Can't engage with Shakespeare because none of the characters scale above wall level. Slop narrative. Same thing with Sopranos or Breaking Bad wish they gave jesse some town level feats would have made it engaging
That's the beauty of it bro, we study the source material, page after page, book after book... They won't even know we're actually larping...
And when the questions roll in, we use that knowledge to our advantage and we can keep posing like nothing even happened...
@TierZoo I think the best return to old yugioh would be to increase the popularity of 'cube' formats, where there is a random 200 card pool and you and 1-3 other people construct decks from it taking turns to draft from piles, the games are formed around old yugioh principles of Tset pass
@shabb003 Back to produce weekly or so even w breaks are fucked in time they can take to construct dialogue and stories compared to western shows which have writing teams that take years to craft their stories.
@shabb003 to often unleash their meanings in internal character reflections. Frieren is quite good at dialogue as well though I think it's lackluster in philosophical departments. The art of writing is just more valued in the west which cucks anime and manga a lot, a mangaka breaking their
Took my (frigid) wife to see Wuthering Heights tonight. Car ride to the theater she put on the Hamilton soundtrack and scrolled through Pinterest the entire time ignoring me. I think I chipped a tooth from clenching my teeth.
Walk into the theater lobby and it’s a sea of screaming black teenagers and obese guatemalan women babbling into speakerphone. I buy her some garbage to eat and we go into the theater. Before we sit down she accidentally (?) spills her extra large diet Dr. Pepper on my seat, but the theater is full so I just sit in it. My ass is immediately soaked but I don’t care I just don’t want to move my body anymore I just don’t want my body to function.
The guatemalan women are in the theater and they and my wife are all staring at their phones, giving the room a sickly, ambient glow that makes my eyes water and my stomach turn.
The movie starts and I mentally check out, thinking of the chubby teenage girl at the concession counter and how thrilling it would be to kidnap her. I let my mind drift away but my wife snaps me out of this fantasy by hacking loudly trying to get a stuck popcorn kernel out of her throat. The guatemalan women sense distress and start nervously gibbering in their gutterspeak. I excuse myself to the bathroom but instead sneak into some kind of cartoon called Goat.
I sit in the back and sob softly until a black teenager notices me and screams “ayo dis gay nigga crine!” and the rest of them start jeering and screaming at me so I rush out. I lock eyes with the chubby teenage girl in the lobby and she looks sad and I imagine she’d be okay with me kidnapping her but I just go back and sit next to my wife in the giant puddle of diet Dr. Pepper.
The movie finishes. We leave. Wife immediately puts Hamilton soundtrack back on and scrolls Pinterest. We won’t be discussing the film.
No, we won’t be discussing anything.
Am I Heathcliff?
Am I myself?
Am I a person?
Am I sure I can keep doing this for one second longer?
Tomorrow is Friday, but in reality, everyday is Monday.