Parlez-Vous Francais? Parlez-Vous Francais? Si tu peux le parler allez tomber la chemise!

[girlanachronism]

Swot vac starts today! I celebrated by grabbing myself a book of Neil Gaiman short stories and buying Ferris Buellers Day Off on DVD. I shall spend my weekend curled up on my couch cheering Ferris and wanting to comfort Cameron. Rounded off with stories of little old ladies who find the Holy Grail in op shops, jack-in-the-boxes who wait for children in the dark and grin, trolls who eat your life and wear your soul like a nice-fitting jacket and a St Nicholas who is as old as sin and prays for death, a martyr who wonders why Judas got a lighter punishment. Neil Gaimans books: the only horror stories I'd ever read.

In other news:

I'm becoming disturbingly attracted to Ryan Reynolds. It's all wrong. Yes, he's pretty, and funny. But he's considered good looking by the mainstream, he gets romantic comedy leading roles, he's in stuff like 'Just Friends' . THIS IS NOT ME.

Yet, there are these moments where it's like the world is conspiring to force me to like him. Like, where I'm watching a truly appalling movie and he's there providing a moment that is actually vaguely amusing. Cases in point: that horrible Wolverine movie, where his smartassery provides one of the few watchable characters in Deadpool (the other being Gambit, solely on prettiness.) Also, Blade Trinity. (Yes, I watched this. I was forced, but I acknowledge that is no defence. Kill me if you like.) I mean, that was one bad film. But I giggled when he was all chained up and telling that vampire chick about a tracking node or implant or something. "It's in my right ass cheek" bitchslap "Ok, left ass cheek" bitchslap "Seriously, it's under the Hello Kitty tattoo"... and then "You cock-guzzling thundercunt!"

And then I find this video.

He's kissing Nathan Fillion's neck. That's not playing fair. That's manipulating me through my love of the man who brought us Capt. Malcolm Reynolds and joined Neil Patrick Harris in creating the awesomeness of Dr Horrible's Sing-Along Blog.

Damn you, Ryan Reynolds. Damn you.

*

 

Nice people. It's like they are a different species. You see, my new uni friends are all lovely, lovely sweet creatures and that means we just don't have the same sense of humour. I find In Bruges hilarious and wonderful. They are upset because of the dead children and midget crackheads. The more aggressive type of self deprecation I like to indulge in is confusing to them, leading to conversations ("I think you have self-esteem issues" "You can't have issues with something you've never encountered, honey.") which just make things worse.

They have decided I am a Dark And Damaged Person who is in need of Help. Which, y'know, is funny cos I personally consider cynicism rather healthy and naive optimism as something terminal. Ok, I'm addicted to sarcasm. But I'm really quite emotionally healthy. I think.

At least I don't spend all my time too shy to go after the guy I am massively in love with *nonamesahemahem*. Girl, if you don't go for it soon I'm going to rohypnol you and him and lock you in a closet together for 48 hours.

 
Art vs Science: This band is insane. I love them. I love them like Vince Noir loves his hair straightener. I love them like Moss loves the internet. I love them like Stephen Colbert loves Sweetness and like Jon Stewart loves Stephen Colbert. Triple J has been playing the fuck out of their latest song, Parlez-Vous Francais, and it's just so much fun. And, of course, their Adelaide tour is sold out. DAMN IT.


(Skip the first half if you don't like guitar solos...)

I do love finding new bands. www.myspace.com/artvsscience

Comments

[greenpixiehair.livejournal.com]

There is that. I shall point that out to them next time they start conspiring to improve my mental health. Ha. Like the Bernard Black of the group - rude and belligerent at all times, and twice as rude if you're trying to help me.

Speaking of BB...I FAIL SO HARD I'M SORRY. I promised you a fic, I started it three times but couldn't get the characters right, then scrambled online for a while and came across this awesome AWESOME fic where they explained how Bernards bookshop was given to him by a mysterious guy - who turned out to be Aziraphale from Good Omens! And finished with him and Crowley in a post-coital cuddle in france or something deciding they can't be bothered going back to reclaim the shop because "I'm sure it's in good hands."

