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monsterblogging · 10 days

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Fuck JKR: How To Create A Harry Potter-Esque Aesthetic Without Any Harry Potter In It

So I saw a few posts from people mentioning that a reason people might be into Harry Potter is because of the aesthetic or atmosphere, and ya know what? I can't even argue that, because if there's one thing about HP, it's that it Sure Does Have Aesthetic And Atmosphere.

So! I'm gonna tell you how to STEAL ITS LOOK! Because:

JK Rowling considers ANY support of her work to be support of her politics.

Fan content/fan merch is still free advertisement for Rowling's work. YOU might not choose to give her money, but you can't be sure you won't pull people into the fandom who will.

Everyone should create more things that aren't tied to corporate-owned IP, period.

So. Most things in these films have an aged, antique look. You'll see a lot of brown hues, both on sets and on people's clothes. There's a lot of near-blacks (especially charcoals and walnuts) and lighter grays on the sets, especially from the third film onwards. (Wood is more often than not stained dark, while lighter hues are often provided by bricks or plaster.) The last two films use a lot of stormy blues and grays. Prisoner of Azkaban also emphasizes contrast between tones, which heightens a sense of texture. True black also appears throughout the films, such as on students' uniforms and many Death Eaters' outfits, and on the chairs in Malfoy Manor. White appears occasionally, especially on Hedwig, students' shirts, or during winter scenes, but pure white isn't otherwise really common. Paper or parchment is usually warm beige. There's also a lot of silver, gold, and brass, often appearing on things like dishware, tools, trinkets, Christmas baubles, and so forth. Bronze also comes up occasionally.

Reds, yellows, blues, and greens are pretty common throughout the films, even outside of Hogwarts, though you'll see just about every color somewhere. For example, orange is often found around the Weasleys, and orange, maroon, and purple feature in the divination classroom. Teal features prominently in Grimmauld Place (contrasted with saffron yellows).

Most colors aren't really super bright; a lot of the time they look a little faded, or like they're colored with natural dyes. If you use medieval illustrations to source your colors, or aim for earth tones and jewel tones, you'll be about right for a lot of what you see in the films. Bright colors are pretty rare; some of the brights we do see are in Honeydukes, Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes, and certain magical effects, such as Floo fire.

A lot of light is provided by candles, torches, or fireplaces, which cast a warm yellow/orange light. Moonlight is represented by blue light in the first and second films. Blue light is also used for the Goblet of Fire and the penseive.

Another thing you gotta have in there is clutter. It should look kinda antique and give off a kind of magical or mystical atmosphere. Think books, storage jars, orreries, crystal balls, old lamps, antique clocks, vintage glassware, antique mirrors, old teapots, and little metal trinkets. (If you're trying to decorate a physical room, your stuff doesn't have to actually be antique, of course; antique-styled is fine.)

Texture is also very important, which can be represented with full or top grain leather book covers, stone walls, dents and scratches, cracks, embellishments, and embossing. Additionally, all damage and wear gives a sense of oldness to things. Stains and variegated colors also add interest. (If you're decorating a physical space, you might look into aging/distressing/antiquing techniques.)

If you want a space to look cozy, you don't really want bare or blank walls. Shelves, paintings, tapestries, and wallpaper can all help with that. Again, use brown, rather than black. Warm, yellow lighting will also help. If you lean toward blacks and cool lighting, you're going to have a colder-looking space.

Fashion in the wizarding world is extremely all over the place, ranging from stereotypical fantasy witch and wizard clothing, to pretty normal vintage clothing, to some wacky vintage-inspired looks, to the kind of fashion that would be put under the cozycore umbrella, to ordinary modern clothing. One thing that's absent is subculture fashion as we know it. (Bellatrix Lestrange does look kinda goth, but it's less a subculture thing, and more a "yeah we're putting our bad guys in fancy black stuff" thing.)

If you're trying to lean into the whole quirky/eccentric/old-fashioned kinda thing, you'll want to pass over the more modern and obviously synthetic type stuff. Also, patterns, textured fabrics, knits, mixed colors, lace, and other embellishments can add interest to outfits.

Architecture is also all over the place. Hogwarts is pretty medieval, while places like Diagon Alley give more Victorian vibe. The main thing is looking old fashioned and quaint.

To try and summarize all of that:

Browns. Lots and lots and lots of browns. Blacks and grays, too. Contrast between light and dark browns and blacks/grays.

More beige and gray than pure white; more charcoal gray and dark walnut brown than true black.

