Saturday, March 27, 2010

The New Age of Movie-Watching

Everybody walks past a thousand story ideas every day. The good writers are the ones who see five or six of them. Most people don't see any.
Orson Scott Card

The New Age of Movie-Watching
By Kelley Williams

Remember the days when watching a movie required you to trek four miles through the snow, braving the blistering wind in order to get to this big concrete block-like structure called a building, ironically named BLOCKbuster Video?

You’d spend hours perusing the endless isles of videos, cursing when the one you wanted was out of stock.

You’d flip over the movie case and read the synopsis on the back.

“That’s supposed to be really good,” your husband would say.

“I don’t remember seeing the previews,” you’d say and place it back on the shelf.

You’d grab a movie and hold on to it just because it was the only copy left and another couple was eyeing it.

From one end of the New Releases to the other you’d go, up and down the Comedy, and Drama, and Action aisles.

After much debating, sighing, moaning and gnashing of teeth, you and your husband would finally decide on a movie and take it to the counter, only to discover neither one of you had your darn Blockbuster card. The Blockbuster employee would eye you like you’ve just committed a felony and ask for your I.D. They’d locate your account and tell you that you have twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents in late fees.

“Twenty-seven dollars and fifty cents!”

You’d haggle with them. Tell them they are mistaken. You know you weren’t late in returning your last rental. Okay, maybe you were a little late, but not that late. You talk them down to twenty-six fifty.

They’d ring you up for your movie, have the nerve to ask you if you’d like any popcorn, soda or snacks – you would, but you’ve spent all your money on late fees – and tell you the movie’s due two days from now before midnight. You’d walk through a metal detector looking thing and grab your movie.

You’d get home and pop in the video tape - or if you were technologically advanced, slide in the DVD - and snuggle with your husband on the couch.

If it was a VHS you popped in, you’d fast forward through the previews, get annoyed at how long it was taking, hit STOP on the VCR, then FAST FORWARD again and guess how long it would take to get to the beginning of the movie. After three tries, a quick REWIND and another FAST FORWARD, you’d finally reach the opening credits.

If you slid in a DVD you’d bypass all this crap but were later slapped in the technologically superior face when the movie stopped or skipped, making you take it out, wipe the disc on your shirt and blow in the DVD player.

Finally, after you’d gotten your PhD in movie watching or called in a rocket scientist for assistance, you were able to enjoy the movie.

Fortunately, with the wonderful invention of ON DEMAND, those painful days are over.

Some of you may be new to the process of “renting” movies ON DEMAND, so allow me, ever-helpful gal that I am, to share some tips (although I really don’t think they’re necessary – it is such an easy enjoyable experience).

Get comfortable with your honey in bed and hand him the suped-up remote control given to you by the cable company. Yes, I know ladies, there is nothing worse than a man with a remote in his hand, but let me assure you, although he is the one holding it, you are the one controlling it. And besides we all know it’s best to keep a man’s hands occupied, because if he doesn’t have the remote to play with, he ends up playing with his…

And we’re moving on.

Your honey has the remote and he pushes the menu button, then selects the ON icon for ON DEMAND, then Movies, then All New Movies. And viola, you have access to all the movies you once had to follow the mile-long New Release wall to peruse.

Can’t remember what a particular movie was about? No problem. You can watch a preview – for FREE! And no more fighting horny teenagers for the last copy of The Hangover; (which they wouldn’t have watched anyway because they’d be too busy making out) there is an unlimited “supply” of any movie you want to watch.

What? You say you and your honey have gone through all the new movies and can’t find anything that suites your fancy? You’re missing the DRAMA, and COMEDY, and ACTION aisles of your old favorites or those once new releases that you never got to see? No problem! ON DEMAND has those movies too. And they’re arranged in a variety of ways: alphabetical, date night movies, couples comedies, animated heroes, alien invasions, based on bestsellers.

You and your honey could spend hours going through the hundreds upon hundreds of movies. And you do. After watching fifteen previews in All New Movies, you decide to check out the other movie categories.

You want to watch an old favorite. Your honey wants to watch something you’ve never seen before. You watch ten more previews.

Over an hour has passed since you and your honey decided to watch a movie and got comfy in bed.

You decide to go back to All New Movies.

“Inglorious Basterds?” your honey says.