So that fic is now part of my mind-canon and I anything I start writing turns into it halfway so I FAIL. FORGIVE ME.

[huntingsnarks.livejournal.com]

After much mind happenings in my brain, I have decided to forgive you. BUT ONLY if you link me to that fic.

(Also, if you really believe your personality is comparable to Bernard's, please leave Adelaide immediately and come party it up with me. I am totally Manny.)

[greenpixiehair.livejournal.com]

FIC: http://sam-storyteller.livejournal.com/43336.html

Yes, I am Bernard, but without the quick wit, cutting quips, inventive insults or drunken charm.

[huntingsnarks.livejournal.com]

But, but, you're still a reclusive wanker, aren't you?? :D

I'm Manny... without the beard. It has been attached to a frisbee and flung over a rainbow.

[greenpixiehair.livejournal.com]

Reclusive wanker? Hell to the yes. And you, my Manny soulmate, must be there for me in my moments of complete toolishness.

We must seek your beard. I am asking around. Crowley doesn't know where it is. Bollo threw spaghetti at me for interrupting his DJing practice. Jim Kirk gave me his 'behold for I am blonde and Captainly' pout, which I ignored, but Chekov gave me some useful directions. I am currently searching under Stephen Fry's desk. All I can find is a naked Alan Davies.

This is very distracting.

I resist the curly haired loveliness! I must follow the rainbow, and locate your lost beard...luckily Moss is tracking it for me on eBay. It was bought by a frenchman a week ago, it seems. Roy keeps flicking peanuts at the back of my head. If he weren't so jumpable I'd hit him.

I shall head to france, and inform you of my progress at a later date..

[huntingsnarks.livejournal.com]

I'd have suspected the Irishman off the boot, just from the rainbow reference - ROY. And yet, the French connection is très intriguing. I shall inform Moo-Ma and Moo-Pa directly; they've been most distressed as to the whereabouts of my facial carpet.

[greenpixiehair.livejournal.com]

I suddenly recall that Vince is the nephew of a French Duke.

The plot thickens.

We shall retrieve your weedy face-stallion.

[huntingsnarks.livejournal.com]

Ah ha ha ha ha... weedy face-stallion. Hark, I hear the sound of genius...

Erm, not sure Vince would really go for a hairpiece of such - er - blonde proportions. Perhaps Howard's mocha stain is wearing off with all that smooching. Er, I mean...

[greenpixiehair.livejournal.com]

YOU HAVE IT!

How could we not see this? For it is clear Vince is wooing Howard in the only language he knows - the language of accessories and cosmetic enhancement. The new, improved, distinguished mustache that could be fashioned from your golden cheek follicles? A gift of love.

I am torn, now. For how could we get in the way of such a sweet and true romance?

[huntingsnarks.livejournal.com]

Look, they can have the bloody mug rug. I'll just cultivate another facial forest. Just *dances about nervously* please don't despoil it, boys. It was a dear friend through rough times of lumpy soup and angry little men in bookshops.

[greenpixiehair.livejournal.com]

...

...

*sigh*

...

...

Oh, I'm sorry! It's just... you used the word 'despoil' in the context of Howard. And Vince. Howard and Vince. My imagination went a little rampant.

[huntingsnarks.livejournal.com]

DESPOIL.

How bout RAVISH.

CARESS.

SHIVER.

SATSUMAS.

[greenpixiehair.livejournal.com]

Uh.

Oh.

Mstfgjk;sf

WOAH YEAH UH UH!

...

...

But two can play that game:

[huntingsnarks.livejournal.com]

Oh No You Didn't! *bows to trump card*

[greenpixiehair.livejournal.com]

Look at it this way: it's a gif of Noel and Julian making out.

EVERYBODY WINS.