostly Iranian) films and documentaries, grouped in the section Broken Olive Trees. Among them was THE DARK WIND / REŞEBA (2016), an Iraqi-German-Qatari coproduction, directed by Hussein Hassan, about a Yazidi woman who escapes after being captured by the Islamic State but upon returning to Kurdistan is rejected by the family of her fiancé for losing her honor. Majed Neisi’s THE BLACK FLAG / PARCHAM E SIAAH (2015) documents the frontline of an Iraqi offensive against ISIS. I have unfortunately missed them due to conflicting scheduling, but I am still hoping to catch up with them somewhere else – they have been previously screened in the Stockholm International Film Festival and Busan, and Visions du Réel, respectively.

Going back full-circle to the Iranian films, let me state again that I was surprised by the diversity of their influences, though I would not necessarily say that all of them bring the influences to a cohesive whole. Fereydoun Jayrani's ASPHYXIA / KHAFEGI (2017) is a bleak film about a nun which might have gotten tricks on how to light somber interiors from Paweł Pawlikowski's IDA (2013). The nun, also facing dilemmas about her future, takes care of a sick woman gone mute who seems to be repressing something about her marriage, so there is a hint of Bergman's PERSONA (1966) in it, too, or is it George Cukor's GASLIGHT (1944)? Sadly, the narrative seems to switch to something else every time a certain element becomes interesting. Rambod Javan’s NEGAR (2017) entangles an investigation, fast-paced chases, the main female character’s rich-girl fascination, and several where-did-this-come-from dream sequences is frustrating in a similar way.

The purest genre film I saw (admittedly missing many, including the top-prize winner, Asghar Yousefinejad's 2017 directorial debut THE HOME / EV) is Alireza Davoodnejad’s FERRARI (2017) – it is mostly a city-traffic road movie featuring a girl whose interests are definitely less than spiritual (jewelry and expensive things in general, plus the eponymous rarity on wheels) and a driver who sees her defencelessly wandering around and has the chivalry to help. Moralizing overtones are hard to miss, but both characters are lively and their obstacle course is sufficiently engaging, although the end goal is by anyone’s perspective rather frivolous (the girl wants to find the Ferrari and take a photo with it to spite a friend), there is enough going on to maintain the suspense.

Certainly, there is a lot more to discover than I could have possibly absorbed in a week – especially since, being in Tehran, it was hard to resist the temptation to wander away from the cinema. Despite the Abbas Kiarostami poster exhibition, commissioned by the festival in his memory and lining the hallway of the Charsou cinema, a large part of recent Iranian production was less familiar than I had expected. I left the festival with the commitment to watch out for films that might otherwise fly under my radar – aside from the promise to fly back to Iran to visit Shiraz, and the Instagram handles of several of the Iranians I have met.

[your-dungeon-is-problematic]

Kuo-Toa (AD&D)

More fish people. These ones in particular are subterranean fish people, which, in my opinion, means that they shouldn’t have eyes, but they do, so, eh. I’ve heard the Kuo-Toa are tinged with a lot of the flavor of H.P. Lovecraft’s Deep Ones from The Shadow Over Innsmouth, but perhaps that’s something more from later editions than this one. But, we’ll see!

