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You have failed me for the last time, Wilton.

I’ve recently been crowned the Baking Queen around here. By which I mean, I discovered I was some kind of alchemist savant who can throw flour, sugar and spices together in various combinations that my trusty ancestral weapon, Bright Oven, then transmutes into SHEER AWESOME DELICIOUSNESS.

So I got myself a tiara, robed myself in my The Spice Must Flow apron, and made my husband and our two cats attend the coronation. I may have gripped a rolling pin and cradled a sphere of dough while striking a noble pose.

Look, that’s just how I roll.

…NO, I WILL NOT APOLOGIZE. Anyway, I may have sung something like “OPEN THE OVEN GATES!” before Andy and the cats wandered off in disinterest. Or bemusement. Hard to tell, sometimes. (And, yes, I did recently watch Frozen for the first time. And then 4 more times. Just to be sure I liked it.) (I do.)

Thanks to my newly-appointed baking royalty status, I looked my husband’s oncoming birthday in the eye and said “HA HA! I’m going to bake the shit out of a Vader cake for you!”

Yeah, I said Vader. As in Darth Vader.

Darth Vader cake pan by Wilton

Wilton knows the power of the Dark Side.

My husband loves vanilla cake and white chocolate. I agonized over how to give him this in a Darth Vader cake without making the icing bitter from a truly disgusting amount of black food dye. I finally threw my hands up in despair and let Jamelle (best friend and zombie-hunting consultant) weave me a tale of Vader having Hoth-appropriate camouflage, although I secretly knew in my heart that the Dark Lord would never condescend to hide his presence with a snowy mantle. If he caught me at this, I’d for sure be Force Choked.

Andy’s birthday came. I merrily spent an hour in the kitchen, whipping up my prized vanilla cupcake recipe and then just dumping all the batter into a Darth Vader cake pan rather than individual cups. I stuck it in the oven, and began happily sketching a “WE GOT DEATH STAR” illustration for his birthday whiteboard.

WE GOT DEATH STAR scene from Star Wars rap

“And you know that we got it.”

Look. I’ve been baking a lot recently. Like, A LOT. Clearly, since I’ve crowned myself been crowned the Baking Queen. Also, I followed the directions on the Wilton pan. I went with their advised temperature, and began checking my cake for delicious doneness at their recommended time. 25 minutes down, it’s not done. 30 minutes down, not done. 35, 40, and wow, the top of this cake is getting pretty brown but the middle is still mush WHAT THE HELL, WHY HAS THE FORCE MY ALCHEMY FAILED ME NOW.

At some point, the top was brown enough and my toothpick came out clean, so I took it out. I let it cool (precisely, again, as recommended BY WILTON), then loosened the sides and prepared to flip it onto a cooling rack, total bad-ass baker balling.

This is when the shit hit the fan.


Yeah, Vader’s face cracked when I tipped out the cake. Hot batter poured through my fingers, and my reaction was both graceful and brilliant: I dropped the pan. Too bad the “OH SHIT” signal of what happened didn’t make it through the rest of my body fast enough, as I then instinctively stuck my knee out to catch the tumbling pan. So: knee burned, and I yelled a mighty yawp, and danced away awkwardly. Hot batter splattered my foot as a final insult anyway.

A Darth Vader cake lay broken on the floor

“Force-choking, sobbing,
Vader’s head on the floor…”

I told you the Dark Lord wouldn’t let me get away with this white chocolate crap.

I cackled maliciously when my husband stuck his head around the corner to ask “what was that?” and find his birthday cake exploded on the floor. Or at least that’s what he’s telling everyone, and I’m only too happy to back that up. Malicious. Cackling. I certainly was NOT distraught enough due to burned flesh and cake-loss that he had to perform first aid and then clean his own birthday cake up off the kitchen floor. Nope. I laughed at his pain, and he collapsed to his knees and beseeched the heavens why in abject alliterative agony.

Don’t worry, I bought him a tiramisu dessert the size of his head to make up for my gross failure.

What the hell did I do wrong? Anyone out there with experience with Wilton pans, please, weigh in here. I’ve trusted Wilton for years, so I was totally shocked to end my first shaped-pan baking experience with no cake and a warped pan:

A warped Darth Vader pan by Wilton

Nothing but a hot mess and a warped pan.

