I have a friend who likes to get the biggest tub of popcorn possible and SHAKE SHAKE SHAKE it as vigorously as possible (like she’s trying to rotate the popcorn at the bottom of the bucket to the top solely via shaking) about every five to ten minutes through the entire fucking movie. It drives me nuts, but I pretty…

My favorite part is OMG SUCH AN ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE FANBOY. I need to remember to pick that book up one of these days.

I was thinking something more like “I’m president now! They *have* to respect me!” And the rich people having a “nope, you’re still not worthy” reaction.

The schadenfreude here looks absolutely delicious: The actual rich people shunning him and having precisely zero respect for him must be absolutely *killing* him.

Team Can’t Read This over here. I just had a news alert pop up that compared this to “the death throes of Watergate.” Oh, if only that were true — and if only the NDAs signed for this administration could be declared null and void so we could at least get some tell-all books out of the deal.

This is busy work, pure and simple. This is teaching your three-year-old how to hammer nails in a block of wood while you build a bookcase. He’s being sent out so the Star Chamber can prepare his next round of appointments and executive orders and not have to worry about him fucking up their plans.

The one faint, nearly-invisible glimmer of hope here is that intelligence agencies are apparently at least trying to keep things together so we can make it to a next administration. So there’s that.

Well, that, plus the fact that the Russian operative who was putting those briefings together was fired, so now they have to groom another mole, and that can take a while.

And the ones who weren’t horrible sadists initially will change once they get into the job. Three words: Stanford Prison Experiment.

I’m having a misreading morning. I misread the title of this article as “Kellyanne Conway Is Losing Her Programming Right in Front of Our Eyes,” and I misread this caption as “ALTERNATIVE FASCIST.”

YES, THIS. I may be the age and gender target demographic, but I’m a Black Mirror marathoner. If I see certain friends flocking to a show, I know to stay the fuck away from it because those are the Gilmore Girls fans. Which is another show I do not get. At all. The closest thing to a family show I’ve enthusiastically…

Yeah, as another Cold War kid, it definitely resonates with me more and much differently than it would with my coworkers, who are a good decade younger than me. They have only vague recollections of it, kind of like how I only kind of remember the Carter administration. I’m watching this show remembering all of the…

Not a Shonda show and perhaps an even worse choice right now: I picked this month to start watching The Americans. Really fucking bad timing. Three episodes left in the first season, and then I’m setting that one aside for a good long while.

I don’t know know if I’ll be able to make it to season 4. I started watching because I have A Thing for Walt Goggins (yes, even in this role. And, no, I have no clue why), and having both of these guys onscreen for extended periods of time may be more than I can handle.

“Timothy Olyphant is so fucking hot in Santa Clarita Diet.”

Flynn just resigned. I am currently trying to decide whether this means more shit is coming tomorrow or if they’re going to just sweep everything under the carpet because he’s gone now, so nothing to see. I’m leaning towards the latter because that seems like the worst-case scenario right now.

Specifically, he’s expecting them to kiss his ring.

I don’t know about them in terms of stock prices or shorting them, but the whole company has been plummeting for a while now. There has been a steady stream of news articles over the past couple of years or so about how fucked they are. Stores keep closing all over the place, and the ones that aren’t closed don’t have…

Yay, can we do a self care thread every week? I’ve actually been thinking all week about how we need one from now on.

Huh. This reminds me of a German film a friend bought at some dingy 42nd St shop in the ‘90s called Fist of the Healer. All I can remember about it aside from the title now is impressively athletic fucking on stairs (legs braced on the handrails) and milk enemas.