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#he’s literally spawn of Satan I can’t think of any good qualities
haram-jaan · 3 years
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#I have to live knowing I’m related to literal scum of the earth#which is fine#but my mum has to live knowing she raised him lol#it’s weird he’s a direct result of their parenting#he’s exactly what they wanted#misogyny sexism racism homophobia all of it#and I went the opposite direction#but bc their parenting is so different for a boy vs a girl#it was obvious that would happen#but the fundamentals are the same if u were a decent person u would’ve realised that it’s wrong#but instead when my dad cuts me off for months at a time he thinks it’s justified#he laughs when my dad lashes out at me#he laughs when I’m crying#he’s literally spawn of Satan I can’t think of any good qualities#that reminds me#at almost every big part of my life so far my dad hasn’t been talking to me#when I finished school and got into uni#first year of uni#final year#lol#I refuse to let him take credit for my achievements bc everything I’ve achieved I have done so on my own#plus the fact that I’ve had to do it under severe emotional duress & trauma lol#I rly sat trying to finish my degree in a pandemic while my dad screamed the house down everyday talking about how useless I am#:))))))))))))) and then when I got my results he wasn’t talking to me#so he went n told everyone else before congratulating me looooool#shit that my mum thinks I’m to blame for everything#a lot of the time I’ve gotten in serious shit for defending her#and she’s blamed me lol#:)#anyway I think it’s time to sleep
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bruhwhyth0 · 3 years
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WHY THO?
Jesus Christ I was really hoping I’d never have to do this again. I honestly don’t know what is worse, having to watch another shitty movie or rereading my old blog posts and realizing that they were lower in quality than the movies I was reviewing. Fortunately it doesn’t really matter because I know for a fact that my -2 followers don’t seem to mind. But here I am. Once again I must swallow my pride and sumit myself to literal torture all in the name of a grade. To my suprise choosing a crappy movie was almost as difficult as watching one. So many options. So much low hanging fruit. However movies of this nature can always be a mixed bag. I remember when I first started this blog a few years ago some reviews never left my drafts because I didn't have much to write about. Sometimes a movie is so mediocre, so bad, that it can’t even excel at being an awful pile of crap. I chose to write about bad movies because I figured it would be entertaining. You’d think some films, in their own demented way, could at least entertain. But no. Can’t even get that right. I’d find myself at 2’o’clock in the morning looking at my notes only to realize that I basically wrote nothing. All I had was a lingering sense of regret and confusion; like I’d just woken up from a drunken one night stand. All I could do is ask myself, “What the hell did I just watch?” So as I revisit this deserted island I call my blog for what most likely will be the last time, I want to make sure that it is worth it. If I’m going to verbally assault a movie, I’m going to make sure it is an easy target. That was my thought process at least. I soon realized that just because a movie is easy to write about, that doesn’t mean it is easy to watch.
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So what movie did I force upon my soul do you ask? Why CATS of course. Because who doesn’t like Cats? Everyone loves cats. What’s not to love about an ungrateful and rude animal that walks around your house like it owns the place. An animal that bites, scratches, and claws at anything it deems unworthy. “Let's make a movie, based off the perverted 80s Broadway production that centered around these literal spawns of Satan,” said every Hollywood executive with their head up their ass. As a matter of fact they thought it was such a good idea that they dropped 95 million U.S. dollars on it.
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Now before I continue, as I typed “cats budget” in my google search bar, take a guess what came up after “cats bu..”. CATS BUTTHOLE SMELL. Are you fucking kidding me? What the hell is wrong with people? I tried recreating it in the search bar to screenshot but I couldn’t get it to come up, but trust me. I know what I saw. What is it with cat people man? Seriously. Really threw me off my train of thought.
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But yeah, 95 big ones. A lot of good things could have been done with that money, but nope. We needed a live action adaptation of Cats. Did anyone who thought this was a good idea even see the play? That shit was weird. I didn’t watch it, cause, well why the hell would I?