General: “Kuo-toa are an ancient race of fish-men that dwells underground and harbors a deep hatred of surface dwellers and sunlight. A kuo-toan presents a cold and horrible appearance. A typical specimen looks much like a human body, albeit a paunchy one, covered in scales and topped with a fish’s head. The huge fish eyes tend to swivel in different directions when observing an area or creature. The hands and feet are very long, with three fingers and an opposing digit, partially webbed. The legs and arms are short for its body size. Its coloration is pale grey, with undertones of tan or yellow in males only. The skin has a sheen from its slimy covering. The color darkens when the kuo-toan is angry and pales when it is badly frightened. A strong odor of dead fish follows it around.” Ah, right, “cold and horrible”. Already presenting a fair and balanced idea of what kuo-toans are, aren’t we? Honestly, maybe it would be creepier to see a more photorealistic portrayal, but as they’re represented by the little guy at the top of the page they look almost cute in a “weird fish-man” sort of way. The wide eyes and the fishy frown make him look rather hapless, but that might just be me. Also the detail about their skin coloration darkening with rage and paling with fear reminds me of how such emotional extremes tend to effect anime characters, which in and of itself also kind of detracts from their supposed “cold and horrible appearance”. And I suppose what is another strike against the “cold and horrible appearance” claim is that I’m not exactly being sold on the size of these guys. They’re listed as Medium creatures (with higher level ones being Large, as one does with enemy progression) but they have the rotundity and awkward limb sizes of halflings. Like take the picture given to us and label it “aquatic halfling” and I’d totally buy it. If they’re supposed to be Medium creatures I’m just going to be forced to sit here and wonder how they’re supposed to be a threat, between the stubby legs, and the skinny arms, and the soft, unprotected belly which evidently is 80% of their mass, and the heads which seem to preclude binocular vision... At least the Locathahs had the general proportions of something that stands at a man’s height. Here, the supposed menace of subterranean aquatic society is a bunch of naked flabby fish guys with stubby legs and skinny arms. “It wears no clothing, only leather harnesses for its weapons and gear. Typically, a kuo-toan warrior carries daggers, spears, shields, harpoons, and weighted throwing nets.” Again, unless I find something that says otherwise, their skin doesn’t look especially thick or protective, and while one might argue the leather harnesses in lieu of armor are to make sure they’re unhindered underwater, they’re already being loaded down by their four different kinds of weapons, plus the shield. At that point, and considering how awkward their body plan is for underwater locomotion already, they’d be better served with committing to armor, anyways. “Flabby naked fish people” don’t register as a major threat, certainly not one on the level of, say, the drow, or the mind flayers.  “Kuo-toa speak the strange subterranean trade language common to most intelligent underworld dwellers.”  Well! Then I fully expect them to be open to reasoned talks and negotiation, if they bothered to learn the lingua franca of the underground. The Underdark? Whatever we’re calling it, these days.  “Additionally, they speak their own arcane tongue and have empathic contact with most fish.” Like Aquaman? ...The empathic contact to fish, not the arcane tongue, that is. “Their religious speech is a corruption of the language used on the elemental plane of Water; if a kuo-toan priest is in a group of kuo-toa, it is 75% unlikely that a creature from the elemental plane of Water will attack, for the priest will request mercy in the name of the Sea Mother, Blibdoolpoolp.” That’s...actually a legitimately interesting concept. Kind of a poor name for a sea goddess, “Blibdoolpoolp”, but it almost suggests like some kind of primordial creation myth that might be more true than surface-dwellers would like to think, or something... I mean, if it has a tangible effect on peeps from the Elemental Plane of Water, you would think, eh?

