Between the mental image of that and the mental image of a Soviet game controller flinging you at the TV, this comment section has exceeded my percent daily value of incapacitating laughter

All that time I thought I wasted playing "Galaga" is finally gonna pay off real soon.

What was that video a while back, with Gary Busey instructing you on building an inner tube that hides the fact that you're masturbating while floating down the water park's lazy river ride? That was pretty good.

I'm now taking over/under on how long it takes for someone to hack a drone and steal things from your house, and on how long it takes for someone to put a seat on a drone and ride it around in the air.

Definitely. I think I said something in one of my other posts on this article about needing far more data points to accurately interpret the relationship between box office stats and increasing equality. It would be the same if you were doing straight textual reporting, instead of data points you need a wide range of…

I break about the same amount of things, except now I do it by accident.

Absolutely it's disproving what's regrettably a common-sense idea about women in film. I think that's valuable, and I'm glad both our views can exist in the same world. Pardon my fire-and-brimstone approach to arguing my point. It certainly doesn't make me very many friends.

God damn it Lucas, stop fucking with my internet arguments.

I hear what you're saying, and you're absolutely right if the data is interpreted at face value.

I hit reload and my whole ranty thing was deleted. That's probably for the best. I'll try to just recap the points.

Here, the main qual proponent is the Bechdel Test. As in the test a film can pass by having dialog a male writer thought two women would say when they're not talking about a man. You'd have to include the gender of the screenwriter, among many other measurements, if that's possible, of femininity for this evaluation…

Like, they're two of the bridesmaids, and sisters to the bride, and have to make the third bridesmaid look alive during a wedding that will marry them into a very prestigious, old-money family so they can buy the apartment on fifth avenue they've been eyeing for over a year.

Then explain the bubbles in your soft batter! J'accuse!

The way I see it, attacking a Hollywood film for its gender politics is disingenuous and, honestly, low-hanging fruit. Hollywood's a barometer for what Hollywood has both decided and influenced what people want to pay to see. It's symptomatic, and taking torches and pitchforks to it's gonna do jack shit. It's damned…

But … b-b-but, but! They post all those pictures of the contents of what they EDC [Every Day Carry] in faux-vintage-leather shoulder bags — pistols; boot knives; hex wrenches; tactical curly straws; lemon peelers; melon ballers; fine-grit sandpaper; gold leaf; foot-long Maglites; dildos; 35mm Leica cameras; bags of…

This is yet another situation where a purely quantitative evaluation goes viral where a qualitative evaluation, though more accurate in explaining the matter at hand, wouldn't. We sure do love us some graphs.

Surely, you mean, "Unce, tice, fee time a mady."

I'm way downer with "My Dinner with Andrea" than the original. There's a lot of opportunity to play off the stereotype of women being more pragmatic than men — in pretending a dead body is alive, in this case.

My hokey idea is no match for the narrative inconsistency of "Star Wars" at your side.

In space, no one can hear you explain.