“No, I’m not in the mood to read subtitles,” you say. “Why is bastards spelled wrong?”

“I read the reason somewhere but I forgot,” your honey says.

“Up?” you say.

“No, I’m not in the mood for an animated movie,” your honey says.

“Zombieland,” your honey says.

“Seriously?” you say.

“The Blind Side?” you say.

“No. We saw it in theaters,” your honey says.

“My Life in Ruins?” you say.

Your honey doesn’t even dignify your suggestion with an answer.

“New Moon?” you say.

“Absolutely not. I don’t want to watch vampires hump each other,” your honey says.

“They don’t… Whatever. Precious?” you say.

“Sure. Let’s watch Precious. Oh, what’s this? An independent film. Want to watch the preview?”

“I thought we were going to watch Precious.”

“We can. But this might be good.”

“Octoganal Moon? What the heck does that mean?"

"I don't know. It's an independent film. It's artsy."

You like art so you say, "Okay.”

Your honey selects the Preview icon and a blue haze comes over the screen. A boy and girl are sitting on a bench in a field under an oak tree. They begin making out. Then they are violently ripping each others clothes off and begin having graphic sex while random images – an apple, a mop, a chair – flash intermittently on the screen. The scene then cuts to the couple in a house. They are eating breakfast. There is a knock on the door and a woman hands the girl a piece of paper. The girl reads it, turns to the guy and says, “brother?” He says, “yes,” and then a whole bunch of crazy shit begins to flash on the screen. Images of the couple making out, an old man doing drugs in a gas station bathroom, a young girl crying and jumping out a five story building, more images of random objects – a grandfather clock, a shoe, a chainsaw. The preview ends with the couple sitting on the bench under the oak tree, its mangled limbs now barren. The grass in the field appears to be dry and dead, but it’s hard to tell with the blue haze. The final shot is of the couple holding hands, staring straight ahead. In the girl’s right arm, she cradles a baby-doll.

The preview is over and you and your honey exchange a WTF look and then grab the bleach that you keep bedside and pour it into your eyes, because seriously – WTF was that? But not even bleach can erase the images that have been indelibly etched onto the backs of your eyelids. For the rest of your life whenever you close your eyes you will be haunted by the images of Octoganal Moon.

After you come to terms with this new reality, you return to the previous screen and you select Precious for $4.99. And you know what the best part is? No video card, or ID, or credit card, or cash is required. The movie is charged to your account and you pay for it when the cable bill comes. GREATEST. THING. EVER.

You settle in to watch the movie. It’s now been close to two hours since you started the movie watching process and the popcorn is long gone. But who cares? You’re about to watch a movie and you didn’t even have to leave the house.

It takes you a minute, but you soon realize you have no idea what anyone is saying. You hit the INFO button and the title of the movie appears: Precious esp. You’ve ordered the movie in Spanish.

Awesome. You exit the screen, go back to All New Movies, select Precious, double check eight times before you hit select, and pay another $4.99.

Yes that’s right, you just spent $4.99 to watch thirty seconds of Precious en espanol. Now $4.99 may sound like a waste of money, but that’s peanuts compared to your usual twenty-seven fifty in late fees. And you aren’t actually wasting any money. Having the charge removed is a simple call to your cable company, a quick explanation of your mistake, butchering of a few Spanish words to prove you neither speak-o nor understand-o el language-o and the $4.99 will be credited to your account.

But seriously, let’s face it, you’re not going to do this…because you’re lazy. Not only do you accrue astronomical movie late fees, you’re also getting nasty letters from the library stating that you owe them thirty – eight fifty for the cost of replacing the three books you checked out four months ago and have obviously lost. But you didn’t lose them. They’re sitting on your coffee table. You set your OJ on them every morning while you watch the Today Show and ponder good excuses to be late to work so you can watch the train wreck that is the Hoda and Kathie Lee show that starts at ten o’clock. You could easily grab the books on your way to work one day and drop them in that special return slot in the side of the building. You wouldn’t even have to go out of your way because you pass by the library every day. But still, returning those books would require effort – picking up the books, putting them in your car, pulling into the library parking lot, picking up the books again, getting out of your car, walking to the slot, you’re getting exhausted just thinking about it - and the only effort you’re exerting these days is grabbing the remote, pressing the menu button, going to the ON DEMAND movie section and hitting play.