Among other colors, mostly earth tones and jewel tones. Very limited brights.

Polished metal and glass also add shininess.

Old-fashioned. Vintage. Antique.

Clutter, texture, patterns, variegation. Minimalist/clean aesthetic avoided.

Aged and distressed.

Lighting often yellow/orange due to coming from fire. Blue/teal light often coming from moonlight and certain magical light sources.

Now, here are some things we actually don't see. I'm not mentioning them to discourage you from using them if they're what you really want, but to inform you about them so you can consider whether they might throw off the vibe for you:

Green/purple/black combos.

Purple/silver/black combos. Pink/purple/teal combos.

Pink/black combos.

Orange/black combos.

Green/orange/purple combos.

Red/black combos.

Basically a lot of combos commonly associated with Halloween, witches, or vampires.

Big raw crystals. We see crystal balls now and then, but that's it.

Other natural items used as decorations - feathers, pinecones, sticks, etc. The one exception I can think of are the shells embedded in the walls of Shell Cottage.

Crushed velvet. Lots of fantasy uses this, HP films don't.

If you need inspiration, go look up medieval and renaissance diagrams and illustrations of stuff like the four elements, the zodiac, the solar system, and all that. Go look up alchemical symbols and emblems. Search up pre-WWII vintage ephemera. Go look up Victorian clipart. Look up stuff like botanical, zoological, and astronomical books and art from the 17th-19th centuries. Look up vintage wallpaper and fabric patterns. Look at vintage-style crafts. Research period architecture and fashion. Research European heraldry.

If you're wondering what exactly you're going to design around without Hogwarts and the Four Houses, here are some suggestions:

The four classical elements (earth, air, fire, and water)

The four seasons

Card suits - Tarot, French, whatever you want

Holidays - Halloween, Christmas, whatever

Fairy tales

Flowers

Mythical creatures

Bugs

Birds

Any other animals you like

Ecosystems

Your own original worldbuilding

So yeah, there ya go. You don't need to keep participating in HP to indulge in the aesthetic.

[NOTICE: Anybody who clowns on this post by making this about them and their childhood, patting themselves on the back about their chosen means of "ethical" participation, praising the fandom, or adding any other form of irrelevant bullshit is getting blocked. Also, I don't want to hear about PJO or Earthsea again for the millionth time, either.]

#harry potter #anti harry potter #anti jkr #aesthetic #aesthetics #art #worldbuilding

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thewestern · 8 months

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Chapter 13

Kitty really had to pee. (The line for the gender-agnostic bathroom ünit had stretched the length of four school buses.) Partway through the supposed performance — this rank obscenity, a mechanical minstrel — Dandy Jim’s petite lieutenant returned to fetch the Mick and his party. Escorting them back behind the brewhouse to Jaime’s private studio ünit, she assured them he would be along shortly.

For about another thirty minutes they sat in wait. By which point Grace was fucking starving. The Mick was comfortable, compared to Grace and Kitty, but nonetheless on the brink of melting down completely. Zeke meanwhile was patiently hoping their hostess would soon return. They were seated all four in a row on an obtusely angular white pleather sofa that contorted each of their very differently sized and shaped bodies.

If this was Jaime’s office, it didn’t bear much resemblance to Hank’s. For the first, there weren’t much hanging from the walls, except that thing which was mounted quite precariously on above their heads; set against an ornately patterned wallpaper depicting a playbook of acrobatic sexual positions seemingly plagiarized from the Kama Sutra or some similar text. It was a blaring neon sign with a cursive quotation:

Whoso would be a man must be a nonconformist.

- The Notorious R.W.E

Excuses are like poetry, Russ always said. They’re for pussies and nobody wants to hear them.

Across the room abutted the door frame, there stood a DIY bookcase, with shelving fashioned of salvaged skateboards, stocked with a small library of titles Kitty hadn’t heard of — Zero to One, Good to Great, Thinking Fast and Slow, Outliers, Team of Rivals, The Hard Thing About Building Hard Things, the Fountainhead, Let My People Go Surfing, Barbarian Days, How to Win Friends and Influence People, Meditations. And then one she did recognize but had not herself read — Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban. The wall itself was lined with green astroturf.

