Up to this point, remaking classic Disney animated classics in live action has been done for the purposes of imposing a 21st century Gender Studies major’s sensibilities on them. Because you see, there’s a problem with 1991’s Beauty and the Beast. Sure, it was the third highest-grossing movie that year, it was the first animated film to gross over $100 million, it was the first animated film to win a Golden Globe for best animated picture and the first animated film nominated for the Academy Award for best picture…but you see, Belle wasn’t enough of a feminist polymath and the Beast wasn’t enough of a hateful incel, so it had to be redone from scratch.

Imposing 21st century Bachelor of Gender Studies sensibilities onto 20th century retellings of 16th century fairy tales has been the point. That’s why Mulan is effortlessly perfect and Snow White is half-hispanic, because women can’t learn to embrace their strengths or…be ethnically European. But Moana already had 21st century cynicism in it. Quoth Maui: “If you wear a dress, and you have an animal sidekick, you’re a princess!” What about Moana - or any movie made since Lilo & Stitch - does the rainbow hair crowd have to fix?

So you end up with a shot-for-shot, line-for-line remake that isn’t as colorful or stylized and thus an objectively inferior visual treat?

Can I have some of the Disney corporate cocaine? I’ve never had cocaine before and their behavior makes theirs sound great. Can I try it? I promise I’ll make a Sleeping Beauty movie where Prince Charming is convicted of rape and Sleeping Beauty is played by Whoopi Goldberg.

How many millions of dollars in profit were made by Jack Black saying the words “Chicken jockey?”

Money can be made with movies. Just…not by Disney.

You know, I bet you could hate yourself and others on Truth Social just as much as you do here, so why don’t you head back there where you can give everything you own to some prosperity gospel scammer or gold smartphone bullshit or whatever else you “too straight to fuck women” assholes do.

So, earlier today I was being unhealthy on youtube, and someone half my age made a HUGE point to tell his audience including me that even if a self-driving Tesla runs a red light, it’s the human driver that gets the ticket.

Now…I’m a pilot. I have been since I came in that guy’s mom. In the aviation community, we have this concept called Pilot In Command. In the US, this is set into law in 14 CFR 91.3. The pilot in command of an aircraft is fully responsible for, and is the final authority as to, the operation of that aircraft. Not the administrator, not your instructor, not air traffic control, not the President of the United States, not god, the PIC. That concept doesn’t exist in driver’s ed, but it needs to. We need to teach student drivers about the Driver In Command responsibility.

Too long, didn’t process the metaphor: Nobody thinks about anything they do unless the law requires it.

The mysticism of many cultures throughout history has assigned a power to knowing, saying and writing a demon’s true name. The earliest example of this I can think of is from the Ancient Egyptian Book of the Dead, the obscure god Medjed, “The Smiter” whose physical appearance can’t be known so when he’s depicted in heiroglyphs, he’s drawn as a bedsheet ghost with eyes and feet..

Call evil by its true name.

Sorry there, fellow asshole, but you sound like you could use a good patronizing.

Look. I am the asshole here. My post history will confirm, I am a very bad, very hateful person. And the issue you’ve picked with me is that I said “Let’s feed our kitty cats healthy treats.”

How about we reach between our ass cheeks and unbuch our panties, eh?

So us humans often make the mistake of feeding our cats water right next to their food bowls. Cats don’t like that; because carnivore, they don’t trust water sources near where they eat as rotting animal carcasses can poison water.

They also prefer moving water to a stagnant puddle, so fountains or running faucets are often preferred to bowls.

My cat Izzy wants to drink from the bathtub faucet, I turn it on for her a couple times a day.

Don’t be euphemistic. Shame them by their actual name. It’s Microsoft. Microsoft makes software that is dangerous to its end users. SAY IT.

AIM, MSN, Yahoo…Tom Scott made a point once, specifically about MSN messenger but it applies to that entire era: those were superior to Facebook messenger and any smartphone-first messenger designed since because it was possible to log off. Logging onto MSN (or Yahoo or AIM) meant you were idle enough to chat so saying hi wasn’t an imposition. Since ~2010 it always has been.

No hatred at all.

House cats are surprisingly delicate and surprisingly stupid little critters and it’s our job as their designated thinking monkeys to properly take care of them, and that includes keeping their dietary needs in mind. Plants that are delicious to us humans are poisonous to house cats. Look at that cute little face and think about how much dying of kidney failure hurts as you’re designing treats for your furry little buddy.

A little, little bit. As a very occasional treat. Remember that the salt and spices in salami are dosed for humans that are, on average, 15 times larger than a house cat, and things like garlic and onion aren’t toxic to us but they are to them.

