An Ice Cold Beer Topped With A Scoop Of Vanilla Ice Cream. Lying On Top Of The Ice Cream Foam Is A Salted

an ice cold beer topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. lying on top of the ice cream foam is a salted peanut. this is the angel. around him are sprinkles (his tears). this is "the angel's lament", my new cocktail

portrayals of hamlet where he’s effeminate, has feminine traits and/or is played by a woman >>>

i have gotten in the habit of playing Questions (from Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead) with one of my friends, and I’ve been considering counting the phrase ‘what do you think’/variations of it as a foul because they’re getting away with TOO MUCH.

our average match goes something like this:

‘Would you like to start this round?’

‘I don’t know, what do you think?’

‘Does it matter what i think?’

‘I think it does, do you?’

‘Would my answer have changed anything?’

‘That depends on what you would’ve answered, don’t agree?’

‘Should I be calling repetition on these?’

‘That seems a little unfair, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Can you answer this question in a way that does not involve the phrase ‘don’t you agree’ to any extent?’

‘…’

‘Hesitation, two-love.’

shortened for convenience (we have not fouled it yet because realistically it’s the ONLY chance they stand and we both know it LMAO)

I mean I really need distraction so

rosencrantz and guildenstern are dead 1990

oh yeah. happy international woman’s day also

portrayals of hamlet where he’s effeminate, has feminine traits and/or is played by a woman >>>

I’ve always been a fan of the Hamlet Sr and Claudius are identical twins for a few reasons (one, the hypocrisy of HJr when comparing the two, and two, in the months following his father’s death, HJr might occasionally turn a corner or catch a glimpse and for a moment, think he sees someone else. and then after the quick realisation that it’s Claudius, hate Claudius more for these moments. he swears the two of them are not identical to him. the difference is glaringly obvious. Hyperion to a Satyr. but although he denies it, his heart has almost stopped one too many times at the sight of someone he mistook for his father)

but I’d like you all to also consider, in a visual adaptation (I like to imagine an animated mini-series) of the play, the only difference between HSr and Claudius is that Claudius has a large, un-ignorable scar across the right side of his face. Doesn’t have to be explained, doesn’t have to be like intensely detailed or a horrible near-gaping wound or anything, just a noticeable scar across his right eye, perhaps. An easy identifier. If you were to approach him from the left, or even if you weren’t paying attention, still quite possible to mistake him for his better. (And well, perhaps a Lion King reference if you will).

Hamlet (Jr) can’t help but almost fixate on this scar. It’s bad enough as it is that it looks like he could be Claudius’s son, so he’s drawn to what sets them apart. What sets his father and him apart. Even if he won’t admit it, it’s practically the only difference between the image of his father and the image of this vile, incestuous murderer. It sticks out to him. It leers at him; it’s the difference between the idolised good and damned evil in his mind. It might re-contextualise some of the things he says, but it’s not like he hasn’t been nasty to other types of people (like women) before.

Let’s say he ends up in, I don’t know, some kind of fencing match. One where his opponent wields a blade secretly sharpened past what’s safe, for the sake of this hypothetical. If this opponent had the intent to wound him, and hadn’t had luck in the actual fencing part of duel for the past two rounds, he might be tempted to strike at Hamlet while he was unaware, and not facing him. But if Hamlet, upon hearing something slice through the air behind him, turned around; well, he might be a little too late to stop the blade’s interception, but he might be able stop the rapier from wounding his shoulder by unknowingly shielding it with his face.

And if the blade were to make contact, and one of his eyes were to go red as blood leaked into it from a fresh wound, a shallow but clean slice lengthwise along the right side, he might have a number of things running through his mind. Pain, blinding anger, shock, realisation. He might hear Horatio’s gasp from somewhere nearby, which he could take as a sign that it looked bad-

If he didn’t already know exactly how it looked. What he looked like.

Who he looked like.