In place of a proper desk, there was what the Mick ascertained to have once been a door, based on the protruding knob, mail slot and door knocker. It was propped up on either side with neo-classical columns of imitation granite, and arranged lengthwise against the side wall beneath a large, trapezoidal makeup vanity. Hollywood style … you know … with the exposed light bulbs. (E.g. I’m ready for my closeup, Mr. Delano. That’s great, sweetheart. Look straight into the camera and tell the folks at home how old you are.) Behind the mirror, the wall was whiteboard, like the one Kitty used at her new school. (West Middle still had the dusty old chalkboards that probably hadn’t been replaced since well before bussing. For a fact, some years prior, a student had done a graffiti spanning the full length of the board, to commemorate the last day of school. However, since the janitorial staff had been dismissed for the summer, it would remain scrawled there until the following fall, by which point the chalk was burned into the dark green surface to an extent that it could not be completely erased. Kitty went on to teach in that very classroom, where she would be forced to write Newton’s Laws and other lessons atop the faded italicized wordmark of the band KISS, reproduced perfectly.) Somebody — Jaime, presumably — had drawn out various diagrams in the multi-coloured dry-erase markers — pie charts, histograms and line graphs, the latter all trending exponentially upwards. Then there were the chicken-scratched aphorisms Kitty couldn’t quite make out, except for the largest one that read, Gratitude Is My Superpower. The penmanship was poorer than her seventh-grade students. (From her previous gig. West Middle, that is. At SciTech, all assignments were to be completed on school-issued computer and submitted via email.)

Opposite that wall was a floor-to-ceiling portrait. The artist could be quite readily identified by his vivid color palette and screen-print anti-aesthetic. But the subject, none of them could quite make out. It was a soldier from the looks of him. Or at least by way of the uniform. Dress blues. Because this officer on deck did not have the barracks-standard issue high-and-tight haircut. No, this here warrior-beat poet — no doubt a bon vivant par excellence — had the flowing blonde locks of a flower child, with the bushy handlebar mustache to match. Accessorized by his own dandy red handkerchief, tied daintily around his neck.

The convergence of art and commercialism. Isn’t that what we’re all striving toward?

It’s more like a barreling.

Oh, come on. Take some pride. We’re part of a lineage. Walt Disney, Coco Chanel … fucking [snaps fingers three-x] … this is going to drive me crazy … who else was I literally just thinking of?

Dandy Jim had slinked in whilst their heads were turned toward the mural.

I don’t know … Fucking Elvis. You tell me, Jimmy. You’re the Creative Director. I’m just a brewer.

Almost more than the new first name, it was the roll call of titles that had stuck in the Mick’s craw.

Listen, I know it’s all a little esoteric … for the likes of you, anyway … but I don’t know … Brewmaster … it just sounded so … status quo. It’s So Good To See You, Michael, by the way. Y Kitty, mi amiga guapisima, te amo. Wow. Michael’s muse … the Brewery Girl, in the flesh. You look stunning. Seriously, girl, you haven’t aged a day.

What an asshole thing to say to a woman in her late twenties, after not having seen her for only, like, less than two years. Whatever benefit of the doubt she was willing to afford Jaime was rapidly depleting with every Spanglish word he spoke.

And who are these lovely folks? My sincerest apologies if we’ve already met. Jaime Delano. Welcome … seriously, welcome.

Something about the way Jaime said seriously. He gesticulated his hospitality by bowing at the neck and holding his hands together in self-observance. Where and when did he acquire all these mannerisms?

Well, J, in point of fact, these are your replacements. Meet Grace and Zeke.

The Mick wouldn’t normally feel compelled to speak on their behalf, but in this instance he was overcome by a protective instinct. Also, he wanted to remind Jimmy there had been a time, not so long ago actually, before he coronated himself King of Shit Mountain, here.

Ohh … okayy. Very sick. You guys are learning from the best. And believe you me, being a Newfy alumni goes a long way in this industry, unless you’re Michael and you never leave … I’m teasing. Genuinely, I feel so much gratitude for having the Newfy as part of my Founder Story. It seems like forever ago, doesn’t it?

Only been about two years actually.

Kitty couldn’t resist to reset the record.

Is that all? Time fucking flies. I mean, can you believe how much all this has grown? I’ve actually been meaning to get you guys over here for the full #eXperience. Couldn’t have picked a better night, amirite? So fire.

Oh yea, fucking totally. So Was that how come you sicked your lawyer dogs on us then? So we’d come see your fireworks show?

By now, the Mick was hot-sweating mad at Jaime, who fanned the flames by pretending not to have the slightest clue why.

