test drive the john muse

[pranksterkind]

[in this post, you are allowed to be amnesiac and John will just make sad/confused faces at you for a bit.]

Comments

[scratched]

I'm being positively polite about this, I'm sparing you a torrential downpour of bile directed at those heaping turds of cinematic fuckupery and giving you the chance to backpedal into safer territory, and yet you continue to nip at the ankles of Stranger Danger like the world's dumbest terrier.

At least pick a halfway quality movie.

[pranksterkind]

Hey! I take offense to that! We're not strangers, even if you were dumb and forgot me.

And second, they're cinematically amazing. I don't know anyone that isn't moved when Nic Cage reunites with his wife and daughter at the end.

I know I cry every time!

[scratched]

You want loving reunions that'll bring you to tears? Homeward Bound. You want Nic Cage in a sweaty wifebeater? Raising Arizona. You want fucking idiotic puns and more John Malkovich than your sensitive stomach can handle? Being John Malkovich.

Except we are sure as hell not watching that last one. Ever.

[pranksterkind]

... I didn't even know you'd watched those movies.

It's like I don't even know you.

[scratched]

I don't remember much, but I do remember my loving parents, Cable and dear sweet World Wide Web.

[pranksterkind]

Okay.

Compromise time.

Armageddon. No one can resist Liv Tyler.

[scratched]

I get to riff all I want and the popcorn stays in my lap so I have majority share.

[pranksterkind]

Yes to riffing, no to the popcorn. It's time you learned to share!

[scratched]

Fine--





. . . What the hell just happened here.

[pranksterkind]

What do you mean what just happened here? We compromised! And were true to ourselves.

[scratched]

I don't even remember you apart from a shitty letter and some fucking sunglasses and I just rolled over like a goddamn golden retriever.

[pranksterkind]

I guess we're just that good of friends!

[LOOK AT THIS FACE]

[scratched]

[why is this such a dilemma]

You told me my gay butt stinks what is wrong with me?

[pranksterkind]

What isn't wrong with you?

[pause]

Just kidding!

[scratched]

Weak.

Take that shit back to Weak Town where the Anti-Weak Police are putting on their Weak Riot Gear to beat the Weak Shit out of it.

[pranksterkind]

That metaphor is totally intense.

[scratched]

The insult was that intensely bad.

[pranksterkind]

Hahaha... No way, even if you're lame sometimes, you're still really cool for agreeing to watch Armageddon with me and share the popcorn!

[scratched]

If you're fishing for compliments, they aren't coming that easily.

[pranksterkind]

Nope, I am just saying what I think.

[I CALL DIBS ON MAKING THE POPCORN]

[scratched]

What the hell did my past self do to even handle you. What the fuck.

[pranksterkind]

He was... ironic about it?

[dude. What can I even say.]

[scratched]

I'd like to think I'm more subtle than that with the whole already hamfisted irony shtick. There is such a thing as taking it too far, and faking friendship for years seems like a complete and utter waste of time when I could be doing whatever it is I entertained myself with for my preteen years. Thinking about boobs or something.

[pranksterkind]

I just don't know what to say! I'm not sure you ever asked me that, and sometimes I just don't get you.

[scratched]

Well, yeah, you don't just ask someone why you're friends with them. It's like one of those things you can't do after a certain period of time - like knowing someone for six months and never learning their name, or dating someone for a year and still not knowing what they do for a living.