But… but… Zip Martin proves his attempts are at least adorable.

Can… can they, um… has technology advanced enough for them to be able to make out?

You squandered your opportunity. "Areolas of expertise."

Nope.

Yawn.

So I get my eyes back? Sweet!

When I was a surly young teen, my mom insisted on taking us to its re-release at the Cineramadome in Hollywood. I'd seen the movie before and loved it, but the line was long and there was much whining. Totally worth it.

I do. With a fire that burns like a thousand suns.

Not sure where it fits in the "masterpiece" discussion (he's one of my favorite directors, but the definition of an acquired taste), but Pink Flamingos is by a considerable measure my least favorite of John Waters' early films.

Fantasia is fucking glorious. Especially on a big screen.

It's fairly eye-searing.

The Sopranos. I recognize and respect the importance of the show, and love many of the performances in the show, but… the series is just so fucking smugly proud of itself. The series as a whole reminds me of a little kid who can't stop saying "fuck" because he's so thrilled to have learned the word and assumes that…

As a strong lady who like things about strong ladies being both strong and lady-ish, this sucks. Love the show, love the character, love the fun of it.

I can, but I choose not to.

Fuck 'em both.

And technically my Launchpad McQuack crush was more of a Duck Tales thing, but, still… associations.

I watched all of Darkwing Duck, Animaniacs, and Freakazoid (none of the others), but I was probably slightly too old for them.

Seeing Darkwing Duck now just fills me with painful memories of a confusing childhood crush on Launchpad McQuack (and being made fun of for said) and the time I recounted, with much joy and excitement, my favorite gag from the episode I'd watched most recently to a group of adults I thought were super cool only to…

"Take a cemetery tour or jump on one of those trolleys to check out neighborhoods outside the tourist-laden French Quarter."

Oh, ooh, God of War. Tiptoeing along the ceiling rafters that for some reason have a complicated system of swinging blades.