Oh my goodness, y’all. I completely forgot. It’s just been so busy around here. Never a dull moment, you know? Listen, on some real, I’m sorry to have run up on you like that, all litigious and shit. Speaking as a friend, I didn’t mean any malice by it. Just some strategic maneuvering. Kitty, I’m sure you of all people would understand.

Yeah, well, what did you mean by it? Because what it felt to me was about a pretty damn good bushwhacking, Jimmy.

I know. I know. The optics were less than ideal. But, truly, my hands were tied, dude. Honestly we’ve never collab’d with a music brand of this magnitude legacy and audience reach, not to mention two simultaneously. I mean, who would have thought song licensing would be such a hornet’s nest. Anyway, their people had some concerns that there could be some confusion in the marketplace vis-a-vis I know You Ridah versus Rider, Pale Ale. And since Hank never had it copyrighted …

Hold on just a goddamn second, man. You know well and good we’ve been out here brewing R,PA long since before any of this bullshit.

Oh, for sure. But try to understand where I’m coming from is … that it technically doesn’t matter. Who was First, technically. That’s the whole reason there is such a thing as the fast follower advantage.

Demuredly, Dandy Jim shrugged using only the muscles in his face in such a way that made the Mick want to punch it oh so very fucking badly.

But don’t worry. We’re not going to make you rename or discontinue R,PA or anything. Trust me when I say, player … it’s all good. I would never do a Day One like that. The way the lawyers explained it to me, it’s really just more of a pre-warning, legally speaking.

I’m sorry? What’s a pre-warning?

You know … a pre-warning … the warning before the warning, legally speaking. Like establishing a trademark precedent, or whatever-the-fuck. Seriously, bro, don’t sweat it. I’m pretty sure they just wanted to prevent any future IP disputes. I might have mentioned that you guys are into the whole Grateful Dead Thing. Speaking for myself, that was never really my wave, as you know. The whole Jamming thing, I mean. Besides, it pains me to say, but rock is played out, dawg. Guitar music in general, actually.

Dandy Jim spoke with some authority on endangered musical genres. During his brief, wholly unremarkable tenure as the Mick’s assistant brewer, he moonlighted as the backup vocalist and lead bassist of a post-hardcore musical outfit by the name of Some Pulp, a fringe player in the already fringe DIY scene. Upon their breaking up, citing Creative Differences, Jaime embarked further still into the harmonic hinterland on a solo career as quite possibly the world’s only craft beer-centric battle rapper. This under the nom de guerre, Hip Humulus Lupulus. He had invited his at-the-time mentor on more than one occasion to come and see him compete, and as a matter of course the Mick curtly declined. (This despite Kitty urging him to please, relent, and generally to be more congenial with his colleagues, or at the very least courteous.) In truth, Jaime never forgave the Mick for missing the time he narrowly lost his quarter-final matchup to the eventual runner-up finisher, Heavy Flow, who was herself widely credited with breaking the glass ceiling of the old fuccbois club that was competitive battle rapping at that time. (Coincidentally she was also a future acquaintance of Grace.)

So when they offered me Garcia, I was like cool, cool, whatever. I mean, I feel you. Purely a nostalgia play. Has to be a pass from me, unfortunately. Space ships don’t come equipped with rearview mirrors, you know what I’m saying? But, yo, when they came through with Pac? … I mean, fuck, man. One of the absolute OGs, of the rap game. Know what I’m saying, big dawg?

Here he was addressing Zeke, who still hadn’t any idea about, nor concern for what this person was saying, because his momentary one true love had at last returned.

Dutifully, she handed Jaime a water bottle and white towel, as if he himself had just finished performing posthumously.

I pray the homegirl Anna Leigh has been keeping y’all company? Seriously, she’s a fucking rockstar. I’m being serious. The brains of #x_brüing, right here, for real, on some real shit.

Anna Leigh was her name, and how pretty a name it was.

Unbeknownst to Zeke, Grace was picking up strong sexual tension flowing in one direction from Jaime to his #eXectuive assistant. This came as a surprise to Grace, because for one thing they looked way too much alike to be sexually compatible. Of course they in the lesbian community had a name for this phenotype: Dopplebanger — [noun] slang term for a gay woman who exclusively dates other women who look like her. (Grace was certainly open to the possibility; although, alas, she hadn’t found anybody pretty as her, as of yet.) For another, Grace was also picking up major Do Me Vibes, being put down in her general direction by way of the lovely Miss Anna Leigh. This would have come at quite a shock to Zeke, who was completely unawares of the homosexual encounter unfolding right before his eyes, as he was currently well on the way convincing himself that he and this person were put Planet Earth solely for each other. For a post-modern man so susceptible to the perils of a work crush, Zeke was at somewhat of a numbers disadvantage, being how women were so woefully underrepresented in the craft beer industry. Grace meanwhile was taking full advantage of a statistical anomaly, how among that relatively small female workforce, gay women indexed considerably higher per capita, than say in the population of duly employed persons at-large. Go fucking figure.

