Whither the landfills?

Planning a NYC trip cause I heard they got Shiera Law which forces everyone to be a grumpy badass and have insane sexual chemistry with absolutely everyone

Observing James Watson’s death by reading up on Rosalind Franklin. He’d hate that. Bet he’s double-helixing in his grave.

I’ll take Online Content Ruthlessly Laser-Targeted At Me for 1000 please Ken youtu.be/8qya3eTjNMQ?...

This is my sandwich. There are many like it but this one is mine. My sandwich is my best friend. It is my life. I must master it as I must master my life. My sandwich, without me, is useless. Without my sandwich, I am useless. I must eat my sandwich true. I must eat heartier than my enemy who is

Now ICE has gotta be scared of subs like they’re merchant ships crossing the Atlantic in 1942.

Ham sandwiches out here in these streets, unindicted, just roaming free as you please

St. Peter, yesterday:

The real question is how she found the address of his home pit.

Today is All Hallow’s Day. All the Hallows. All of them. Except for one. This one.

Social media just paid for itself.

Tonight I can get away with asking folks the one question I’m forced to keep to myself the other 364 days of the year: “And who are YOU supposed to be?”

BUGONIA isn’t peak Lanthimos, and hoo boy that final needle-drop is mystifyingly bad. Poisonous. But Stone and Plemons are great. Shame they’ve been cut to seem like they’re not in the same movie. www.npr.org/2025/10/31/n...

Annual reminder that the fake spider webs you stretch across your front porch look nothing like spider webs and instead just look like you murdered a sweater and have hung up its flayed corpse as a grim warning to all other knitwear.

Hark! I sense on this night the veil twixt this world and the realm beyond, where the restless dead roil and rut and wail in hunger for the souls of the living, thins to merest gossamer, so gimme a Zagnut or I’ll TP your crepe myrtle

I hate Gay Halloween. What do you mean you’re going as Thranduil’s Elk sniffily ghosting the Dwarves of Erebor. (jkjk I love Gay Halloween)

As a kid I found Mischief Night way scarier than Halloween because I knew ghosts didn’t exist but my 7th-grade bullies given license to exert their sociopathic will upon the defenseless cul-de-sacs of suburban Philadelphia very much did.

I go to gay Halloween parties hoping to see Elaine Stritch: At Liberty and Mrs. White with Flames on the Side of Her Face and instead it’s all Fiyero in a Jockstrap and Legolas in a Jockstrap and Shrek in a Jockstrap. Not a complaint. Just an appeal to honor our goddamn history, not just our abs.

This is a vestige of the pre-Gunn DC Universe, in my review of 2018’s TEEN TITANS GO! TO THE MOVIES, which is, not for nothing, terrific. It’s a pretty good Martha joke. B, B-. Pretty good.

HALLOWEEN COSTUME IDEAS THAT YOU WILL SPEND ALL NIGHT EXPLAINING: 1. Wear a C-3PO costume 2. Toss a sheet over your head GHOST PROTOCOL DROID

The presence of Spirit Halloween Stores implies the existence of Wine Halloween Stores.

Oh sure now he’s the charismatic leader of a pagan gourd cult but in two months he’s gonna be Jesus-shaming everyone about the true meaning of Christmas. Sally, girl. Chew your leg off. Get yourself free bitch.

This image is hot. The fact that Batman wears white sweatsocks under his boots is, however, entirely new information to this Batman scholar, and not remotely hot.

This is a shot of The Grabber ice-skating towards his next victim, an actual, for real, actual thing that occurs in the horror film BLACK PHONE 2. A thing that does NOT occur in said film: The Grabber screaming “TOOOOOOE PIIIIIIIIIIICK!” as he sets about ax-murderin’ folk. Opportunity: MISSED.

On Friday’s PCHH we reassemble the critic Voltron who originally reviewed THE BLACK PHONE (@jorcru.bsky.social! Kristin Meinzer! Me!) to weigh in on BLACK PHONE 2, which loses the definite article but gains a truly bonkers Ice Capades … of Death! set piece. So call it a wash.

L to R: Dead Chimney Sweep, Dead Hulk, Dead Davey Crockett, Schmoo, Dead Devo Member, Dead Dalmatian, Pagan Gourd Cult Acolyte, Pagan Gourd Cult Leader.

It’s National Coming Out Day Boxing Day. Celebrate by having impure thoughts about straight MMA fighters.