Combat: “These creatures normally travel in well-armed bands. If more than 20 kuo-toa are encountered, it is 50% likely that they are within 1d6 miles of their lair.” ...I mean, I would assume so. Otherwise it’s a warband on the march, and that’s almost worse, really. “If more than 20 normal fighters are encountered, the group is a war [sic] consisting of the following: One 10th-level fighter as Captain Two 8th-level fighters as Lieutenants Four 3rd/3rd-level fighter/thief Whips One Monitor (see below) One slave per four kuo-toa” That’s really not something to sneeze at, depending on the level of your party. Hell, a party of 5 at 5th level or lower would probably really struggle with these guys. Damn. Almost a “End boss of a lower level adventure” threat, honestly. “The whips are fanatical devotees of the Sea Mother goddess of the kuo-toa. They inspire the troops to stand firm and fight without quarter for the glory of their ruler and their deity.” So the resident commissar/political officer, then, eh? “It is 50% probable that any kuo-toan priest above 6th level is armed with a pincer staff. This is a 5-foot-long pole topped by a three-foot-long claw. If the user scores a hit, the claw has closed upon the opponent, making escape impossible. The weapon can be used only on enemies with a girth range between an elf and a gnoll. It is 10% probable that both arms are pinned by the claw and 40% probable that one arm is trapped. If the victim is right handed, the claw traps the left hand 75% of the time. Trapped opponents lose shield and Dexterity bonuses. If the weapon arm is trapped, the victim cannot attack and the Dexterity bonus is lost, but the shield bonus remains.” ...That’s...silly. A little claw-grabber arm. That’s their big signature weapon. “OOOOH I’MMA GETCHA! GONNA GETCHA WITH MY GRABBY-POLE!” isn’t exactly...threatening. Now, being trapped and beset upon by all sides by remorseless fish people is a lot scarier, but it would be scarier if the distinct mental image in my head of this thing was not of a grabby-hand sort of child’s toy or reaching tool that old people sometimes have to use. It undercuts the menace, just a tad. “When two or more kuo-toan priests or priest/thieves operate together, they can generate a lightning stroke by joining hands. The bolt is two feet wide and hits only one target unless by mischance a second victim gets in the way. the bolt inflicts 6 points of damage perpriest, half that if a saving throw vs. spell is successful. The chances of such a stroke occurring is 10% cumulative per caster per round.” Uhhhh, guys, I don’t know if you know this, but you’re aquatic. Which means generally you’ll be found in/very near water. Which means you will conduct electricity super well, and as fish, will fry up deliciously, I’m afraid.  Now whether or not a divine magical bolt of lightning follows the rules of conductivity normal lightning does is up in the air, but that’s how I’d rule it. Zapping themselves in their bid to zap their enemies, brought low by their own hubris, the poor things... “Despite their eyes being set on the sides of their heads, they have excellent independent monocular vision, with a 180-degree field of vision and the ability to spot movement even though the subject is invisible, astral, or ethereal. Thus, by maintaining complete motionlessness, a subject can avoid detection. Kuo-toa also have 60-foot infravision and have the ability to sense vibrations up to 10 yards away. They are surprised only on a 1 on the 1d10 surprise roll.” ...Excuse me? How the bloody hell could you possibly see the movement of somebody who’s invisible, astral, or ethereal?? How would lacking binocular vision help you in that regard?? Even if I was to assume that invisibility in D&D is like the cloak from the Predator movies and it’s a shimmery sort of invisibility that you can spot if you’re aware and looking hard enough for it, but first of all, I do not think that’s how that’s supposed to work, and secondly, that’s the sort of vision that would be a whole hell of a lot harder to see if you did not have any sort of depth perception, which monocular vision by definition precludes. That’s such a non-sequitur that if you sprung that upon your players as a DM, they’d eviscerate you. Like, “I turn invisible and sneak up on the kuo-toa guarding the door.” “He can see you perfectly.” “...How?? I’m invisible! Is he wearing a magical item, or something?” “No, uh, he just...has eyes...on the sides of his head...” “...Are his eyes magical?” “...No?” “THEN THAT DOESN’T MAKE ANY SENSE” Seriously. It’s just a transparent attempt to make them seem like more of a threat than squat-looking fishy folk should be. “Kuo-toa are totally immune to poison and are not affected by paralysis. Spells that generally affect only humanoid types have no effect on them. Electrical attacks cause half damage, or none if the saving throw is successful; magic missiles cause only 1 point of damage; illusions are useless against them.” Okay, but again: why?? Poisons I could at least see them having some sort of natural biological immunity towards, but how are an aquatic species immune to electricity? Are they like the famed electric eel? I mean I know they were tossing some divine thunderbolts earlier, but I was willing to write that off as a fluke because it was magically summoned from their god, but if it’s any electrical attack, period, that is seriously weird, to me. And then just...no explanation as to why they only take a single point of damage from magic missiles, or why illusions don’t work (aside from the “side-mounted eyes” bullshit excuse from earlier), so I’m just left here scratching my head. “They suffer full damage from fire attacks and save with a -2 penalty against them.” Which makes sense, but if you’re fighting them in water, I wonder how any of that is affected... “Sometimes kuo-toa are encountered in small bands journeying in the upper world to kidnap humans for slaves and sacrifices. Such parties are sometimes also found in dungeon labyrinths that connect to the extensive system of underworld passages and caverns that honeycomb the crust of the earth. Only far below the surface of the earth can the intrepid explorer find the caverns in which the kuo-toa build their underground communities.” You know, it’s funny that so much is made of their apparently superhumanly acute vision when, as cave fish, you’d think they’d be blind, even totally eyeless. Also I’m not sure human slaves will survive for long in waterlogged caverns, but then I suppose that’s why raiding parties are seen at least somewhat regularly, based on their wording. ...And hold on, are “dungeon labyrinths” a common underground occurrence? How extensive is this system of underworld passages and cavers that honeycomb the crust of the earth? Is the surface world going to eventually fall victim to a giant-ass sinkhole once the underground civilizations bite off more than their infrastructure can chew? Is this how the kuo-toa will die, literally crushed by the surface world falling on top of them, the surface world they sought so desperately to annihilate?