I don’t get it. Then what was with the Village Person? The cowboy?

Only Kitty could be depended upon to keep this detente on the rails. It cannot be understated, how much she really had to pee. Anna Leigh interjected.

Oh my god, do you mean Carl? Aww … isn’t he just the cutest? He’s an actual dairy farmer. We sell him our spent grain to feed his cows. You guys, we love Carl! Like, actually, I’m obsessed. We thought about hiring like some guy online to do it, but Carl is always asking about odd jobs to earn extra cash so we paid him fifty bucks. How freaking adorable is that? Like can you believe he’s even real?

Hey Jaime, do you have a banana or energy bar back here I could borrow?

Anna Leigh was about to offer to order Grace something from the tapas ünit before the Mick interrupted on her behalf.

No time, G. We’re leaving. There’s a bag of pretzel sticks in the car. Jimmy … what the fuck, man? Do I need to lawyer up here, or are we cool?

Whoa, Michael … relax. Of course, we’re cool, bro. AL, what’s our core value #two at #x_brüing?

No Assholes Allowed, Jaime.

Russ used to say assholes are like poetry, but Mick couldn’t remember how come.

You already know, girl. Our douchebag policy is zero tolerance. And best believe that shit’s serious, because we made it our second guiding principle.

What’s number three? Grace asked.

Be a Rockstar. Anna Leigh answered.

What about the first one? This was Zeke asking.

Do the Work, Jaime said with bravado.

How many are there? Kitty now.

Seventeen. Anna Leigh again.

Which is your favorite? The Mick, heat checking.

If I had to choose just one, it’s probably #eleven. Anna Leigh accounted earnestly. Think Macro\Live Micro. It’s all about how innovating — the truly big changes — happen in small increments: microchips, micro-dosing…

Micro penises. Grace interjected, looking directly at Jaime, who averted her gaze, glancing sheepishly down and to the left. Anna Leigh blushed.

Whelp, that’s our culture.

And taking you to court would constitute an asshole move, Michael. That’s why I’m not going to do it, even though I’ve been advised by counsel that we have an exceedingly legitimate case. Trust me, you don’t want to see Schuster or Shanker on the plaintiff end of a deposition table. So look man, as a good faith favor to you, I’ll talk to the legal folks and we’ll get this thing squashed. But listen, while I’ve got you here, I was wondering what’s the word on the new production facility.

Now Kitty could see what this was really about. For a fact, it was so patently obvious, even the Mick could see Jaime’s play.

Yeah, well, what about it?

Just that since you broke ground, what’s it been, a year?

Been about two years, actually.

Bonus point to Kitty for her attention to detail.

Two years. Sounds like some serious growing pains. I know that game.

What’s your angle, Jimmy?

Mich-ael. Always about that business. That’s what I love about you, my guy. Alright, I’ll hit you with the straight dope. I know you’re taking the L on this. Not to throw any shade, just … well it just so happens that we’re anticipating somewhat of a L of our own. Not that kind of L, because you already know we stay winning. L as in L is for Liquidity, like a liquidity event, projecting by end of fiscal year. So, in the spirit of helping a true ride or die out, let me buy you out. Of the production facility.

Sold.

Whoa. Just like that? Are you tripping, Michael? I haven’t even named my price.

Don’t bother. If it’s enough to recoup whatever Hank had us losing on that deal by a half, you can have the whole goddamn thing. What do you think, Kitty? Can we make it work, in terms of money?

In terms of money? Um, I don’t see why not.

You hear that, Jim. You got yourself a deal.

And a halfway-done boondoggle of a buildout, he thought to himself. The Mick exercised the restraint to withhold from gloating. This was the first and best deal he would ever make. All it took was a partner with even less business sense than he had, and boy was Dandy fucking Jim his huckleberry. At that the Mick extended his hand. He was of half a mind to spit in it. Now the tables had turned, and Jimmy was on his back foot, shoeless.

Hold up, hold up. Let’s slow our rolls for just a sec, Mike. How do I know you’re not trying to play me? It’s not a fucking superfund site, is it?

