Good God, Trump is such a graceless, pathetic clod. Four years of this? Really? https://t.co/omtP8FVxHn
Hey Trump -- you'll be nostalgic for the #WomensMarch come tomorrow. That's when state-level action starts, every single day. 'Night!
Not a single acting gig. I'm forced to act with groups of people in things, usually. It's beyond tragic. https://t.co/QVu0QuaTXx
Not only do you look like me, you're as big a pussy as I am. Except I'm not scared by...people sitting in a lobby? https://t.co/dsZD8sjC45
I am profoundly sorry and embarrassed. Please accept my apology. https://t.co/nz6bfI4cZ0

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Sat, Oct 21


31 HORROR STORIES -- "The Upper Berth" (1894)

@ 1:00 PM

F. Marion Crawford wrote this -- the bloated, bloviating cousin to Ambrose Bierce's super-short "The Boarded Window". While Bierce's tale genially strolls up to a sucker-punch ending, Crawford's little number is packed through with creepiness, horror, and fright.

And then...and then...the last goddamn line. Which considers all that's come before, and makes it so much worse.



 
 
   
   
   
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