The Wizard of Oz is a giant public service announcement for putting a leash on your dog.
And Dorothy doesn’t even learn that lesson.
This weekend, I was so busy
that I totally neglected to do basic things like:
There’s nothing in my house, and I’m a disappointment — but at least things smell good again (there’s a post about that forthcoming, sort of).
Here are a few of my weekend labors:
And we can’t forget:
If he were a human child, there would have been some slammed doors and sulky silence yesterday. If he had the choice to skip bathing, he would opt to smell like his own anus forever. (Don’t blame me. I’m just stating the truth.) Now he smells like a fluffy daisy, whatever that means.
Listen, society. I think we need to have a chat — a fireside chat — about the first rule of home-buying.
So take a sit and listen very carefully when I say:
If your dog refuses to enter your new home, it is, without question, haunted. Burn it down and move somewhere else.
Seriously. Keep your dog beside you at all times.
Hubs and I saw The Conjuring last night — a great movie to see if you’re backed up, because it will scare the crap out of you.
Except for the last half hour or so, because, ugh, it gets stupid.
(The following contains spoilers).
The twist/reveal of the movie is that the house is haunted by a the ghost of a Satanic witch who possesses women to kill their children.
Because Satan said so, and stuff.
There’s nothing that throws me out of a movie faster than Lucifer turning out to be the villain.
I’m not sure there have ever been a lot of people who literally worshiped Satan. How many actual Demonolators/theistic Satanists are there? Not many. And they’re not very powerful. The most recent “Satanist”-related item in the news was the gay wedding they held over the Westboro Baptist Church founder’s mom’s gravesite. From their title to their actions, Satanists are basically just teenagers trolling for attention.
I can’t take any of that seriously.
The end of The Conjuring devolves into an exorcism cliché: vomiting, floating, hands-on-the-forehead, etc. Come back to the light, etc.
The instant one restricts oneself to a specific type of evil, they’re confined to a specific type of solution to that evil. Now, I realize that this movie is “based on a true story” (ugh), so I guess being irritable about its plot doesn’t make a lot of sense.
I’m still holding out for original horror stories. I’ve seen them before, and I’ll see them again. This just isn’t one of them.