There are a million things about this video. Perhaps most of all the fact that this crowd of teenage girls is going straight-up APESHIT for these 40-something inbred-looking freakshows. Girls are screaming for the lead singer, whose face looks like someone allergic to bees after being stung hundreds of times, The Wicker Man style. And they can’t get enough of those back-up singers, who are clearly reanimated skeletons with skin stretched over them like a canvas.
Man, just everything. That face with that voice. The ridiculous, passionate, taking-a-dump faces the lead singer makes. The back-up singers constantly fucking up their very minimal choreography. This song went all the way to #2. This video is my new mantra.
Excerpt from my screenplay, The Feral Child
“Yes, I was raised by apes. Those things you call “animals.” But now that I have understood the ways of your society, seen the cruelty with which you treat each other, watched as men slit each other’s throats to get ahead, and learned of this thing you call “war,” I have realized who the real “animals” are. Apes. They are gross and throw their own feces.”
My card.
What I said in that conversation I had with Charles Lindbergh in 1940
“Oh man, it’s so great to meet you. I mean, come on! You’re an American hero! First solo flight across the Atlantic. Crazy.”
“No, yeah, 1890 miles. That’s fucking nuts. Don’t know how you did it.”
“Oh yeah, I forgot about that. Yeah, really sad about your kid. Sorry about that.”
“…”
“Did you say ‘skull shape?’”
“…”
“Like, all Jews?”
“What are you talking about? No one said you were pro-Nazi.”
“…”
“Okay, but now that you say that, I will say it. You are pro-Nazi.”
“Whoa, okay. Stop yelling. Everybody, I just want to make it clear I do not agree with what he is yelling. You want to back me up here, Henry Ford?”
“…”
“Oh right, I forgot. You too.”
I found myself on the wikipedia page with the list of all the titles in the Goosebumps series. I saw one was called Don’t Go to Sleep! I immediately pictured a book cover in my head in which R.L. Stine’s disembodied head is popping out of a kid’s bedroom dresser, yelling the title at him.
So I did what any normal person would do. I drew it. This is why I shouldn’t do anything past midnight.
Excerpts from unproduced Wes Anderson screenplays #1
From The Penultimate Great Auk:
INT. OFFICE BUILDING - DAY
A worker scrapes “BARTLEBY FINCH, D.V.M” from an office door as The Divine Comedy’s “Tonight We Fly” plays.
NARRATOR:
Bartleby Finch left his practice as an avian podiatrist in his 52nd year, immediately following the dissolution of his common law marriage to famed Belgian avant-garde puppeteer, Helma De Smet. The break-up was on less than genial terms.INT. HELMA’S FLAT - WORKSHOP - DAWN
Bartleby stands in the door way wearing traveling clothes and hat, carrying an over-stuffed bird-adorned suitcase in either hand. He has been crying.
BARTLEBY:
Can we talk about this?WHIP TO:
HELMA DE SMET, a gaunt eye-patch-clad woman in her 70s, stops soldering a tin American flag to a marionette of an anthropomorphic penis. She lifts her protective goggles and silently stares at Bartleby for a moment.HELMA:
(re: the hat)
Is that my trilby?BARTLEBY:
Yes.HELMA:
You can have it.Helma pushes down her goggles and returns to soldering.