P.S. I’m not giving the crown back. I’m still the reigning Baking Queen at Casa Quixote. I’ll fight anyone what says different. (No, I won’t.)

(Yes, I will.) (Not really.)


Check Your Hate-On For Disney Princesses

Most people are agreed that Disney deserves a whole lot of criticism, and that there is a danger to young girls, particularly, in wholly embracing the Disney brands being marketed toward them today. I’m down with these thoughts myself, and generally live with the principle that nothing should be consumed passively and without poking at it really firmly with a stick to see if anything gross falls out.

As most often happens with any Issue, though, you get people really far away on either side who would rather yell at each other than think critically. “Disney princesses are awesome and there’s not a single ounce of questionable ideals being hocked!” vs. “Disney princess are THE DEVIL and leading our young girls into passive lives of twinkling laughs hiding blackened innards of self-hate!” “KILL THE WITCH!” one side cries, while the other shouts “KILL THE BITCH!” and who knows which said which.

Eventually, articles like “Why Drag Queens are Better Role Models Than Disney Princesses” pop up in the Huffington Post and then I read the following:

“When it comes down to it, I respect drag queens. They are artists. They are able to conceptualize an idea and transform themselves — without the help of magic, I might add. They are risk takers. They are punk. But Disney princesses? They are a man-made franchise created to sell cheaply made shit to our daughters. They are a perpetuation of the stereotype of the weak, dumb woman who obediently waits for a man to come along and make her valuable.”

Many drag queens are fabulous, and some of them maybe aren’t, because that’s how people work. This post is not about them, but about what Disney princesses perpetuate. Let’s look at the evidence:

Snow White was cast out by the person meant to care for her and taken out into the woods to be straight-up murdered. She was shown mercy at the hands of the Huntsman, but still abandoned in a dark wood. Did she lay down and die? No. She found a family, found a way to fit in, and kept a welcoming heart regardless of her terrible experiences. She survived and thrived. Yes, she was poisoned, and yes, someone had to save her after that – but that wasn’t a conscious passive act.

Sleeping Beauty was hidden away in the woods with a trio of sweet Old Granny Fairies because Evil Fairy McAwesome put a hit on Aurora for her parents failing to invite EFM to the birthday party. (Maleficent represent!) Aurora didn’t know she was royalty, was kept far away from civilization, and lacked access to useful things like needles. But she still greeted each day with enthusiasm for life. Yeah, she spent most of the story comatose, but again, not passive through her own acts. (Aurora’s not the best example. Still, just gonna leave this here: “Once Upon a Dream” doesn’t have a single gendered word in it.)

Cinderella was abused and downtrodden, but she still managed to find hope in her heart, friends in unexpected places, and the ability to endure. She may not have had the means to conjure a beautiful dress for herself, but there’s nothing wrong with accepting a beautiful dress from a magical granny benefactor and going to a fancy party if you want to. There’s not even anything wrong with happening to fall in love with someone at that party. Cinderella was the one with the power to reveal herself and choose her fate at the end, even if the prince did come looking for her.


Ariel went after what she wanted, found a way to do the impossible, made foolish decisions along the way… and paid for them, and learned from them, and then actually saved her Prince before the tale was done. She also saves herself by having enough dexterity to dodge bolts of lightning when she’s a fish-woman out of water at the bottom of a whirlpool. And, yeah, Eric kills Ursula– through his previously established skills as a sailor, not because he’s a man, baby.

Belle grows worried for her father, goes to find him when their horse comes home riderless, and sacrifices her future to save his life. She makes the best of a bad situation, and yes, there’s a whole conversation about Stockholm syndrome to be had here. However, let’s focus on whether Belle is passive, given to gasps and twinkles: when she’s locked up while the townsfolk go to kill the Beast, she finds a way out with the help of her friends and then goes after the angry mob. She climbs out on a rain-washed balustrade to try and defuse a fight to the death, and show the Beast she’s supporting him. Yeah, he happens to turn into a human prince and they get married. Presumably she spends the rest of her life in fabulous clothes reading a never-ending library, and what the hell is wrong with that? (The fabulous clothes and reading a never-ending library bit, clearly there’s a problem with marrying one’s former captor. Discuss Stockholm syndrome with your kids, folks!)