You have sufficiently passed the two hour mark when Precious – in English – begins. In no way are you annoyed by the amount of time it took to get to this point, because not once during that time did you have to hit fast forward, stop, rewind, fast forward, and rewind again, or take out a disc, examine it for microscopic scratches, rub it on your shirt and blow.

Ten minutes into the movie your eyelids feel heavy. You ask your honey if he is awake.

“Yes,” he says.

Five minutes later you ask him again.

“Yes,” he mumbles.

Ten minutes later you feel yourself doze. “Are you awake?” you ask.

“Hmm…” your honey says.

Ten minutes later you’re asleep and forty-five minutes later you wake up. The movie is still on and your honey is asleep clutching the remote.

You remove it from his hands and he is startled awake. “Huh? What? Are you awake?”

You mumble something incoherent, turn off the TV, and throw the remote to the ground.

“We have to watch it tomorrow,” your honey says, and before you drift off to sleep you remember you only have 24 hours to watch the movie and then it is deleted from your saved programs.

But tomorrow you are busy, and you never get back to Precious.

Yes, you’ve spent ten dollars on a movie you only watched thirty-five minutes of and it’ll cost you another $4.99 if you want to watch the rest. But at least you won’t have any late fees, and, as an added bonus, you’ll carry Octoganal Moon with you for a lifetime, to be enjoyed for free any time you close your eyes.

ON DEMAND – the new age of movie-watching. You’re gonna love it.

Thursday, March 25, 2010

Which Office Personality Are You?

If you’re going to be a writer, the first essential is just to write. Do not wait for an idea. Start writing something and the ideas will come. You have to turn the faucet on before the water starts to flow.
Louis L’Amour

Which Office Personality Are You?
By Kelley Williams

A Dedication to the Fabulous Four

You are in a meeting with several clients discussing changes to a presentation. Besides the date, time and place, no other changes are needed. The clients tell you they want you to make a plethora of unnecessary, time-consuming, complex changes. You…

A.) Say, “Listen people. I don’t have time for this. If you want these changes made, you’re going to have to do it yourself.”
B.) Smile and nod while they talk and once the meeting is over you say, “I have no idea what they just said.”
C.) Hide a crazy baby in their purse and then gallop around the room on Dick the Horse.
D.) Provide a logical and reasonable explanation as to why their requests are ridiculous

If you chose answer A…Congratulations! You are office personality Agnes. You enjoy bringing your lunch to work, then ordering a cobb salad from Pointe West, loaded fries from Hurricane Wings or southwest eggrolls from Chili’s. Your hobbies include cleaning your shower in the nude, mummifying frogs in your car, and tripping people. Occasionally you prefer to answer the phone “Three, two, one” instead of “XYZ Company.” Your favorite question is, "are you serious?" And your superpowers include mind-reading, but only when it comes to knowing that an outstretched hand means "I want lotion."

If you chose answer B…Congratulations! You are office personality Bertha. You’ve gotten hit-on or asked out by every creep in your town. Unfortunately you often fall victim to the “Mail Do-Over Syndrome,” (just as you’ve finished an entire mailing, someone comes to you and says, “did you do”…or “did you add…” and of course the answer is no because no one told you to “do” or “add”, but nonetheless the entire mailing needs to be redone.) You put first time riders with you at ease by telling them you’ve only been in three accidents and hit just one biker. You have cellophane ever-ready in case an incessant chatterer needs to be put permanently to sleep. And recently, a few months ago, you saw a bull - not a cow, not a horse – but a bull, by the side of the road.

If you chose answer C…Congratulations! You are office personality Maud, recent escapee from the Tennessee State Insane Asylum. You never leave home without your closest friends: Crazy Baby and Dick the Horse. Because of a defect in your vocal cords you are unable to speak softly, which is kind of a problem when needing to ask questions like, “Is hypnotism a word?” You can often be heard saying, “Am I getting fired?” and “I think I’m getting fired.” Although not recommended, you're capable of driving from Tennessee to Florida, while watching youtube videos, checking your email, updating your facebook page, solving complex mathematical equations and accomplishing world peace, all without getting into an accident.

