Check out the terrifying, child-torturing sequel we almost got – “E.T. 2: Nocturnal Fears”!
6 Insane Sequels That Almost Ruined Classic Movies
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Check out the terrifying, child-torturing sequel we almost got – “E.T. 2: Nocturnal Fears”!
6 Insane Sequels That Almost Ruined Classic Movies
Ask Democrats if Mitt Romney should continue fighting for what he believes in, and the resulting laughter could power a city for a month. Ask Republicans the same thing about Obama, and their dumbfounded looks could only be described as "otherworldly." See, to the opposition, those people aren't "fighting for what they believe in." They are the personification of evil whose only goal is the total destruction of the morally sound.
From the other side, they're not heroes -- they're zealots, because they refuse to compromise, and compromise is what allows humanity to function. And compromise starts from recognizing that the other guy has the same "True heroes never back down!" bullshit going through his head. Even the fucking Ku Klux Klan believe that what they're doing is morally correct. So do people who bomb abortion clinics, or protest at military funerals, or scream "God hates fags!" under picket signs that look like they were written in blood and feces. Adolf Fucking Hitler fought to the death for what he believed in, and it redefined our perception of evil.
So if you want to "never stop fighting" for something, how about going on a lifelong crusade to make absolutely sure you're not the Hitler in this situation?
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In 2008, 19-year-old college student Brandon Swanson was driving home after a night out when he crashed into a ditch on a gravel road in Middle of Fucking Nowhere, Minnesota. He knew as well as us that this was a classic horror-movie setup, so he called his parents and asked for a ride.
Because of the whole "boonies at night" thing, Swanson's parents had trouble finding him. When they couldn't find his car at the location he provided they got back on the phone for over 45 minutes to play the world's worst game of Marco Polo. Swanson claimed he could see lights from a nearby town and was heading in that direction, but things took a turn for the creepy when he suddenly yelled, "Oh shit!"
Before his father could even scold his son for using such filthy language, the call cut off. And that's the last anyone ever heard from Swanson. Hundreds of volunteers, 34 dogs, and 120 days later, only his car was found. So what the hell happened to him?
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Most millipedes are not particularly adorable. They're a little disgusting, but they're not terribly threatening. They're just kinda ... there, waiting to gross out schoolgirls or be eaten by birds. Except, of course, for the shocking pink dragon millipede. Woe be to the bird that comes near one of these bastards. Woe be to any animal, honestly. The thing isn't hot pink because it likes doing K in a dark warehouse while wearing fur boots -- the bright color is a warning that this son of a bitch secretes cyanide.
It was first discovered in 2007, and scientists quickly learned that the shocking pink dragon millipede, while looking like a half-chewed piece of Laffy Taffy, was anything but sweet and tasty. It does have a pleasant, almond-like smell to it, but that's just because it has a series of defensive glands that ironically spew almond-scented cyanide. You might remember cyanide as one of the deadliest poisons on Earth, and one of the last things you should ever let near your skin.
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When Jeffrey learned of his wife's inclination to vote for Democrat Tom Barrett, he became determined to prevent her from reaching that polling booth, or die trying.
As Amanda pulled out of the driveway to vote, Jeffrey made his last stand by leaping in front of her car. Not really anticipating her husband risking fatal vehicular injury on the off chance his wife was the deciding vote in a Midwestern governorship, she ran him down and, probably wisely, drove to the police station to report it rather than help him up while being berated for her lousy liberal driving.
Jeffrey was taken to the hospital for the back and neck injuries he endured while saving America from a socialist apocalypse. Jeffrey's brother, Mike, knew who was really to blame -- after the media asked his opinion for some reason, he replied that "These crazy liberal nuts are always pulling this crap." The "crap" being "Not stopping fast enough when a Republican flings his squishy body in front of your Dodge Durango to stop you from voting."
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Some recent games have featured independent, well-developed characters with amazing powers, intriguing pasts, and mental off-switches activated by ball sweat. It's like the player has kryptonite testicles. BioShock Infinite's Elizabeth was born with the ability to tear portals in time and space, then learned to pick locks anyway, then sat patiently in prison until a penis arrived to save her. Ellie from The Last of Us is immune to an apocalyptic virus, learns new weapons faster than Neo, and has stabbed more enemies to death than Wolverine. But as soon as the guy turns up, she dissolves into tears and nursing. She could be machetifying a rapist cannibal into sashimi, but if the hero arrives she'll instantly collapse into helpless tears, safe in his arms. Because that's exactly what happens.
The protagonists, on the other hand, are such anonymous manly men that we're not even going to bother with their names. You already know they're white, stubbly, grizzled, dark-haired gun platforms. Their only advantages are the magic balls that fix them as the center of any narrative universe. And they've already lost their own girl earlier, because why on Earth would a man care about a woman without prior cause? The woman's struggle becomes a stand-in for the man's loss, her entire narrative is just a piece of his, and he scribbles "Daddy makes it all better" all over her ending.
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George R.R. Martin likes to put his own spin on horror tropes like zombies, werewolves, sea monsters, and even Frankenstein's monster. Know what's conspicuously missing from that list? Vampires. Unless you count Roose Bolton, who, according to one fan theory, is totally a vampire.
Roose, the dead-eyed turncloak who sold out the Starks to the Freys and Lannisters, loves to skin people. His freaking sigil is the flayed man. Some fans think this predilection stems from a need to skin his enemies and wear their human pelts as disguises to conceal his eternal life.
The theory goes: Roose is secretly the son of the Night's King, waging a multi-generational war against the Starks and their werewolf-ish powers. His penchant for leeching could even be explained by his clandestine vampirism, as the living dead tend to have poor circulation and this would prevent blood from pooling in his hands, feet, and groin drapes.
Keep in mind -- the Game of Thrones universe has already established that cured skin can be used to magically take on the appearance of another person. Add to that the fact that Roose is described almost as if he's wearing a mask -- "Only his eyes moved; they were very pale, the color of ice." -- and it all starts to add up to Dracula. Plus, there's little mention of Roose's ancestors in the books, which is unusual considering the fact that each volume contains a 100-page appendix laboriously detailing the family trees of each of the named houses of Westeros. Maybe Roose's only has one branch because he's been tooling around the five kingdoms for centuries.
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