Pocahontas? Bad-ass tracker and protector of the people she cares about. Mulan? Hides her sex and goes to war, then saves the entire Empire through cleverness even while wearing a, gasp, dress. (Also promotes cross-dressing both ways!) Jasmine defies separation of the classes, refuses to marry a suitor not of her choice, and rescues both herself and Aladdin at least once. Rapunzel defends herself successfully against an intruder, and then hijacks him as a tour guide. Tiana maintains an amazing level of hope and industriousness in the face of a whole lot of bullshit, and builds the restaurant of her dreams through hard work AND the connections she forges through her willingness to take a gamble. Merida, the latest addition to the princess line-up, literally lives for archery and breaks a generations-old marriage requirement because it’s ridiculous– all while learning how to empathize with other people and knit her family back together.

In their actual stories, where’s the bit about them all just simpering in amazing dresses with big hair and doing nothing but gasping in the face of danger?

The actual princesses themselves have many traits worth emulating. Like all heroes, they are not above criticism. No one should ever be – you should always think critically about who you admire, and understand everyone has faults. It doesn’t mean the good things aren’t worth aspiring to.

It’s the Disney Princess Marketing Machine that tries to reduce them to fancier dresses than they originally wore, to generic looks reaching for some homogenized and disturbing ideal, to couture so they can sell make-up to adults and inspire fashion designers to advertise them in up-scale shop windows. It’s the DPMM selling them as Princesses (TM) who have their personalities sanded off and are meant only to be seen decorously standing about with awesome hair and fancy accessories.

That’s not Snow White with a broom in her hands, singing with a blue bird. That’s not Belle, climbing a ladder in a library, or finding a sunny field to read in. That’s not Tiana, with her sleeves rolled up and rolling out some dough or balancing her business’s accounts. That’s not Mulan helping her fellow soldiers learn to fight, or Ariel powerfully swimming through strong currents and ultimately deciding to be part of another world.

Check your hate for the Disney princesses themselves, and redirect your censure to the Disney Princess marketing machine. It needs dismantling far more than we need to destroy the stories it’s feeding on.

(Also, talk to your kids, and give them an Ada Lovelace doll for every Ariel mermaid toy, and a Marie Curie science kit with stern warnings about radiation alongside every fancy Merida dress. A dress which can and will go fabulously well with any bow of your choice. Our kids are bombarded with messages every day, but we can still be their strongest filter.)


It’s Cherno Alpha Cocktail Time!

The GeekDame loves it when a plan comes together.It’s Cherno Alpha cocktail time! If you’re not already earwormed, I want you to go ahead and do this: go watch this Youtube video. I’ll wait. Cool, done? Okay, now start singing “It’s Cherno Alpha cocktail time!” to yourself. Do a shimmy up to your bar that’s only embarrassing if you’re not home alone or your guests aren’t already drunk. (If you’re alone, it ain’t no thing; if your guests are drunk, it’s hilarious.)

I hope your bar’s well stocked, particularly with vodka and various red liquids. You’re gonna need them to honor one of the baddest jaegers protecting the collective human ass from massive city-chompin’ kaiju.

So, you’ve all seen Pacific Rim, right? If you haven’t, I don’t even know why I’m talking to you right now. You need to take yourself to a theatre, educate yourself, and stop by the liquor store on the way back home. Pacific Rim is the giant mechs vs. giant monsters film you’ve been looking for, if you ever loved Godzilla, Gamera, Transformers, Neon Genesis Evangelion, Gundam, etc. This film is homage and love letter to them all. It’s also Guillermo del Toro’s warped and beautiful brain on film: I want to squeeze it and call it Squishy (for it will be mine and it will be my Squishy).

That didn’t get weird at all.

On top of all of that? Pacific Rim is a celebration of the human spirit, and the fact that collaboration and friendship among humanity is what makes us great. If that doesn’t call for a drink with a few friends, I don’t know what does.

As the oldest jaeger still active in the field, we’re starting with cocktails inspired by Cherno Alpha and the Kaidanovskys, the married couple who share the neural load. With their powers combined, Sasha and Aleksis turn Cherno Alpha into a clobberin’ machine that has slain six kaiju during its career.

After the Kaidanovskys have painted the seas luminescent blue with kaiju blood, they like to kick back and celebrate with some decadent desserts. In their honor, then:


The Kaidanovsky Weekender

1 1/2 oz UV Chocolate Cake vodka
3/4 oz Frangelico
3/4 oz Godiva Chocolate liqueur
2 oz Half & Half

Stir together in a martini glass, and garnish with chocolate curls that look better than mine. Decadent! I’m gonna admit I was pouring with a heavy hand on this one, so go over for the legit GeekDame version. (Any chocolate-infused vodka should do, honestly, and here’s a chocolate curl tutorial.)


