Do I Know Anything About Dracula? Or Vampires? Or Movies? Or Anything At All? No. I Do Not. Did I Have

Do I know anything about Dracula? Or vampires? Or movies? Or anything at all? No. I do not. Did I have the time of my life watching Renfield? I did, thanks for asking.

Is it just me, or is Beef Punchley… Magnus Burnsides…?

I fear I may have the gift of Sight. I just know he’s gonna quit. Wait when’s the transfer window again? QUICK SOMEONE ENGLISH TELL ME IF WE ARE LOSING THE TALL ITALIAN MAN!

THERE IS ONLY ROOM FOR ONE PLATITUDE-SPEWING AUTHORITY FIGURE IN THIS LOCKER ROOM THANKYOUVERYMUCH

If I had a nickel for every time an English television show brought me near tears over Van Gogh’s Sunflowers, I’d have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice.

“I’m in ur walls” GREAT can you get that big fucking spider I saw the other day? I know he’s in there.

Sports are so fucking weird, and the ONLY thing that keeps them from being a religion is the lack of a higher power or an afterlife.

You’ve got: rituals, sacrifices, superstitions, gatherings, songs, festivals, pilgrimages, fellowship, celebrations, talismans, idols. You’ve even got miracles.

These things seem to be more present in certain leagues than others—NCAA basketball and the English Football League come to mind for having teams, coaches, and fans who will go to extremes AS A COLLECTIVE, not just as individuals. They treat their local sports bar like a parish. They have their cathedrals and their songs and their holy-war rivalries.

I understand the inclination to not care. And in many ways, I don’t care either. (American football is a drag at ANY level, and all they’ve got by way of ritual is TAILGATING.) But if you’ve never celebrated a victory—one you truly cared about, one you prayed for—by dancing and singing in the streets with a couple thousand strangers, I recommend it.