I want some dance scenes in my Justice League movie. You know, just Barry Allen and Hal Jordan looking deep into one another’s eyes. Meanwhile, Bruce Wayne skulks in the corner, trying to simultaneously figure out how Jordan gets abs so taut, and also how to break all their bones with his martini glass. So I say “fuck you, and good riddance” to any script Warner Bros. cancels that doesn’t contain such dreams of mine.
Here’s a brilliant way to keep your email secure. Don’t fucking use any! Goddamn. Why didn’t I think of that? I imagine it’d be harder to pull off if I was the head of something, though. If I had to run something enormous. Maybe a bloated off-shoot of the military industrial complex. Like, oh, shit, Homeland Security! I mean, I couldn’t possibly stay in contact with people without it. It’d be impossible. Right?
[legend has it that Ernest Hemingway wrote a six-word story to win a bar bet — For sale: baby shoes, never worn. leading to the author’s birthday, I’m going to offer a daily post of my own six-word story. readers are encouraged to respond with their own]
Burn it down. Digest the ashes.