The Alternative Oscar Nominations
Gerard Butler is on this list. I’m only a little sorry about it.
Gerard Butler is on this list. I’m only a little sorry about it.
After watching this week’s episode of Riverdale, I feel like I’ve been hit by a speeding train and now my broken, twitching body is trying to write these recaps before the life seeps out of me for good.
For those who’ve stuck around at the Guignol since its inception, you may remember that time I was just really depressed and lay in bed all day writing about the cooking shows that happened to be on TV that afternoon and talking about how I wanted to fuck Guy Fieri (it was a dark time in my life, alright, we’re moving on). And, you know, I’ve always loved a good cooking show, even when I’m not hiding under the covers trying to figure out if I’m more anxious or more hungover. Considering this blog is all about my passionate love of television, I feel like it’s about time I took a little wander down a pathway that has lately brought me so much joy in some recent hard times.
I just love this review so much
Hurrah! We’re back with another Harry Potter recap on this fine fucking freezing Sunday morning, so let’s get right into it. Oh, shit, more importantly: my book is available for pre-order as of RIGHT THE FUCK NOW and you should get on that please and so many thank yous. Here’s where we left off last time if you need reminding. To the chapter!
This time, on a horse!
Before we start this week, I’d just like to draw your attention to the fact that my debut novel, RAPE JOKES, is available for pre-order right here and right now!
Well, we’re back – and in the break, it feels as though everything in Riverdale has gotten a lot more…concentrated.
DO DO DOOO DOOO DO DO
If this is your first post in my OCDiaries series, detailing life with OCD, please consider checking out the rest of it right here!
I’m seven years old, and I’m standing in front of an unopened packet of new toothbrushes: four, one for each member of my family. And I know I have a big choice in front of me, because the colour of the one I choose will dictate the safety of all of them. Red? No, too close to blood, which is murder, which is death. Green? A shorthand for sickness, which is death. Blue? Water, which could be drowning, which is death. I settle for yellow, even though it could represent the sun swelling to destroy the whole planet, but that seems like the least likely potential death scenario so, reluctantly, I brush my teeth with that one. I know, somewhere inside me, that this is a lot of worry to be applying to a toothbrush, but I’m not risking disaster for some foolish green-toothbrushed hubris.
I’m taking a look at the career of M Night Shyamalan – hits, misses, and disasters!