Locked Out: A Love Story (with monsters)


This blog—as you’ll have noticed from the title and the other posts and basically everything—is about the conversations with my husband.  I like him, he likes me, we spend time together and we talk. 




This is the time of year all that changes; my haunt is in full swing and we’re now on opposite schedules (highly recommended for couples who secretly hate each other, btw).  Thus I present to you: Actual Texts From My Husband, including Conversations With Various Zombies, Clowns, And At Least One Demon.


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His Fake Movies


It’s been a while, hasn’t it, since I did a nice long random?

Lorelei Gilmore "my babbling capabilities are infinite"


No, I mean—yes, I know all of my posts are long and a bit random, shut up—but what I meant was those Conversations which offer you a brief backstage pass to our lives.  Or, in this case, a backseat pass. 


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Venom: My Favorite DELETED SCENES


Did anyone else see Venom this week?  I mean, some of you probably saw it last weekend, but I was busy making children cry and getting yelled at by their parents (that’s a whole ‘nother post) so I had to do it on a weeknight. 


Venom promo image, showing the oil-slick monster all drippy fangs and long pointy tongue next to his name in mist


Since I know you’ll ask, here are my notes:


  • My favorite part of a Spiderman movie is the part where there’s no spidersmen.
  • Riz Ahmed 1000% copied his character from this episode of Doctor Who.
  • The only likeable character in this movie was a parasitic alien, but I really liked him so it sort of balanced out.
  • Tom Hardy has been in a lot of things.  I know this because he’s totally recognizable every time.
  • I would like to thank Sony Pictures Entertainment for making an entire movie just so I could write more deleted scenes.  Now please, sell all this shit back to Marvel.  * 


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Good Dog NEM #85


Oooh, we haven’t done one of these in a while, have we? 


Bet you thought I’d forgot all about our dirty little secret.  Ha!  Not possible; trust me, there’s no way to scrub my browser history clean at this point—Google is convinced I’m a deviant (fair enough) and possible serial killer and if I’m not on all the watchlists it’s only because I’m so freakin’ pale they’re sure I’m a vampire and so are afraid of stepping on that agency’s toes.  Besides, I still had some saved up.  Why didn’t I post them?  Well…


It’s like that thing where people die of dehydration in the desert, and they’re found with water still in their canteens, you know?  I only have so many and I knew I had lost enthusiasm for the project.  I didn’t want to post what little I had and risk having nothing left, ever.  But then I had a thought, and here we are.


Some of you are totally lost.  This is because today—and for the first time ever—I “publicized” a Not Exactly Motivational post.  Links were put up on Twitter and Facebook, which I never did before because I sort of liked the Saturday NEM’s being a secret thing just for people who like them.  But for what I want to do, I need input.  So if you’re new, click that link and get caught up—if this isn’t your thing, stick around during the week and don’t worry: disturbing images are always kept off the front page.  You never noticed them before, right?  But if this is totally your thing, please take a moment to click the like button and also give me some feedback below.  Because I’ve got that Toomuch Disease, and never know how much is too much until someone’s looking at me like I just ate a kitten at a child’s birthday party.*


Motivate me!

Every Day is Halloween


Confession: I am not as young as I used to be.


If I’m being completely honest with you, I was probably never as young as I was, except when I was older than I was.

Confused man saying "wait..."


I just read that back and realized the only way it makes sense is if you too have been lying about your age your whole life.  If that’s you, congratulations!  You’ve found your people.  If not… try to keep up, because that wasn’t even my point and it’s only going to get weirder.


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