I’ve always loved the fact that Edward’s heart is a cookie. It gives his innocence and decency a wonderfully powerful meaning: That’s just how he was made.
It also makes Vincent Price one of the most adorable human beings in the history of cinema, which is an impressive feat in and of itself.
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“Closing Time”—Leonard Cohen, The Future
Possibly my favorite Cohen song. Certainly one of the most upbeat, though its content is more than its fair share of bleak.
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This is what I get for staying up late during dead week…
All Along The Watchtower | Bear McCreary
(Source: vensohowlie, via mi-holodeck-es-su-holodeck)
163 | Ford Prefect: | Hey, I've known you for fifteen years. |
|---|---|
| Ford Prefect: | And this is crazy. |
| Ford Prefect: | But I'm really an intergalactic hitchhiker from a small planet somewhere in the vicinity of Betelguese and your planet is scheduled to be demolished to make route for a new hyperspacial bypass. |
| Ford Prefect: | So hitch a ride with me, maybe? |
(Source: photographyandpictures, via itsokaylifegoeson)
That moment when someone you like decides to talk to you and every sentence you makes you cringe on the inside:
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I can’t imagine why they wouldn’t, unless they utilized absolutely every iota of protein and nutrients in the brains they ingested. I mean, even if their digestive system is…
Fascinating. In those terms, it sounds like zombies could be defined as walking bags of self-destruction. Since replication of the virus takes precedence, eventually—sooner, I’d think, in most cases, rather than later—the body carrying the disease would not only lose the capacity to digest, but break down and decay to the point that it’d no longer be capable of the locomotion necessary to hunt for the food that sustains it.
And since zombies, being undead, are incapable of starving to death, that would leave them as rotting, congealing, living puddles of human flesh and feces. Still alive, conscious, and ravenous beyond all reason. Forever.
Holy crap.
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