In re: BOOTS on Netflix Gurl Metal Jacket? Full Lamé Jacket? Full Metal Jackée? … Full Metal Jackée. That’s it. That’s the one. ATTENTION FOLKS WE ARE OFFICIALLY GOING WITH FULL METAL JACKÉE. THANK YOU FOR BEARING WITH US AS WE CAME TO THIS DECISION.

Diane Keaton’s 1987 directorial debut, the documentary HEAVEN, is streaming on Tubi. It’s a weirdly moving film, that yeah, sure, takes some cheap shots at evangelicals, but it does so just by letting them talk. Including some deeply homophobic weirdos who seemed like fringe lunatics, back then.

It’s Coming Out Day. If you’re still in the closet, stay there until you feel safe. But know that things are better on the other side. It’s like going bald. It’s traumatic as hell, but then you look back and realize: That hair was bad hair and it was doing you no favors. You’re better off now.

It’s National Coming Out Day Eve. Be sure to leave poppers, the COMPANY! Original Cast Album, a copy of the 1978 Jill Clayburgh vehicle AN UNMARRIED WOMAN and a flattering light jacket that’s perfect for this time of year by the closet door tonight. Oh and a kale salad for the reinqueer.

BOOTS drops on Netflix tomorrow. I’ll have a mini-review in Friday’s PCHH Newsletter, but I’ll answer the most burning question now. Yes. Yes, after they shave his head, eventually you DO get past the main actor’s uncanny resemblance to Trixie Mattel out of drag. Yes. … Eventually.

RIP Patricia Routledge. Oh sure, she could do broad comedy yes sure KEEPING UP APPEARANCES I’m aware of it sure. But it’s her work with Alan Bennett that shows how deft she was - finding the pathos but never giving into it. USING it. Letting her characters surprise themselves - and us. THE GOAT

THE APPRENTICE started it all of course. Which makes ALL THE SENSE IN THE WORLD

It was a bright cold day in October and the 60 MINUTES stopwatch was striking thirteen

The rise and ascendency of pop culture about branding and marketing (SHARK TANK, “product-origin” movies and series, entrepreneur podcasts, this new miserable Fallon thing) has me out here in these streets like

I have lived long enough to see the embarrassingly sophomoric kitsch-art that graced the sides of vans and boardwalk t-shirts of my youth reemerge and swarm across my social media as cringeworthy AI imagery, like cicadas of cheesiness.

Nick’s right. It’s abs and speedos vs. cider and donuts. Rise, my layered sisters. Swaddle yourselves in rollneck cardigans. Summon servants to feed you Stilton, apples and walnuts. Swap out the clear liquor for the brown. Watch Roger Corman/Vincent Price movies. The time is ours.

Back in 2011, as a government shutdown loomed, I tweeted a series of dumb jokes about what a post-shutdown DC would look like. Looking back at them now, they seem like I was describing a utopia. Comparatively. glenweldon.tumblr.com/post/3107116...

My life is fine. The Thunderpuss remix of my life is awesome. I mean there’s probably a choker. For starters.

For the love of god, somebody repress this dude’s entirely focus-grouped joy.

The thing the critics who praise PEACEMAKER opening credits (I am among their number!) www.npr.org/transcripts/... inevitably miss is that the choreo is fucked. For it to work as what it’s parodying, it needs to be tighter. MUCH TIGHTER. This is just fratboys mugging through “Greased Lightning”

Rescued from my dead mom’s stuff: My ENTIRE childhood. In two volumes. It explains … I mean, everything.

“It’s Adam and Eve, not Adam and ALL ABOUT EVE” -Bigots, if they had any goddamn verve or elan at all

Me on the left. F on the right. You have just learned everything there is to know about our 26-year relationship.

INTERIOR: COFFEE SHOP. DAY. SFX: Light, indistinguishable chattering of customers/staff. A typical morning. OPEN ON: EXTREME CLOSE UP of phone on table. Phone vibrates. Screen lights up, showing:

Now seems an appropriate time to note that I coined the term “The Snapture” in re Thanos’ disappearing half of the universe’s occupants and yet Marvel decided that it would instead have characters refer to the event in question as “The Blip,” which is terrible and dumb and lacks any goddamn poetry.

Is the purest, best, most deftly effective form of fiction that has ever existed “The Hand of God,” by Alan Bennett or “A Bed Among the Lentils,” by Alan Bennett? Reasonable people can disagree. Invite me onto your podcast to tiresomely pontificate about how Alan Bennett is the GOAT.

If it happens tomorrow, the world gets less annoying. Instantly. If it doesn’t happen, they’ll pretend they knew it was never going to happen, which is just what they always do, so the world will remain at baseline annoying. I know what I’m hoping for.