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But from the bare minimum research that I did do, the general consensus was that it was a shitty play that made lots of money because people are dumb and will watch anything. I guess producers were hoping lightning would strike twice. If you saw the play you would know that there is literally no plot. It has nothing. It is literally a bunch of weirdos dressed like anthropomorphic cats dry humping each other and singing for 2 hours. I swear its target audience had to consist of lonely 12 years old, sad housewives, and perverts. I tried watching the musical just to get a general reference of the living hell I was going to put myself in only to be utterly mortified. My eyes and ears didn’t last 5 minutes. How it made all the money it did baffles me. But I’m not here to talk about this crime against humanity, I’m here to rip into its bastard child. And boy, oh boy, is there a lot to talk about.
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$14.99 in and I’m already regretting my life choices. Everything in my life has led me to this moment and I really wish I could change that. Thanks to what a box office bomb this movie was, I can’t rent it anywhere. I can only buy it. Figures. You're already off to a bad start movie. 2 minutes into the opening scene and I already hate it. People walking around on all fours in fursuits, licking their genitals, singing dancing, some crappy asymmetric musical. WHY! Oh god why did people make this? What kind of furry bullshit is this? I am going to be completely transparent. I’m writing this while I’m watching the movie. I’m not even 5 minutes in and I want to blow my brains out. This is not hyperbole, I wish it was. I can’t dude. I can’t watch this fucking movie. All the characters speak in these weird haikus with British accents. I can’t. I just can’t. I don’t know what anyone is saying half the freaking time. So many made up words and phrases. It's like the script was written by some Dr. Suess rejected. I genuinely have no idea what is going on. I was really hoping that for once one of my reviews wouldn’t sound like the rantings of a madman. But I can’t help it. This crap is rotting my brain. Seriously what is going on. Maybe I’m a simpleton who doesn’t get musicals, but I shit you not there is no plot. I have no idea what the hell is going on. How do you have a movie with no plot?
It’s just singing about being cats... and their FEET. JESUS CHRIST THEY HAVE FEET. No CGI paws. BARE. HUMAN. FEET. God why. How as an actor, do you go on set, act like a literal animal and tell yourself, “yeah this is gonna pan out great.” How did they sit down and go, “I’m going to sit here, lick a fake bowl of milk, sing and dance nonsense, then proceed to lick my non-existent cat balls.” I literally watched an actor snarl directly into the camera. When I went to find out who it was, I was unsurprised to see that all the pictures of the actors were gone. Just names. With a little digging I found out it was Ian Mckellen, you know, from Lord of the Rings. Magneto from Xmen. That Ian Mckellen. Yup, and he snarled to the camera like a cat. Anything for a paycheck right? Who am I to judge, I watched 2019’s Cats for an English class. Who is really losing here, cause frankly I don’t know anymore. If I have anything positive to say about this movie is that it has less dry humping than its source material. Key word less. I better get an A for this.
An hour into the movie and I still don’t know what the fuck is going on. Some dude in overalls is tap dancing. He's a “railway cat” cause he's a conductor or something. I physically cannot do this. I'm dying on the inside. A light inside me is slowly fading. Countless abhorrent musical numbers. Too many for a man to take. To put things in perspective, I did not like Hamilton. Did I respect it for what it was? Of course. Not my cup of tea though. Hamilton was a great musical, arguably one of the best, and I did not enjoy it whatsoever. Now here I am watching Cats. Just a little perspective.
As I came to the end of the movie I saw that I missed all kinds of things. There was a love plot, some kind of contest, and villain. But that didn’t concern me. All I could focus on was how I wasted an hour and a half of my life. 
An hour and a half wasted on this.
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Do you think God left us because he feared what he created? I sure as hell do. The philosophers were right. Everyday Pantheism is making more and more sense. And if not that nihilism. God is dead. God is most certainly dead. Don’t believe me? The GIF above is all the proof you need.
I was hoping that for once one of these blogs would have some sense of conformity. Some sort of cohesion. Maybe an ounce of legitimacy. But I couldn’t. There is something about these movies that drain the life from you. Every second spent looking at my computer screen I felt brain cells dying. I might as well have drunk a whole 750 milliliter bottle of Everclear. That or bang my head against a wall for 15 minutes. Either would have been just as effective; and probably more efficient.
