"Mr. Franklin, of what use is this hot air balloon contraption?"
"You can take ladies up in it with a bottle of wine and a blanket and you know, they can’t refuse, because of the implication. Think about it. She's floating up in the middle of the sky with some dude she barely knows. You know, she looks around, and what does she see? Nothing but open air. 'Ahhhh! There’s nowhere for me to run. What am I gonna do, say ‘no?’"
Pig is a masterclass in not telling the audience more than they absolutely need to know. I've gotten so sick of movies where the dialog repeats itself for the benefit of people who weren't paying attention thirty seconds ago, or else it constantly spells out stuff that rightly ought to be conveyed by the actions of the characters. Pig is the antithesis of that. Characters hardly say anything that they don't need to say, and everything else is left to the viewer to figure out. I fucking love it.
Yeah, I actually think Lovecraft was doing what was probably the healthiest thing available to him at the time with all his fucked up phobias by turning them into inspiration for spooky stories. He was creative and articulate enough that he could have been writing political screeds and trying to get others on board with driving out all the immigrants, but instead he wrote about crab monsters from space. Far from the worst possible outcome considering a lot of the other possibilities from the time.
Whether or not you should consume HP Lovecraft media despite the fact he was a racist is entirely up to you because he is long dead. He doesn't make any money. He isn't even racist any more. Because he's dead.
I always say "If you're going to be a shitshow of a human being but a talented artist, the least you can do is also be dead."
Hegseth: You there! Jackson! I want plans on how to invade Greenland on my desk by the end of the week!
Johnson: [Looks at filing cabinet full of plans for invading every other country] Oh, yeah, sure thing, sir. Gonna be a few all-nighters, though. Me and the boys are gonna need some pizzas and a few bottles of Mountain Dew and some cinnamon dipperz.
Hegseth: No problem! Just take it out of the Preventing Kids From Being Thrown Into The Orphan Crushing Machine fund! You're a good man Jackson!
Johnson: Sir, yes sir.
Hegseth: [takes enormous swig out of family-sized plastic bottle of bourbon]
The Tyrannosaurus rex from Jurassic Park because first of all, I'm actually pretty sure I'd be fine so long as I can get in my car and drive away at a reasonable pace. Secondly, just think of the absolutely incredible collateral damage. Even if I get killed, it would be one of the most talked-about and confusing incidents in American history for the rest of time.
We do this at a used book store. It's books that we don't think we can sell inside for whatever reason, and we put them on shelves outside. There's a big awning so they don't really get rained on unless it's raining sideways. We sell them for a dime or a quarter, and there's a slot for overnight drops in case people want to get books at night. Every morning there's at least a couple of bucks from the previous day/night.
We donate the proceeds to public radio, and over the years we've donated over $100,000.
"Mr. Franklin, of what use is this hot air balloon contraption?"
"You can take ladies up in it with a bottle of wine and a blanket and you know, they can’t refuse, because of the implication. Think about it. She's floating up in the middle of the sky with some dude she barely knows. You know, she looks around, and what does she see? Nothing but open air. 'Ahhhh! There’s nowhere for me to run. What am I gonna do, say ‘no?’"