If you chose answer D…Congratulations! You are office personality Hilda. You seriously enjoy Mountain Dew, seriously. You also enjoy a nice screwdriver, or five, but shots are not your friend. Tomatoes and sausage are also the enemy. You’ve been known to throw an enchilada across the room if not reheated to your specifications, and during an intense volleyball game, you never let the ball hit the ground, even if it means diving into concrete. Your special talents include spelling hidden messages in a series of checks. And your favorite sayings include, "I need to speak to your manager," "idiots!," "motherf...", and "I am going to kill him."

Wednesday, March 3, 2010

First Time Skiing? You're Going to Love It!

An old racetrack joke reminds you that your program contains all the winners' names. I stare at my typewriter keys with the same thought.
Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic's Notebook, 1960

First Time Skiing? You're Going to Love It!
By Kelley Williams

This is your first time skiing? You're going to hate it.

Sorry. I don't mean to dampen your spirits, but it's true.

Why? Because everyone's first time skiing goes something like this:

Someone who cares about you - known from this point forward as your boyfriend - says, "Skiing is so much fun! We should go on a ski trip."

You say, "Okay!" Sounds like a great idea to you. You've seen snow before - on TV. It looks so pretty and fluffy. You think, I may fall, but it will be like falling on a cloud.

As you arrive at the lodge, dressed in padded overalls on marshmallow steroids - a.k.a. a ski bib - (Hello. I'm an adult. I don't want to wear a bib. Bibs are for babies, you think. But later you will wish you were also wearing a diaper), you begin to feel nervous. You express this to your boyfriend and he replies, "It's going to be so much fun. Trust me. You'll love it!"

"But I don't know how to ski," you say. You foolishly believe that knowing how to ski is a requirement for actual skiing.

"Don't worry, it's easy. You'll love it," your boyfriend reiterates.

You say, "Okay," and stand in line to wait for boots and skis, but before you receive them you must sign your life away on a slip of paper relieving the resort of all culpability in the event of your death. (Really? You must sign this? Shouldn't it be signed by your boyfriend? Cuz I'm pretty sure once you're dead, you won't be holding anyone responsible for anything.) This provides you with much comfort and confidence as you cram your foot into a forty ton boot and stand up so your boyfriend can cut off your circulation, I mean tighten your boots.

You walk heal-toe, heal-toe through the lodge convinced everyone is snickering and staring at you for walking like such a loser. But the reality is, your terror is rising to such a level that you do not notice everyone around you is also stomping around, knees perpetually bent, looking like a cross between the Michelin Man and a Transformer about to take a dump.

You go outside and your boyfriend drops your Blades of Death, I mean skis, in the snow, which no longer resembles a fluffy cloud, but hard ice-covered concrete. He shows you how to stomp your Transformers boots into the Blades of Death to make them catch, and you cling to him for dear life as you do so. Once your skis are on and he steps away, you begin to fly down a black diamond* at break-neck speed, your life flashing before your eyes.

Okay, you're actually on a flat surface and you've moved maybe two inches. But with the wild-out-of-control feeling accompanying that small movement, it hits you, like an unexpected snowball to the face, that you have absolutely no idea how to slow down, stop, turn, etc. In other words, you have no idea what you're doing.

"I...I... Stop...turn," you sputter. "Practice...teach...learn."

"You don't need lessons," your boyfriend says. "It's easy. You're going to love it."

You are about to demand he teach you how to ski before you go any further, but something catches your eye and you, along with a horde of other apprehensive looking people accompanied by over-enthusiastic loved ones, make the unfortunate mistake of gazing up the mountain to see flailing limbs and hear horror-inducing cries as people come flying wildly out of control straight at you. They can't stop! They're going to hit me! They're going to crash right into me and break my legs in half! You turn to your boyfriend to voice your terror, but the words are stuck in your throat. He is oblivious to your impending danger, but is thankfully dragging you away to the ski lift line.

Your panic grows as you wait in line. "Are you sure this is the easy one?"

"Yes," your boyfriend replies.

"But how do you know?"

"That sign right there has a green dot and says 'beginner.'"

You look at the sign, see the green dot, see the words 'beginner' and say, "Are sure that means beginner?"

"Yes. That's what it says."

You do not believe this. You want to ask more questions, but the line begins to move, and suddenly you begin to slide. You are once again moving a thousand miles an hour, about to crash into the woman in front of you, but fortunately instinct takes over and you pizza.** It doesn't seem to matter where you've grown up - Aspen, Florida, the Equator - it is somehow innate in you, or maybe it's from that South Park episode - that when skiing, pizza is your best friend, while French fries*** can be your worst nightmare.

