An Update To My Blog, About My Plans For It Over The Next Few Months.

OKAY, WE ARE AT THE END OF JULY AND I’M STILL OBSESSING OVER MAD MAX : FUCKING FURY ROAD, HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE ? Tell me please i’m not the only one

I had the same thought. After all, what’s the fun of patroning an artist if you don’t make them suffer?

I swear, I've half a mind to lobby for Rick and Morty in your Patreon...

Ok. I might despise it.

please fucking vote

I still think that my favorite urban legend/folklore fact is that there are certain areas in New Orleans where you cannot get a taxi late at night not because it isn’t safe, but because taxi companies have had recurring problems of picking up ghosts in those areas who are not aware that they are dead and disappearing from the cab before reaching the destination and therefore stiffing the driver on the fare causing a loss for the company.

look at this

colors

i feel like we don’t talk about things like this enough

Man, Ophelia gets even more screwed in this version.

Hamlet, Scooby-Doo Style

[This is one of the funniest, most brilliant damn things I’ve ever read.  It dates from very early Internet days and I thought it deserved resurrection to Le Tumble]

This recently discovered folio edition of “Hamlet” follows other known versions closely until Act V, Scene II, where it begins to diverge at line 232, as will be seen:

KING: …`Now the king drinks to Hamlet.’ Come, begin, And you the judges, bear a wary eye.

Trumpets sound. HAMLET and LAERTES take their stations

HAMLET: Come on, sir.

LAERTES: Come, my lord.

Enter FRED, DAPHNE, VELMA, SHAGGY, AND SCOOBY

DAPHNE: Wait!

SHAGGY: Stop the fight!

HAMLET and LAERTES put up their foils

KING: I like this not. Say wherefore you do speak?

FRED: Good lord, I pray thee, let thy anger wait. For we, in seeking clues, have found the truth Behind the strange events of latter days.

VELMA: The first clue came from Elsinore’s high walls, Where, so said Hamlet, Hamlet’s ghost did walk. Yet though the elder Hamlet met his death, And perforce hath been buried in the ground, ‘Tis yet true one would not expect a ghost To carry mud upon his spectral boots. Yet mud didst Shaggy and his faithful hound Espy, with footprints leading to a drop. This might, at first, indeed bespeak a ghost… Until, when I did seek for other answers, I found a great, wide cloth of deepest black Discarded in the moat of Elsinore. ‘Tis clear, the “ghost” used this to slow his fall While darkness rendered him invisible.

FRED: The second clue we found, my lord, was this.

KING: It seems to me a portrait of my brother In staine’d glass, that sunlight may shine through.

FRED: But see, my lord, when placed before a lantern–

KING: My brother’s ghost!

HAMLET: My father!

VELMA: Nay, his image.

FRED: In sooth, that image caught the Prince’s eye When he went to confront his lady mother. Nor did his sword pierce poor Polonius. For Hamlet’s blade did mark the castle wall Behind the rent made in the tapestry. Polonius was murdered by another. The knife which killed him entered from behind.

LAERTES: But who?

FRED: Indeed my lords, that you shall see.

HAMLET: And if this ghost was naught but light and air, Then what of that which I did touch and speak to?

The GHOST enters.

GHOST: Indeed, my son.

SHAGGY: Zoinks!

DAPHNE: Jenkies!

GHOST: Mark them not. Thou hast neglected duty far too long. Shall this, my murderer, live on unharmed? Must I remain forever unavenged?

SCOOBY and SHAGGY run away from the GHOST. SCOOBY, looking backward, runs into a tapestry, tearing it down. As a result, tapestries around the walls collapse, one surrounding the GHOST.

GHOST: What?

FRED: Good Osric, pray restrain that “ghost”, That we may reach the bottom of the matter. Now let us see who truly walked tonight.

FRED removes the helm and the disguise from the GHOST’S face.

ALL: Tis Fortinbras!

FRED: The valiant prince of Norway!

FORTINBRAS: Indeed it is, and curses on you all! This Hamlet’s father brought my own to death, And cost me all my rightful heritage. And so I killed this king, and hoped his son Would prove no obstacle to Norway’s crown. Then Claudius bethought himself the killer (As if one might be poisoned through the ear!) The brother, not the son, took Denmark’s throne, And held to Norway with a tighter grip. I swore an end to Denmark’s royal house. I spoke to Hamlet of his uncle’s crimes. Then killed Polonius to spark Laertes. This day, with poison’s aid, all might have died, And Denmark might have come to me as well As my beloved Norway and revenge. My scheme blinded them all, as if by fog But for these medd'ling kids and this their dog.

KING: The villain stands confessed. Now let us go. For much remains to us to be discussed. And suitable reward must needs be found For these, our young detectives and their hound.

EXEUNT OMNES. Copyright 1993 Michael S. Schiffer

Imagine hearing about a play that ran for one night only.

Everything you know about it is second-hand at best. If you’re lucky, you might be able to talk to someone who saw it. If you’re really lucky, they’ll even be telling the truth. More likely, everything that comes to you is of the “I know a guy whose second cousin’s former roomate was in the audience” variety.

With a bit of digging, maybe you can get your hands on some of the props and costumes, though there’s nothing to tell you how they were used. Maybe even a few pages of the script - though as any student of theatre can tell you, what it says in the script and what actually went down on stage are often two very different things.

Now: imagine writing fanfic based on this play you’ve never seen and never will, without so much as a decent plot summary to guide you.

If that sounds reasonable to you, congratulations: you may have what it takes to be an historian.