OH GODDAMMIT

Oh goddammit.

One caution—be prepared to completely suspend disbelief. Normal, non-movie people would have left the place after the first clown incident (or burned the building down). But if they had, there would be no movie.

Oh FFS, don’t go in the basement. EVER. I don’t believe in ghosts, but basements are where the devil lives.

There was a great Halloween episode of This American Life a while back—it opened with a family that was experiencing what seemed to be classic manifestations of a haunting. It turned out the heater was faulty, and releasing dangerous-yet-nonlethal levels of carbon monoxide, which apparently can make you imagine all…

This isn’t on Netflix (I don’t think so, anyway) but it’s on Amazon Prime—Hell House LLC. It’s found footage and dayyum, I had to mute the sound more than once (I’m okay with just seeing horror, but I freely own that sight AND sound are sometimes too much for my old heart). Creepy clowns, man. Creepy. Fucking. Clowns.

Oh crikey. The Invitation messed me up. Are they psychos or just weirdos? Who’s the weirdest weirdo—that guy? That guy? Maybe that girl over there? I like that red lantern. WAIT! No I don’t! One big takeaway for me: never, ever let yourself get parked in.

I am so grateful when cyclists use lights and reflective clothing while riding at night. I drive on a lot of poorly lit back roads, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve found myself uncomfortably close to a cyclist who’s wearing dark colors and who only relies on the little reflectors all bikes come with.…

During the luncheon after the death of my brother, one of my (slender) sisters-in-law looked across the table at my second plate of food (which was mostly little noshies that I was just pushing around in a “my brother’s dead” daze) and said, “Why are you still eating?”

At. My. Brother’s. Funeral. Luncheon.

Jeez Louise, that’s horrible. Has she ever--EVER--given you a sincere apology? Is she kind and loving to you now? If not, she’s still culpable. I hope you keep her at arm’s length (or, better yet, a thirty-nine-and-a-half foot pole).

Me: Toybox killer? Sounds gruesome and bad. Best leave it alone.

I know I’m late to the party, having just seen LLL on DVD, but this is exactly the problem I had with the movie. It tries too hard. “Lookit us! We’re quirky and vivid and so, so alive! Let’s dance on cars and up in the clouds!” The best movie musicals seem effortless and right—Gene Kelly closing his umbrella and…

I audible gasped not once, but twice, when I read your comment. Pretty much sucked all the air out of the room and into my lungs. “Colored”? “YOU PEOPLE”?!? How is it possible for someone to plead this kind of next-level ignorance?

Sick birn.

That’s EXACTLY what I thought when I saw his picture. “Somebody. Please punch that face.”

I made the mistake of reading a few of the comments to the article posted on Yahoo. The first 20 or so almost exclusively expressed outrage and disgust—at the GoFundMe campaign. I hate people sometimes.

What you did there? I see it.

I cry at work all the time! It’s a good thing I work from home...

I’m an atheist, and yet I felt my mom’s presence for the longest time after she passed. I wasn’t planning to buy my shore house right after she died—I wasn’t planning anything at that point, really. But the perfect house at the perfect price presented itself out of nowhere, just 6 months after she died. I was so…

Oh, that sucks. My mom was my best friend, but HER mom (my maternal grammy) loathed my mom (and by extension, the rest of us). Even when she was 84 years old, suffering from Alzheimer’s, the pain and hurt Mom felt over her mother’s treatment was as clear to her as if it had happened the day before. I’m glad you had a…