You manage to stop yourself in time, and your boyfriend praises you like a puppy taking its first crap on the lawn.

"See, you know how to stop," he says.

You want to argue this point, wax poetic on the sheer terror that is coursing through your veins. But then you see it - Evil On A Swivel. It is quite possibly the scariest thing you've ever seen. It's...The Ski Lift.

Your panic is no longer contained. "I don't know what to do! I don't know what to do! What do I do?" Somewhere in the distance dogs howl at the ear-splitting sound.

"You're going to stand there," your boyfriend points, "and when the chair comes around, you're going to sit down."

Stand there, sit down. Stand there, sit down. The mantra repeats in your head like a broken record. Stand there, sit down. I can do this. Stand there, sit down.

The moment of truth comes.

You and your boyfriend stand there.

Your boyfriend sits down.

And you are knocked in the side of the head. You fall to the ground and land in the mud. Why is there mud on a snow covered mountain? Everyone in the line points and laughs and calls you a failure. The good news is, you won't notice them doing this because your panic glasses blind you to everything else around you except the Evil On A Swivel and the impending Mountain of Doom. But trust me. There is much pointing, laughing and using of the word failure.

You are picked up by the Evil On A Swivel attendant - no, that's not humiliating at all - and watch your boyfriend float away into the sky.

You stand there. The Swivel swings another one of its evil spawn, I mean chairs, around, presenting it to your marshmallow padded bottom, and you manage to sit down.

Congratulations are in order here, because you are now riding the lift ALONE. And, you have absolutely no idea what to do when you get to the top. Kudos! Way to Go! Good Job!

Your boyfriend turns around in his chair. "All you have to do is stand up," he says.

"Fall down?"

He smiles. "You'll be fine."

Fine? Ha! Ha ha! Ha ha ha! Hahahahahahaha! Your maniacal laughter can be heard throughout the mountain.

You get to the top. Your boyfriend, his sister and his father are waiting for you with eager hopeful expressions.

You stand up. Hey, that was easy. Your skis are moving. They turn down the hill. They keep going. The French fries have gotten you. You are doomed.

It is no longer just your imagination that you are flying out of control at a hundred thousand miles an hour down a concrete covered death ramp.

"Fall!" you hear your boyfriend's father shout. "Fall!"

You don't know exactly what you do to make it happen, but the next thing you know, you are laying on the cold ground. Only you can't feel the cold cuz you are dead. Okay, you're not really dead, but if you knew what was about to happen over the next four hours, you'd wish you were. And so would your boyfriend and his sister.

In the flash of a crazy out of control skier, they are by your side, and they help you up.

You decide you'd rather go the rest of the way down the Mountain of Doom backwards with your Blades of Death facing uphill, even though your boyfriend insists that downhill-facing skis are better.

Yeah. Right. The last time you listened to him, you got knocked in the head by a chair and went flying like a spazzoid down the side of a mountain. Things will be done your way from here on out.

So your boyfriend stands in front of you, and you hold on to his forearms, while his sister goes behind you and braces her hands on your back.

Your boyfriend says it will be okay, gives you reassuring smiles, offers a treat, a pat on the head, and the words, "good dog, I mean girlfriend" if you make it down. You give him dirty looks, mutter every bad word you can think of, making up a few of your own, and want to smack him in the head with your skis and toss him over a cliff. But you don't do this because you know one day he is going to be your husband and this might not make the best impression on your future sister-in-law.

So the three of you tarry down the mountain like a dysfunctional caravan, but every time you move faster than point zero zero zero zero zero two miles an hour, you scream like a lunatic and make everyone stop. After thirty minutes you've moved three feet, and this is when you realize a diaper would have come in handy. You already lost control of your bladder on your way down the Mountain of Doom, and while you don't mind the dampness of your bib - you've got other things on your mind - you don't anticipate going anywhere for the next 8-10 days, and it might be nice not to pee all over yourself again.

You slide a foot.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! I'm sliding! I'm falling! Help me!"

"You're fine," your boyfriend says and grips you tighter.

You slide two feet. "I'm going to fall! I'm going to break my leg! What if I fall?!"

"If you fall, your skis will pop off. You won't break your leg."