I thought that I could improve upon the quality of my blog. When I reread my old post I realized that they had no depth. I thought maybe it was me. Right? I was 15, What did I know about good writing? No. It never had anything to do with me. Movies like Cats are such horrendous abominations of human creation, that there is literally no way to talk about them with any form of professional effort. They are shallow. There is nothing to analyze. How can you analyze garbage? Art requires respect if it wants to be reviewed and judged accordingly. Cats and films like it don’t have my respect and never will. I type this with immense pleasure. Never again. Never will I ever put myself through this bull again. Thankfully, for the last time. I can ask Why Tho?
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Review: Having Kids
 Considering how self-destructive my last review was (I was homeless for a day, ended up in the hospital, and I lost all my belongings), I decided that I might as well continue my trend of ruining my life. I became a parent! And god damn, I have made a huge mistake.
Let me get one thing out of the way; I am only a temporary parent, simply borrowing this hell spawn of a 2-year-old for my review. Yes, the real parents are aware that I am watching their child, but what they don’t know is that I called a priest to come perform an exorcism on this demon.
He’s currently screaming at the top of his lungs because I won’t let him jump off the kitchen counter while holding a plastic bag above his head. He thinks it’ll act as a parachute. I think he’ll end up knocking himself out.
You know what? I could use some peace and quiet…
I must say, I am certainly not cut out for this shit. And by that, I mean the literal shit that a child can’t clean off itself. How in the world are any of us here right now? How did any parent in history not open up their child’s diaper, see the crime scene that the child created, and not just give their child to Goodwill? My parents are incredible people for putting up with having to clean me without using a spray gun attached to the end of a garden hose. How the hell did this child managed to get crap on his chest? I almost just tossed him in my community’s pool with water wings in hopes that soaking would get the mess off the child, and that the chlorine would sanitize him somehow so that I wouldn’t have to touch him.
Feeding Lucifer Jr (his real name is Mark, if you care at all) was a bigger disaster than Taylor Swift’s single “Look What You Made Me Do” (Mini review: That songs sucks ass. We get it, people have been mean to you. Grow up. 2 out of 10). The kid has teeth, so I thought maybe he might like some pizza. Dominos came, and as soon as I opened the door to receive the pizza I had ordered, that kid ran out of the door like a dog that hasn’t gone to the bathroom all day. He took a wrong turn though and fell down the stairs outside of my apartment. Here’s to hoping he learned some kind of lesson from it.
After he cried about his “owie”, I finally sat him down and gave him some pizza. Somehow, that pizza went from a little slice of culinary heaven, with hot melty cheese, robust sauce, and garlicy crust, to being both an art medium and a fucking weapon. I stepped away for a total of 34 seconds before returning to have a balled-up piece of crust chucked at me. After dodging the attack, I saw the mural that the kid painted on my white walls in bright red tomato sauce. I must say, if anyone decides that the newest art craze is tiny handprints smeared all over MY GOD DAMN APARTMENT, then this kid’s going to be rich.
I put Mark in timeout after he demonstrated that he has been studying art composition in between his naps and screaming bloody fucking murder. He cried for a minute or two, then my apartment became completely silent. “Oh shit, what is this little hellion up to?” I thought to myself as I went to check on him. I peeked into the room that he was spending his timeout in, and he happened to be asleep. Oh my goodness, what a relief it was to know that I could clean up the mess Mark had made without having to worry if he was going to jump out of the window because he saw a penny on the ground or something stupid like that.
Midway through cleaning tomato sauce off the walls, I heard a door open, and the child walked up to me with a smile on his face. “Hey little dude” I said, acknowledging that he was kind of cute now that he wasn’t harming himself or my home. Mark just stared at me, which at first I thought was because he was tired, so it was cute. After a while it became weird, and my smiling face soon turned to perplexed. If my face were a headline, it would have read “What The Fuck Are You Looking At, Kid?”.
Finally, Mark opened his mouth. He was no longer cute. He vomited everywhere.