I’ll level with you, James. Production, distribution, the whole expansion … that was Hank’s vision. Now that he’s gone, I’d just assume have you see it through. I don’t think Hank would mind and I wouldn’t much care if he did, on of account of his being dead.

Presumably.

Now that you mention it — Hank I mean … well, I’m sorry is all. I was going to say something earlier. Hank was like an uncle to me. Real talk.

The Mick did not acknowledge Dandy’s attempt at contrition. Even if it rang surprisingly true, Hank’s being like an uncle to him. Hell, he was like an uncle to us all.

K. But I still don’t fully buy this out-of-the-goodness-of-my-heart bullshit. What’s your angle? Wait, wait … don’t fucking tell me. Fuuck, dude. Is this about you finally doing that thing … fucking Spontaneous Fermentation, right? Holy shit … it is, isn’t it? Back on your Belgian bullshit. You’re crazy for that one, Michael. I mean that’s some truly out there stuff. You do you, though, you know what I mean? But for real though, how long are we talking … grain-to-glass? Three years? Even with the whole wild yeast, au natural thing — which don’t get me wrong, it plays, from a branding standpoint— just, it doesn’t scale, is all I’m saying. Brewer to brewer.

Maybe. But then don’t things have a way of balancing themselves out in the end?

No, I don’t believe they do.

Kitty reckoned this to be the first true thing Jaime had said, apart from the thing about Hank being like an uncle, which had also resonated with her.

I don’t get you, Michael. Why do you practice brewing, I mean. What’s your Why? Like do you have an exit? An end game? A liquidity event? Maybe you are just Johnny fucking Appleseed, punching a clock — and best of fucking luck with that — but still, I know you’re no fucking dummy, and you’ve been around enough to know in this Beer Shit you’re growing or you’re dying. If you want a dependable career and a steady income, go sell software with those mooks out there.

Here Jaime was referring to his customer base. Zeke often wondered what it was all these people did when they weren’t hanging out in breweries, drinking six-dollar beers on a Sunday afternoon. Lawyers and doctors were his best guesses. Or maybe they worked at the bank. He couldn’t quite figure. His dad installed drywall, and someday so would he, at least he’d always assumed. Now here he was, the second person in his family to go to college and the first to drop out. A Social Media and Events Coordinator. Sitting in a room where there was no drywall to speak of.

The Mick answered honestly.

I don’t know why I make beer, Jim. Just lucky, I guess. Maybe because by now I don’t know how to do anything else. At least not nothing that pays.

He wasn’t being modest. Really, the Mick didn’t know how to do very much. Brewing was the only steady gig he’d ever had. (Previously he had held down a summer job as a caddie at a local country club, the members of which were rich dickheads to a fucking man. He would entertain himself by performing subtle acts of civil disobedience, such as giving his players too short of yardages on their approach shots.) Jaime on the other hand was a serial career switcher. He was cagey about his pre-beer days, but word was he’d tried his hand at the dramatic arts. Acting. Beside booking a local television commercial for a regional chain of furniture warehouses though, he’d mostly had to settle for print work. When Wade and Winona first heard tell of his male modeling past they took a short intermission from watching Internet videos of hockey fights and dash cam-POV car wrecks to dig up a cheeky, black-and-white photo spread of the then James Dean Delano (the Dean was a bit of a show biz fib … Jaime bore no relation to the late teen icon — his real middle name was Drury, after his maternal grandmother’s maiden). In the picture, a sexy lady was using a vacuum to suck off his t-shirt. She’ll Be Happier … when he helps around the house. Whether or not it rose to meet the standards of irony, the campaign had been intended as a playfully feminist twist on the sexist practice of advertising home goods to housewives in the postwar suburban boom period. Maybe it goes without saying that the reference was lost on the Mick, he who had always happily done the vacuuming in his household. Every couple Sundays he’d get thermo nuclear-stoned, crank up his noise-canceling headphones to eleven and fucking regulate. As chores went, it was one of his most favourite. Ma’am, I assure you, he’d kid to Kitty, holding up the hose. This thing sucks.

Okay, I see you. I didn’t choose this life, this life chose me, type of thing. Respect, Mick. You know we should collab on something. For Hank.

Wait, what about you? Why do you make beer?

Against her better judgement, Kitty asked Jaime, although she had been genuinely curious. Accompanied by a look that said, well obviously, what else could it be, he responded:

For the benefit of all mankind.

Upon hearing this, Kitty legit peed her pants.

#novls of tumblr #wildcat

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