Unsalted, boiled chicken breast is a better every-day treat for kitty.

https://xkcd.com/36/

See? Imagery. And also, buy a bottle of bourbon and a bottle of rye with the excuse of doing A-B comparisons of Old Fashioned cocktails, drink like 6 and come away with the opinion that your favorite between the two is Luxardo cherries.

The key to a good stand-up routine? Imagery. And crowd-work.

Stop being a boomer and teach like a man.

So…

I inherited my grandmother’s house. I’m a heterosexual bachelor, I don’t give a shit about decoration, so the automotive tools and 3D printing detritus, house cat, and electronics shit from about waist down are mine, the artwork and curtains and shit at chest level and above are still my grandmother’s.

Included in this is one of those “one large frame full of a bunch of individual family photos” things that ceased to be manufactured during Dubya’s first term. In it is a picture of a bunch of relatives of mine hanging out in a back yard, the last of whom died last month, a black and white photo of my father when he was 7, a dageurrotype of my great grandfather’s first wedding…

And a polaroid of me, age 2, scrote ass naked, riding Bradley. Who the fuck is Bradley. So, while I was a fetus, my family went to a state fair. My father decided to stop at the carnie section to play ring toss. My hilariously pregnant 5 foot tall mother wanted to play too. So Dad gave her a fistful of rings. And she got one. As my dad tells it, the second my mama cheered, that carnie took the rest of those rings from my father, chucked them in a different, empty basket presumably to inspect them to make sure they are in fact smaller than the neck of the bottles, and begrudgingly told her to pick out one of the hilariously huge stuffed animals on display, and she picked a life-size tiger. On the way back out of the fair, my family walked past a National guard exhibit, including several tanks and armored vehicles. My grandmother, the idiot that decided to carpet my bathroom, noticed the sign next to a particularly large tank-like machine said “Bradley Fighting Vehicle” and she said “Oh how cute, they named it.” And lo the 6 foot long polyester tiger was named Bradley.

Three years later, I got out of a bath tub, and before some toddler sized tighty-whiteys happened I mounted that very tiger like a horse, which amused my father enough to go get the family Instamatic. My grandmother ended up owning the resulting photograph, time makes corpses of us all, I inherited my grandmother’s estate to include a 37 year old picture of my own dick.

So when I build my drinks cabinet intended to go on that wall, and pull down that photo collage and give it to my parents, one of whom was the photographer of several of those family photos, am I going to be arrested for trafficking child porn?

Probably, in Trump’s America.

Same mental disorder, different CEO?

Okay look, I’m old, I’m inadequate, and I’m drunk. But I’m also a millennial, and I was a flight instructor at the age of 23. I pray to whatever god actually exists instead of Jesus for the unceremonious deletion of every soul that doesn’t give young folks a chance to learn, grow and actualize themselves. Because I am so inordinately sick of being written off due to the year in which my parents fucked that I’ve got room on the docket to be pissed off when you do it to cohorts other than mine.

It is our responsibility to teach the kids, to let them learn, to let them fuck up in order to learn some more, so that they can become the actual adults someday. And it hurts my mind, soul and dick that I’m apparently the only human on earth not excessively lead-addled to realize that. And bitch I’ve washed my hands in 100LL. It’s blue and feels cold at any temperature.

If there’s one thing I’m going to teach you commie retards before I’m banned outright from this platform, it’s that you treat your students with at least the benefit of the doubt if you can’t manage genuine respect. Believe it or not, they’re real people living real lives that are different than your own. Things that are obvious to you aren’t to them because their lives led them to be curious about a different set of things than you did. And if you find yourself in the role of “teacher”, almost always your path led you to expertise sooner than your students. Sooner. Not Younger. I can tell you that, having served as a flight instructor at 23 mostly teaching men in their 50’s.

You think you’re the senior in a field? You think it’s your job to reign superior over your juniors? Think again. Because it’s your job to sit in the right seat as a kid twice your age sits in the Captain’s seat and fails to use the rudder correctly, because falling off a bike is how you learn how to ride. You have to let them slam the plane into the runway, because how the hell else are they going to learn?

Anyone with more experience expressing contempt for those with less experience for having shown up later: FUCK YOUR FUNERAL. Die unmourned.

I don’t fucking know man. Choose your own damnation: Go with a commercial package like LastPass and have your data sold exfiltrated by elite dark-web h4xx0rz, or go with an open source package like KeePass that has been forked by 40 different communists who cannot be made to agree to what extent Stalin and/or Maos shit didn’t stink. I’m running KeePassGY because random fucking letters I guess.

The more alcohol I drink, the less mildly I’m infuriated.