Now, for the Cherno Alpha cocktails themselves! I’m gonna go ahead and tell you up front: I hope you like cranberry juice.

calpha-cocktail3Cherno Alpha: Red

2 oz vodka
1.5 oz cherry liqueur
3 oz cranberry juice
dash of club soda

Shake the vodka, cherry liqueur, and cranberry juice together and pour over ice. Add a generous dash of club soda for a bit of fizz and tickle. Please get a decent vodka. I was drinking Russian Standard for the Mendeleev cachet, supposedly made to the father of the Periodic Table’s vodka formula – go science! (Even if that’s creative and mythical marketing.) Also, make sure you choose a cherry cordial that does not taste like Robitussin – I recommend Hiram Walker Cherry Brandy. And for goodness’ sake, make sure your cranberry juice has sugar in it. This cocktail needs the sweetness.

calpha-cocktail4Cherno Alpha: Mk. 3

2 oz UV Chocolate Cake vodka
1.5 oz Kahlua
3 oz Half & Half

Pour the ingredients over ice and stir. Then drink that modified White Russian like a boss! A jaeger boss. (Again, any chocolate-infused vodka will probably do ya. And I originally wanted to make this with Godiva Mocha rather than Kahlua, but good luck finding that on a budget. You think the PPDC’s shelling out for the top shelf stuff? You got another think comin’. Wouldn’t even buy me better than a $3 cigar, and that stogie’s nasty.)

As always, please drink responsibly. Do not drink and drive your jaeger – the neural handshake’s gonna go to some bad places, and you’re just going to wake up with nosebleeds and regret. Nobody’s got time for that.

Let me know if you mix any of these up, and any mods you might make. This fandom is all about collaboration, so let’s build better cocktails if we’re able!

I know the Cyrillic for Cherno Alpha is technically wrong, but I used the official film spelling.
Polaroid frames from Fuzzimo.
Fonts used are Cuprum and Permanent Marker.
Awesome photo of Heather Doerksen and Robert Maillet found here.


We need to talk about my husband.


acentipede1This happens more often than you might think.

Look, there was a centipede, okay? On the ceiling. So my husband does what any problem-solving adult with the tools at hand would do: he decides to rifle butt the sucker with a P53 Enfield rifle-musket. A black powder muzzle-loading rifle-musket used by the British empire around the mid-1800′s and later widely used by both the North and South in the American Civil War. Which we just happen to have lying around. As you do.

Sadly, the corpse could not be retrieved to preserve and properly mount above our nonexistent mantelpiece. But let the victory be reflected, and his fierce battle never be forgot!

What? So, I’m an enabler. This is how Casa Quixote rolls.

Action shots just a click away!


Let’s start with the positive, because GoD only knows there isn’t much of it. The actors on this show are damned fabulous. Generally, they’re given crap to work with and they still act their asses off– particularly Robert Carlyle and, lately, Barbara Hershey and Rose McGowan. Then there’s Jane Espenson, fantastic writer. Between her and the actors, they manage to spin shit into sterling silver. (Let’s face it, guys. They’re not Rumplestiltskin, and their base material isn’t even straw.)

There are also moments on Once Upon a Time that are so heartrendingly perfect, though, that every misstep in plotting, characterization, and pacing is thrown into ever more glaring relief.

Here’s one: Regina shoved her mother’s heart back inside her chest and Cora gave her daughter one brilliant, heart-felt smile of love and adoration. The next moment, she falls dying into Regina’s arms. There’s just enough life left in her to cry, “This would have been enough. You would have been enough.”

No one mourns the wicked: most misleading Broadway song ever.

And another: Rumplestiltskin, earlier in the episode, believes that he may actually die. Belle is still mindwiped and in the hospital, but he wants to reach out to her one last time — just to thank her, to try to give her some beauty to hold on to. He calls her up and says, “I know that you’re confused about who you are, so I’m going to tell you. You are a hero who helped your people. You are a beautiful woman who loved an ugly man. Really, really loved me. You find goodness in others and when it’s not there you create it. You make me want to go back, back to the best version of me. And that’s never happened before. So when you look in the mirror and you don’t know who you are, that’s who you are.”