You slide three feet. "AAAAAHHHHH! I'm going to fall and hit my head! I'll get a concussion! I'm going to die!"

"If you fall, you'll fall forward. You won't hit your head."

"Oh, really? Just like I didn't hit my head on the ski lift?"

Four hours later, the three of you are still on the mountain. Your boyfriend's father has skied by twenty times, and you wonder if it has occurred to him yet that he spent $200 for his daughter, son and his son's lunatic girlfriend to spend an entire day going down a run that should take only 30 seconds to complete, a minute if you pizza.

Finally, you get to the bottom of the Mountain of Doom and relief washes over you. You thank you boyfriend's sister profusely for her help. She is sweet and says, "No problem," but you know she is sending your boyfriend telepathic messages to ditch the lunatic.

You punch down on the back of your skis with your poles - hmm, these would make great eye gougers - and detach yourself from the Blades of Death. You throw your eye gougers to the ground, giving yourself a cookie for not making good use of them on your boyfriend, leave everything where it is for him to deal with, and declare, "I'm done!"

Your boyfriend leaves you with his mother, and before heading back up the mountain for his fun-filled, lunatic-free day of skiing - what's left of it, anyway - he promises he'll come back later and take you to the bunny slope to teach you how to ski.

Teach me how to ski? Now there's an idea. Perhaps we should have started at the bunny slope, no? Maybe get a little crazy, be a little obscene, make parents cover the eyes of their children while we engage in socially unacceptable behaviors like you teaching me how to slow down, stop, turn, and me learning how to do this.

Wait. Silly me. What am I thinking? Our way was much more fun.

Now I know some of you are probably reading this and feeling pretty good because you are a single chick, or a straight dude, or a lesbian. You are all boyfriend-less and therefore safe from the horror I have described. Right?


I have personally witnessed friends and girlfriends trick the person they claim to care about into donning a Michelin costume, cutting of their circulation with Transformer boots, strapping on Blades of Death, getting knocked out by Evil On A Swivel and taking a not-so-lovely jaunt down the Mountain of Doom, under the guise of this seemingly fun recreational activity called skiing.

Now that all of you: gals with boyfriends, single chicks, straight dudes, and lesbians, have been properly forewarned, you're wondering how to get out of the ski trip your boyfriend/friend/girlfriend has just planned for the both of you? Well, you can't. Or rather, you won't. Because your boyfriend/friend/girlfriend cares about you and you trust him/her.

So you will sign the death waiver, don the Michelin suit, have your circulation cut off, walk like you're crapping your pants, strap on the Blades of Death, allow Evil on a Swivel to humiliate you, spastically fly half-way down the Mountain of Doom, pee your pants, and spend the rest of your life, and that of said boyfriend/friend/girlfriend's life and any of his/her relatives' (unfortunate enough to get caught in your tornado of terror) lives trekking down the mountain.

Afterward, when you've changed into dry urine-free clothes, chased a few Prozac with a bottle of wine, and contemplated appropriate methods of torture for your boyfriend/friend/girlfriend, you will wish you had taken my tale to heart. But hindsight is twenty-twenty; and you've always been a gotta-find-out-for-myself kinda person; and telling you all this has been one colossal waste of time. But still, I hold out hope that you will heed just one piece of advice - it's for your benefit, I promise.

When you are flying like an out-of-control lunatic down the Mountain of Doom and you hear your boyfriend/friend/girlfriend's father shouting, "Fall! Fall!" Don't do it. Just keep going. Straight to the bottom.

Don't worry about all those people congregating there. Yes, I know half of them look terrified and attempt to get out of the way, while the other half stands still and looks overly enthusiastic. But don't let them stop you. They are there for a reason. They are your crash pad...

Or maybe they're first time skiers in the process of being convinced by their boyfriend/friend/girlfriend that they're going to just LOVE participating in a socially acceptable form of suicide...I mean skiing.


Dictionary of Ski Terms

*Black Diamond - the steepest, scariest, you-will-die hill

**Pizza - attempting to make yourself slow down by bringing the tips of your skis together in the shape of a V while applying pressure to the outside of your legs. It helps to do this while dragging your eye gougers in the snow and screaming your head off.

***French Fries - pointing your Blades of Death straight down the mountain to go as fast you possibly can because suicide is on today's To Do list.