Habitat/Society: “Kuo-toa spawn as do fish, and hatchlings, or fingerlings as they call their young, are raised in pools until their amphibian qualities develop, about one year after hatching. The young, now a foot or so high, are then able to breathe air and they are raised in pens according to their sex and fitness. There are no families, as we know them, in kuo-toan society.” I suppose it would be a little anthrocentric to presume they would have families exactly similar to those of human societies...but then, why does their method of child-rearing resemble human aquaculture, instead??  “Especially fit fingerlings, usually of noble spawning, are trained for the priesthood as priests, priest/thieves, or special celibate monks.” ...If there are no families, and you just dump your young into communal spawning pools to be born, how do you determine who is or is not “noble”? It’s hard to be of noble blood when there’s no noble familial system. “The latter are called ‘monitors’ whose role is to control the community members who become violent or go insane. The monitor is capable of attacking to subdue or kill.” ...I...does...does this happen often, for members of the community to just “become” violent or go insane, apropos of nothing? Because if it’s truly so common that you have a dedicated niche of this society specifically to control these segments of the population, perhaps a better mental health care system is in order. “A monitor has 56 hit points, attacks as a 7th-level fighter and has the following additional abilities: twice the normal movement rate, AC 1, and receives four attacks per round--two barehanded for 2d4 points of damage (double if trying to subdue) and two attacks with teeth for 1d4+1 points of damage. One hand/bite attack occurs according to the initiative roll, the other occurs at the end of the round.” ...I don’t know how well modern D&D stats translate back to ye olden ones, but that sounds like a pretty big threat for a low-level party. And even a middling party sounds like they might be liable to be swamped by these shoosh-slapping little grunts. “Subdued creatures cannot be larger than eight feet tall and 500 pounds. Subduing attacks cause only half real damage, but when the points of damage inflicted equal the victim’s total, the creature is rendered unconscious for 3d4 rounds.” And there it is. These are the guys who if you don’t take them out first they’ll slap you into unconsciousness for their fellows to murder at their leisure. Great. “Kuo-toan communities do not generally cooperate, though they have special places of worship in common. These places are usually for intergroup trade, councils, and worship of the Sea Mother, so they are open to all kuo-toa. These religious communities, as well as other settlements, are open to drow and their servants, for the dark elves provide useful goods and services, though the drow are both feared and hated by the kuo-toa. This leads to many minor skirmishes and frequent kidnappings between the peoples.” ...Okay, you can’t just leave it at “useful goods and services”. If the xenophobic hate and fear on both sides is so strong as to erupt into kidnappings and warfare, what is it that the dark elves are bringing to the table that make it worth it to the paranoid-and-hateful-as-hell kuo-toa allow them into their trading spaces? ...Is it spices? Spices are always popular. “The illithids (mind flayers) are greatly hated by the kuo-toa and they and their allies are attacked on sight.” ...Wait, so they hate and fear the drow, and yet still trade with them anyway, but since they hate the illithids, they attack them on sight? Well that’s bizarrely arbitrary. I mean, I know illithids eat brains for sustenance, so maybe they’re a little higher on the threat radar by default, but...? “The ancient kuo-toa once inhabited the shores and islands of the upper world, but as the race of mankind grew more numerous and powerful, these men-fish were slowly driven to remote regions. Continual warfare upon these evil, human-sacrificing creatures threatened to exterminate the species, for a number of powerful beings were aiding mankind, their sworn enemies.” ...So humanity had divine mandate to displace the kuo-toa? That’s...frankly a little bizarre? Like, okay, human sacrifice is bad, alright, but it seems to imply that humans were once unknown or at least a rarity insofar as the surface-dwelling kuo-toa knew, so I’m wondering what the hell they sacrificed before humans came around. Other kuo-toa? Like what aside from “inexplicable inherent bias towards humanity” was the justification of these deities to support them over the kuo-toa? Was the impetus just “all kuo-toa are inescapably, irredeemably evil, to a man?” Or, to paraphrase a joke from one of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, these fish people, by dint of being fish people, are inherently less civilized than non-fish people? “Some kuo-toa sought refuge in sea caverns and secret subterranean waters, and while their fellows were being slghtered, these few prospered and developed new powers to adapt to their lightless habitat." Bio-luminescence? Like, angler fish-esque lures? That sounds interesting! And prosperous, too, you say? “The seas contained other fierce and evil creatures, however, and the deep-dwelling kuo-toa were eventually wiped out, leaving only those in the underworld to carry on, unnoticed and eventually forgotten by mankind.” Oh. ...Well that sucks. “But the remaining kuo-toa have not forgotten mankind, and woe to any who fall into their slimy clutches.” Okay, humanity ruined your surface abodes, to be sure, but at the very least, for equity’s sake, you got to at least put whatever deep-dwelling sea bastards wiped out your angler-cousins right below mankind. Hell, considering how dominant mankind is in 99% of D&D settings, you might even consider taking out whoever nailed your sea brethren first, since they’re almost certainly easier to wipe out than humans. ...Not that I would condone wiping anybody out, though. I’m just saying, as long as you’re jotting down species-wide vendettas. “Now the kuo-toa are haters of sunlight and are almost never encountered on the earth’s surface. This, and their inborn hatred of discipline, prevent the resurgence of these creatures, for they have become numerous once again and acquired new powers.” ...Wait, I was making a joke by quoting Pirates of the Carribbean, what the hell. “Inborn hatred of discipline”, seriousy?! “However, they have also become somewhat unstable, possibly as a result of inbreeding, and insanity is common among the species.” ...Wait, wait, so now you’re saying that any player characters would not be fighting the battered but resolute remnants of an ancient evil empire, but would instead be fighting their cripplingly inbred descendants, most of whom suffer from mental illness? Aside from their nobles, who are listed as having “priest/thief” as their class, and ranging from 10th-14th level depending on where on the aristocratic totem pole they sit, other kuo-toa you’ll find in a given lair include, but are not limited to: “Eight Eyes of the priest leader--6th- to 8th-level priest/thieves One Chief Whip--6th/6th-level fighter/thief Two Whips of 4th/4th or 5th/5th level (see whip description) One Monitor per 20 2nd-level kuo-toa Females equal to 20% of the male population Young (noncombatant) equal to 20% of the total kuo-toa Slaves equal to 50% of the total male population”. So if you’re going into a lair, and assuming you’re tough enough to kill the kuo-toa warriors and free the slaves, because you’re the good guys...what are you going to do with the women and children? I mean, the adult women are obviously still indoctrinated into this culture of hatred, but the children...most of them are presumably at a tender enough age to prevent them from becoming evil slavers, right? Especially considering they might also be suffering from mental illness? Is the party not obliged to ensure these kids have some manner of sustainable, happy life? Do you just leave the children to die? Do you give them to the escaping slaves and tell them to raise them as their own, despite the fact that most of these slaves probably would do nothing but vent their rage against their oppressors upon these miniaturized versions of them? ...I don’t really have an answer, but seriously, if you’re playing them as written here, you’re going to have to deal with the “Oh God, what do I do with all these freshly orphaned fish children” question. “Though kuo-toa prefer a diet of flesh, they also raise fields of kelp and fungi to supplement their food supply. These fields, lit by strange phosphorescent fungi, are tended by slaves, who are also used for food and sacrifices.” So here’s a thought that comes to me yet again: if these slaves are, implicitly, human or at least close (elven, dwarf, halfling, gnome, the usual suspects), why use them as sacrifice material in their religious rituals to their Sea Mother? Like I know we’re not exactly given some comprehensive look at the deepest lore of their religion, at least, not here, like, I get it, but I just don’t understand why the Sea Mother would prefer things that do not come from the sea as her sacrifice of choice. It seems like a little bit of a stretch, to me.