This is followed by a heart-wrenching and laugh!sob-inducing moment between Rumplestiltskin and his estranged son Baelfire. It is absolutely no surprise that all of these scenes occurred during Espenson’s latest episode, “The Miller’s Daughter.”

And then there’s the rest of it. Let’s get started with the grossest offenders, shall we? Each of these points come courtesy of nonsense in 2.13-16, or “Tiny,” “Manhattan,” “The Queen is Dead,” and “The Miller’s Daughter.”

Field full of magic beans…no Rumplestiltskin. Wait, what?


Seanan McGuire's Midnight Blue-Light SpecialA couple of weeks ago, I read Midnight Blue-Light Special by Seanan McGuire.

This is a book in which some speciest assholes with a vendetta against an awesome-pants family and a whole world’s worth of innocent-and-not cryptids decide to come to NYC and throw down on a ballroom-dancin’, ball-bustin’, arsenal-carryin’ honey. (Who is the local rep of said awesome-pants family.) If you foresee bad things happening to the speciest assholes, I would generally be all “Here! Have a cookie!” Except I’m sorry to tell you that these are militant, sorcery-packin’, zealous speciests who are indoctrinated, not dumb. So the book is a bit of a nail-biter along with a hoot-out-louder. It also comes complete with dragon princesses, cuckoo-induced terror, a sometimes-wolfbear Lolita, and talking religious mice. Honestly, though, that’s not even the half of it.

Right about now, you should have already ordered this book from your favorite book purveyor. If you haven’t, you might be asking yourself: “Self, why should I read Midnight Blue-Light Special?” I would interrupt this conversation with yourself to pose another question: “You mean, besides the fact that you read Discount Armageddon and this is the sequel?” And, if you haven’t read Discount Armageddon, what the hell? Are you allergic to fun? Because, seriously: so much fun. (I realize some people were apparently allergic to the cover, but that’s why GoD created ebooks and those handy paper book covers you get for free with every book purchase in Japan.)

Anyway, without further ado, here are 5 Reasons Why You Should Read Midnight Blue-Light Special:

1. Aeslin mice.Aeslin mice!

Yes, they’re talking mice. This could be pretty boss by itself (if you’re also into Disney), but then you add in that they’re religious talking mice who have adopted the Healys (and their descendants, said awesome-pants family) as their Gods and priestesses. Their oral religion preserves the family history, and they have elaborate festivals and solicit offerings of “CHEESE AND CAKE!” They’re also tough little buggers who go hunting and wear the bones of their enemies, using them for religious regalia and instruments. They do dance numbers, but Cinderella’s dopey mice they ain’t (though they are often hilarious). This paragraph just does not do justice to these tiny, intelligent mice that pervade the novel and burrow into your affections. Just trust me on this one.

Four more compelling reasons this-a-way!


Everyday I’m Ruzzlin’

You guys. YOU GUYS. I am so done. I am finished. Send support because I am permattached to my smartphone. Okay, that’s patently untrue. I’m not writing this on my phone (though I COULD BE). My phone is, in fact, charging because I played Ruzzle to the point of the battery’s exhausted collapse. (I wouldn’t let that stop me, but the phone is charging and the outlet’s not near the couch.)

Yeah, I said the R-word. RUZZLE. WHAT.

Stop. Ruzzle time!

Have you not heard of Ruzzle? I would ask how could you not, except I only heard about it a week ago. It entered my life as a nonsense word that my (fantastic!) friend Rei kept throwing around. Asking me if I was ruzzlin’. I’d give her a weird look and move on, which is pretty impressive given the number of weird conversations we have. Foolishly, I never asked what it was all about. I think I assumed it was a fashion game I’d seen her playing previously.

Of course, then Rei mentioned it was a word game. And then that shit was on.

Now, I am the beginner’s beginner. I still think I have a hella awesome first round if I break 200 points, and a sweet-ass final round if I break 700. I still fumble with my swiping, and stare dumbly at the screen for a precious second before moving. Needless to say, people are kicking my ass. Rei trounced me 6 times before she took pity on me and went to bed.

Of course, by that point, it wasn’t a mercy. I didn’t care if I was losing. I had to keep playing.

