Me & The Derb are happy enough though #gpoyab (Taken with instagram)

So here’s my new favourite thing that Alex at work has invented (and I have decided to elevate to an art-form): Vividly yet soberly describing the contents of internet shock videos in the form of little notes.

(…which are then left innocently, for example, on the desks of co-workers who are, for example, reluctant to click links in, for example, work IRC channels.)

[Play Time] directs us to look around at the world we live in (the one we keep building), then at each other, and to see how funny that relationship is and how many brilliant possibilities we still have in a shopping-mall world that perpetually suggests otherwise; to look and see that there are many possibilities and that the play between them, activated by the dance of our gaze, can become a kind of comic ballet, one that we both observe and perform…” Jonathan Rosenbaum, the Chicago Reader

thinkstank:

TV show, set in the same time period and on the same vessel as Star Trek: The Next Generation, but during the graveyard shift when all the A-list crew members are sleeping or, in Riker’s case, fucking someone or something.

Night Shift’s crew are anxious, bitter depressives, aware that while…

Current status.

(via elizaevans)

This. A thousand times this.

(Source: thatlemontwist, via theinternetaccordingtoadrian)

I just wanted to post this because it appeals to that part of me that likes to take frivolous things very seriously. Ghostbusters - like Groundhog Day* - is a film that could so easily have been made into a ‘proper’ film and wears its lightness of touch and deft script very easily. All the flashes of ‘proper’ film making are here extracted and assembled along with the Inception soundtrack. Hurrah! Knockout.

Ever since I was watching this film on a cruddy VHS taped from the telly, I always loved the shot of Ecto-1 going across the (Brooklyn?) bridge as night gathers. It appears in the above video at about 25 seconds; in the film though, it comes right at the start of the final act, when the tone of the film lurches into the dark - and that lonely, dusky helicopter shot has always stood out for me, possibly because I think its the only such shot in the film and is probably c-grade 2nd unit material. 

There’s a desperate loneliness to it that even now makes me feel anxious - and that feeling only makes the *fucking astonishing* climax to the film all the more feel-good.

Anyway, that’s what I wanted to say. 

* Don’t believe me? Let’s get drunk together, you and me. I’ll make you believe me. 

Merry Christmas. If Nuns weren’t awesome then Jesus never would’ve married them. Or whatever.

(Source: mociun)

xerode:

Best. Snowmen. EVER.

(Ref)

(via chrismear)

Found it here on Metafilter, couldn’t believe it. Had to get it out there. God bless you 

My Dear General Connor:

Your letter requesting my formula for mixing mint juleps leaves me in the same position in which Captain Barber found himself when asked how he was able to carve the image of an elephant from a block of wood. He said that it was a simple process consisting merely of whittling off the part that didn’t look like an elephant.
The preparation of the quintessence of gentlemanly beverages can be described only in like terms. A mint julep is not a product of a formula. It is a ceremony and must be performed by a gentleman possessing a true sense of the artistic, a deep reverence for the ingredients and a proper appreciation of the occasion. It is a rite that must not be entrusted to a novice, a statistician nor a Yankee. It is a heritage of the Old South, and emblem of hospitality, and a vehicle in which noble minds can travel together upon the flower-strewn paths of a happy and congenial thought.
So far as the mere mechanics of the operation are concerned, the procedure, stripped of its ceremonial embellishments, can be described as follows:
Go to a spring where cool, crystal-clear water bubbles from under a bank of dew-washed ferns. In a consecrated vessel, dip up a little water at the source. Follow the stream thru its banks of green moss and wild flowers until it broadens and trickles thru beds of mint growing in aromatic profusion and waving softly in the summer breeze. Gather the sweetest and tenderest shoots and gently carry them home. Go to the sideboard and select a decanter of Kentucky Bourbon distilled by a master hand, mellowed with age, yet still vigorous and inspiring. An ancestral sugar bowl, a row of silver goblets, some spoons and some ice and you are ready to start.
Into a canvas bag pound twice as much ice as you think you will need. Make it fine as snow, keep it dry and do not allow it to degenerate into slush. Into each goblet, put a slightly heaping teaspoonful of granulated sugar, barely cover this with spring water and slightly bruise one mint leaf into this, leaving the spoon in the goblet. Then pour elixir from the decanter until the goblets are about one-fourth full. Fill the goblets with snowy ice, sprinkling in a small amount of sugar as you fill. Wipe the outside of the goblets dry, and embellish copiously with mint.
Then comes the delicate and important operation of frosting. By proper manipulation of the spoon, the ingredients are circulated and blended until nature, wishing to take a further hand and add another of its beautiful phenomena, encrusts the whole in a glistening coat of white frost.
Thus harmoniously blended by the deft touches of a skilled hand, you have a beverage eminently appropriate for honorable men and beautiful women.
When all is ready, assemble your guests on the porch or in the garden where the aroma of the juleps will rise heavenward and make the birds sing. Propose a worthy toast, raise the goblets to your lips, bury your nose in the mint, inhale a deep breath of its fragrance and sip the nectar of the gods.
Being overcome with thirst, I can write no further.

Sincerely,
Lt. Gen. S.B. Buckner, Jr.
VMI Class of 1906

A lot of people asked. Here is why Miranda is funny.

1) You will notice that no one likens a politician to a farm animal for its entire length; It is not ‘satirical’

2) You will notice that no one is seen to drop their aitches or “take liberties”; It is not ‘gritty’

3) You will notice that often mirth is engendered through the use pratfalls, monkey-shines and slapstick; It is not ‘experimental’.

4) You will notice that the hilarity of jokes is not heightened through a reliance on the word fuck; It is not ‘adult’.

5) You will notice that it is not fascinated by pointlessly broken people living pointlessly broken lives; It is not ‘authentic’.

For thirty minutes a week, something that somebody actually crafted (and I do mean crafted, you can almost see the chisel marks) comes on that doesn’t pander, or try too hard or push envelopes.

At the end, the people in it stand and smile and wave at the camera while a real audience applauds. Partially they stand and wave because they’re proud enough of what they’ve done; partially they stand and smile and wave because if it was good enough for Jimmy fucking Perry its good enough for you, alright dickhead?

(This is extracted from a longer, more freeform piece entitled “Frankie Boyle: Why Did You Just Call The Prime Minster A Cunt, Cunt?” that I am currently scrawling in excrement on my hotel wall.)

murketing:

“Atomic Cake From left: U.S. Navy Vice Admiral William H. P. Blandy, his wife, and Rear Admiral Frank J. Lowry cut a cake made in the shape of a mushroom cloud at a reception for Operation Crossroads, November 6, 1946.”

Dinosaurs and Robots: I’m Sorry, A WHAT In The Shape Of A WHAT?

(Source: reddit.com, via nostrich)