Ecology: Yeah, I know, “How is this article still going?” Like, for using nearly two full pages of this book they seem to say surprisingly little about how their society theoretically operates. Like, if they hate the surface so much, how do they get the slaves who apparently are integral to the regular functions of their society, their religion, even? Do they buy them off drow raiding parties? Despite hating and fearing the drow? Though evidently trust them more than the illithids, whom they hate and fear to the point of not trading with them? It don’t make a lick of sense, if’n you ask me. Anyway. “Not much is known to surface-dwelling sages about this enigmatic, violent, subterranean race, but some of the more astute scholars speculate that the kuo-toa are but one-third of the three-way rivalry that includes mind flayers and drow. It is partially because of this continuing warfare that none of the three races has been able to achieve dominance of the surface world.” ...Yeah, I suppose that hits the nail right on the head, there, doesn’t it.

Overall: I... I don’t know about this one, guys. They give us a lot of vagaries without really saying a whole awful lot about what they’re really like, aside from “Evil, slave-holding, human-sacrificers; worship a Sea Mother named ‘Blibdoolpoolp”. The locathah had half the information imparted, are not Chaotic Evil, and yet I still think they’re way more interesting as presented than the kuo-toa are.  I mean, the backstory has some value, I think? But it still needs some more fleshing out, more definition, more nuance.  I suppose the intent is that your Dungeon Master does that, but that seems kind of like a cop-out to me.