EVERYWHERE. And it was a lot. Like, an ungodly amount. Like, enough to make me call a priest to have him rid the demons that haunt this little kid. I thought his head was going to spin around 360 degrees. I was expecting the kid to put a curse on me, or start speaking in tongues. I swear to god it was a continuous stream of vomit for like 3 minutes without stopping to catch his breath. The amount of barf that ended up on my carpet and walls probably weighed more than this two-year-old does.
That’s when I broke. I set down my cleaning supplies, sat on the couch, and cried. I had been a parent for all of 2 hours, and already I wanted to drop this child off at the mall and have him figure things out from there. I called his mother to have her pick up Mark. And I called the priest to let him know that the exorcism was to be held at Mark’s house, not my place.
Being a parent sucks ass. I don’t even have a child, I just babysat one for 2 hours and decided “Hell no”.
Poop, vomit, and screaming aside, there are so many other things that Mark’s mom has told me about being a parent that sounds like a total waste of time. Apparently, Mark has an older sister, and Mark’s sister doesn’t like to acknowledge anything that her parents do for her. That sounds worse than everything I had to deal with in the 2 hours that I’ve had Mark. Lucky that’s not my child. I thrive off acknowledgement.
That’s why I write these stupid reviews.
Being a parent gets a 2 out of 10. Holy shit, what a terrible job it is to be in charge of a child. I wouldn’t wish it upon my worst enemies.
Except for Mark. He deserves the worst things in life.
The only redeeming quality was that it was pretty funny to watch this kid try to put his shoes on. He kept falling over and getting frustrated, and damn, it was so satisfying. It was like watching someone you don’t like much get a parking ticket, or like watching a kid that is a direct descendant of Satan himself get mad that he can’t put on his shoes because he’s a stupid 2-year-old.
Now if you’ll excuse me, Mark’s mother is here, and I have to pretend that her monster of a child was a perfect little angel, because for some reason, it’s wrong to speak the truth on how shitty other people’s kids are to the parents’ faces.
-Sebastian Schielie
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lustforvillainy · 5 years
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SOLO - Who are they to judge what is right and what is wrong?
|| C o n t e x t : during the early 2016 comics Selina was put into Arkham for the 237 murders. Ones that by the end were not done by her. But by her best friend, Holly. Who Selina took the absolute blame for. This is my take on prior to her freedom. And an AU of sorts. Since this is my Catwoman and she is much darker than other interpretations. ||
Isolation. One of the worst things you can do to a person. Strip away their connections to others and you are certain to drive that individual into dire madness. Which-- does best the whole point of Arkham Asylum doesn't it? The point is to form connections. To make yourself a better person, to have reasons for their good behaviour.
Yet it failed. Time and time again, Arkham's infamous loons manage to slip in and out. In and out. Why was Arkham allowed to thrive was beyond Selina. Oh wait, the government couldn't give a shit and left Gotham as it is. No man's land. Hell. 
Selina wasn't a regular here in Arkham. Often she'd be sent to blackgate on account that her sanity was very much intact. The disadvantage of locking her up in Blackgate walls meant she made easy escapes. Being wily enough to escape for a long while, her most severe crimes were assault and larceny. Which ain't bad in comparison to mass murder and plant genocide. 
So, why was she here in a hollowed white room. Stuck in a strait-jacket and covered with a mask that looked like what a member of Slipknot would wear. Or a death eater. The caged gap where her mouth would be was hollow to allow room to breathe,but made her air hot and faintly heavy. 
237 people. D e a d. Specifically terrorists. They burned down Selina's old orphanage, killing children in the process. A valid reason to snap, right? A medal for her efforts to destroy terrorist scum wasn't given to her. Yet when a soldier in the military does the same he is branded a hero. The hypocrisy. In the UK crime is illegal under the term of the /Queens peace/ meaning murder during war time was perfectly acceptable on the nature that it was in a war zone. 
Selina was deemed too dangerous to be let out. The doctors in Arkham considered putting her on death row. Thievery was one thing. Murder another thing entirely. It angered Selina knowing how many innocents the entire rogues gallery had taken but a couple of terrorist scumbags die and Selina is the Satan spawn who had to be put down.