I’ve got 4 games going right now. I feel a bit shaky. My husband is discoursing learnedly to me about Aliens: Colonial Marines and I’m all “wow,” and “really?” and “you don’t say” while my eyes are glued to my smartphone and mentally I’m all “AD DEALS SHADY WED TOTAL FIE FILE FILES WHY ISN’T FAP A WORD IT’S ON THE INTERNET.”

I’d ask you to send help, but I honestly just want you to invite me to a game.

(Username is geekdame, obvs.)



Virtuously, I rolled out of bed at quarter to noon yesterday morning and set about making guacamole.

…what? Sunday’s my day off, okay. Besides, I was reading Keturah and Lord Death, and I was very much invested in reaching through the pages, shaking Keturah’s shoulders, and making her realize she was in love with a certain anthropomorphic personification.

Right, so, I made guacamole. It was delicious. My plans for the day featured watching the Superbowl commercials and ignoring the game– you know, standard operating procedure. However! In an absolutely shocking reversal, the Superbowl game actually turned out to be more interesting than the commercials. I mean, the commercials this year overall were hardly interesting, and certainly infantile, and often racist. (Really, Volkswagen? I can’t even.)

Still, I got some amusement out of it:

1. Star Trek Into Darkness.

Since 2009′s Star Trek, I’ve been primed for this one. I don’t need some big mystery to keep me hooked, and I’ve been irritated by Abrams refusal to reveal the villain. It wasn’t a big deal at first, but now it’s all anyone’s talking about: who is Benedict Cumberbatch? This trailer left me all “THANK YOU! FOR FUCK’S SAKE, JJ. WAS THAT SO HARD?!” with a sense of relief. It seems pretty clear to me now that Star Trek Into Darkness is all about Khan.

2. Got Milk? The Rock edition.

I got nothing to say about this. I just love it.

3. Coke Chase, which sounds disturbingly like it has to do with drugs.

This was one of those problematic ads, but I was a tiny bit amused by the Mad Max marauders and the bus full of showgirls (which I prefer to think of as a Priscilla Queen of the Desert reference).

4. Bud Light voodoo commercials, of which “Lucky Chair Journey” is one.

Another problematic ad! Severely – and only here so I can quote @Zhombiehunter, AKA Jamelle: “I’m sorry but if you’re in NOLA, you aren’t drinking shitty Bud Light.” Agreement five. I mean, honestly. (Also here because Zoe Saldana is super pretty.)

5. Iron Man 3.

I’ve embedded the extended look trailer for you here, which includes a hilarious bit at the beginning (courtesy of RDJ). The trailer I saw during the actual game just had the plane-rescue bits, which left me grumbling, “That’s it?” (This extended preview meant there were posts like this one up on Tumblr within twenty minutes. Loving it.)

6. Calvin Klein: Are you serious?

This is what happened on Twitter after this Calvin Klein ad aired:

Deborah: I was supposed to LOL at the Clavin Klein ad, right? Because, yeah, LOLs.
Sasha Reinhardt: I know! I cannot take anyone that makes that face seriously. #BlueSteel
Deborah: MAGNUM.
Sasha: YES.

I would not have been surprised to find Ben Stiller suddenly in the middle of that ad.

7. Mercedes-Benz acknowledges you’ve been selling them your soul all this while.

Mercedes-Benz has been playing “Sympathy for the Devil” over some of their commercials for a couple of weeks now, and it’s been perplexing me. I’m glad to finally have this one explained. Also, Willem Dafoe has now played both Jesus and Satan! He should get some sort of prize for that.


Random commentary: Kaley Cuoco is in all the ads now, which amuses me on a meta level. I imagine it’s Penny getting the gigs and the Big Bang Theory boys are all star-struck that she got to work with William Shatner. Cousin Avi is shilling for Xfinity, and the Doritos commercials get more disturbing every year. The less said about the GoDaddy ad the better, and there was supposedly a trailer for The Lone Ranger, but I missed it.

Anyway, I’m glad the ghost of Edgar Allen Poe smiled upon the game and smote the Ravens’ opponents with the multihammer of living entombment, sharpened pendulums, and death hypnosis. He’s a good literary god to have the back of your football team.



P.S. There was an actual blackout in the middle of the Superbowl, which meant poor Elementary fans suffered an extra hour of football. It also saw Twitter explode in equal parts “Oh shit, Bane!”, “Damn, Beyonce killed it”/”Plug Beyonce in! She’s got enough juice!”, and Katrina references.