The mask was placed upon her right away after an incident involving a doctor had their love ripped away by yours truly. No more biting. To her own discontent. A declawed feline was another form of rage entirely. Staying still. She had nothing better to do than stare down at the clear table before her. Mask covering any form of emotion she could evoke.
On the other side. One of the psychiatrists was taking notes which will lead to a diagnosis later on. It was a been there, done that moment. And Selina was playing the silent treatment as she rambled. Much like poison ivy. Males were exclusively disallowed from being near her. She only answered with silence to the questions given. Yet her mind did speak.
"How long have you been running, Catwoman. Your whole life?"
Yes.
"What is it that you think will get you."
Everyone.
"What drives your compulsion to be a thief? There is a deep compulsion for Kleptomania that you can't control. That impulse is tied. Tied to the very thing that keeps you running. Keeps you wanting more money than you can possibly need or require. The underlying truth of this is that it isn't all about money is it?"
Trying to analyse Selina proved difficult. Her chin didn't even raise from the questions. It was just...still. Eerily so, not judging /once/. However, deep down there was a rage. A pain that kept crushing against her heart that only needed further nudging.
"If we help you now. You will never look at catwoman with such revery again. It will disgust you. Cure you."
Selina immediately lunged forward. Startling the psychiatrist with the hollow eyes of the mask zooming forward. In that darkness lay two eyes chipped into the most perfectly green irises. Emeralds that were too vibrant to be of an Earthen nature. They were the eyes of a cat.
"You can't get rid of me. You never will get rid of me. Catwoman is me. I am her. If you think you have been getting into my head this entire time, doc. You best analyse yourself of your own delusions. Selina is just an afterthought. Take off this jacket and you'd be literal chopped liver." Her voice usually calm and serene, had an ice sharp husk behind it. The mask made it partially muffled yet didn't cease it's threatening manner.
Hesitant, the psychiatrist had nudged her chair away on accident, but knowing she couldn't leave the room without something. Anything. Her composure returned. "Why did you kill those people, Cat?"
If it wasn't for the mask. You see Selina's lips curling into a harsh snarl. Her pearly whites gave her that vampiric quality. Too bad the one opposite couldn't see the terrifying femme before her. "Whatever I say would be deemed a lie. Whatever I say will be ignored. Whatever I say will just be given as evidence of my insanity. Those who are dead, were responsible for the death of many. Many. Children. . . the fates they suffered were deserved. If they didn't die. More would have been killed. So tell me, am I insane? Or just vengeful? Or can't you see the difference between the two? The latter is justified. The former is a one way ticket to the loony bin. Why is isolation better than death? You can tell me that. Did Joker ever get this same crap? No I don't think he did. He's the famous loon. Of course he would never get a needle stuck inside him. But me? . . ."
It was then she paused. Her head turned to one side. Thinking. A hum. No, purr. Escaped her lips. "Ah-- I get it now. It's not the fact that I am insane. It's the fact that I am /sane/. You can't grasp that concept at all and because you can't grasp it you deem me beyond help. Only death can judge me now, right? Well. I can assure you that won't be happening. You can say what you wish about me to your doctor friends. I've never listened to judgements. I won't say if I killed them or not. I will say they definitely deserved it."
Selina finally spoke. Her shoulders relaxed from the tension they carried. Lying back in her comfy strait jacket. "What now, then? You didn't see me repent. Send in the priest." Her tone became amused at the last sentence. "Nor did I confirm I did do it. So what do you do now? You crawl back into your office and express how you failed to break the cat. Just like how you fail this city time and time again. Get lost and leave me alone with my thoughts."
Selina. The one who was bound in white. Was the one who was now calling the shots. And in control of the situation. If it weren't for her mask there would perhaps be a smug grin. Or an intense glare. Nobody knows.
"I think that ends our discussion." The psychiatrist turned off the recording tape besides them. "Whether or not you will be declared insane shall be up to a unanimous agreement. But I assure you. Pleading insane will save your life."
No it won't. Only prolong the suffering. Selina thought. Watching the footsteps go out the room. Her gaze went back to the table. One sickle like end poked at the edge of her mask. A hand had managed to slip out of the restraints. 
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