Here it is ! Our Annecy openning short Au Lapin Agile, co-directed with Fabien Corre, Sixtine Dano, Thibault Leclercq, Katie Sung Lee, Andrei Sitari and myself !

  • Spot: So, Jack Kelly. It's been a while. I see you haven't matured since we last saw each other.
  • Jack: I see you haven't grown since we last saw each other.
  • Spot: yoU SON OF A BITCH
In a bar

“Back for more, are you?” asked the bartender.
“Yes,” said the man. He sat down on the tallest stool at the bar. It was the bar’s only stool and definitely the tallest. Also the shortest. Things make less sense in a bar.
“You gotta be careful. People stronger than you have gotten hooked on the stuff. Ruined their lives.” The bartender cleaned a mug with a rag and then cleaned the rag with a mug. Again, things make less sense in a bar.
“Stronger than me?” The man punched himself in the arm and winced in pain. “I’d like to see ‘em.”
“Ya can’t see ‘em cause their lives are ruined. They ain’t nowhere to be found. Or at least they ain’t here. Are they?” The bartender looked around, but the bar was empty except for him and the man. The jukebox didn’t count since it didn’t have a name. It had had one, but petitioned the court to remove it.  Again again, things make less sense in a bar.
“Whatever,” said the man. “Give me one. Actually, make it a double. No, a triple.”
The bartender reached below the bar and pulled out not one, not two, but three donation slips for the ACLU. “You sure you can handle it?”
“Freedom can’t protect itself, can it?”
The bartender Googled whether freedom can protect itself. He only got links to people complaining about how Google was broken and kept linking them to sites about people complaining about how Google was broken. “I guess not.”
The man stuffed hundreds of dollars into each of the donation slips. He reached into his mouth and pulled out three stamps. He stuffed them into the slips. “ACLU probably needs stamps too.”
“Who doesn’t?” asked the bartender. The jukebox almost replied before it remembered it didn’t count. “Seeing as how you’ve been so charitable, how about a drink on the house?”
“Sure, Got Milk?”
The bartender’s eye grew wide. He dropped the mug. It smashed into pieces. He dropped the rag. It smashed into mugs. “No…this whole time! YOU WERE A MILK AD?”
The man just smiled and turned into milk.
Things make less sense in a bar.

This Questionnaire From Serial Killer Richard Ramirez Is Very Disturbing

From 1985 until his death in 2013, serial killer Richard Ramirez (aka The Night Stalker), was in prison. During this time, Ramirez managed to earn himself quite the devoted fan club. Behind bars, he was never short on letters to read and respond back to. At one point, someone sent Ramirez a friendship questionnaire, not unlike something you would send to a new pen pal.

Between April 1984 and August 1985, Ramirez killed 13 people in the Los Angeles and San Francisco areas.

The serial killer was known for his savage violence after breaking into people’s homes in the dead of night. Often, his targets were chosen completely at random.

Because he had so much time on his hands in prison, when he received the friend questionnaire, Ramirez actually took the time to fill it out and mail it back. To say some of his answers are a little politically incorrect would be an understatement.

Here is the full transcription of the form:

Full Name: Richard Ramirez

Date of Birth: 2-28-60

Height, Weight, Shoe Size: 6'1’ 180 - 12

Hometown: Texas

Marital Status: Single

Family: 5

Wheels: Lamborghini in the SQ parking lot ha

Brothers: 4

Sisters: 1

Most Treasured Honor: My dick

Perfect Woman or Man: Me

Childhood Hero(s): Jack The Ripper

Favorite Tv Shows: The Munsters

Favorite Movies: Texas Chainsaw Massacre, Night of the Living Dead

Favorite Songs/Singers/Musicians: Led Zep, Black Sabbath, Iron Maiden, Metallica, Ozzy, AC/DC, Billy Idol

Hobbies: Slicing + Dicing + Spicing up Rump Roast

Favorite Meals: Women’s feet

Why You Wrote Me: Cause your up on the times. Or so it seems. And your fine.

Recommended Reading: All murder books. True Crime magazines

Last Book Read: Marquis DeSade - Julliette + Justine

Ideal Evening: Full moon, sex + drugs all night

Every January 1st, I Resolve: Can’t say here. ha

Nobody Knows I’m: ??

My Biggest Regret: Not carrying a gun at all times

If I Were President, I’d: rule w/an iron heart and a rock hard dick

What I Don’t Like About People: Everything. 99% of the people suck. I like most women though.

My Biggest Fear: Nothing. The Supernatural maybe.

Pet Peeves: ?

Superstitions: ?

Friends Like Me Because: I aint got friends. Associates only

Behind My Back They Say: ??

If I Were An Animal, I’d Be: A Tyrannosaurus

Personal Goals In Life: ??

Favorite Color: Black

Favorite Number: 666

Political Views: None, all politicians can eat shit

Thoughts On Crime: It’s a wheel. Your either the driver or the one who gets crushed by it. Try and avoid altoge?

Thoughts On Drugs: Great. They should be legalized

Thoughts On Sex: Great. Everything goes.

Sexual Likes/Dislikes: Great. Everything is good. Except Fags. Women Lesbians are ok.

Describe First Sexual Encounter: Prostitute. I was 12 yrs old

What I Expect From Friendships: Nothing

Religious Thinking: Satanic evil motherfucker

What You Are Thinking Now: Can I suck yr toes

(via Reddit)

Despite being condemned to death at his trial, Ramirez’s sentence was never carried out. He died an unrepentant killer in prison from B-cell lymphoma in 2013.

submitted by Chase

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Functional and lightweight updated EDC. Every tool for every job.

The club in the warehouse seemed to appear overnight, but it was filled with people, all blurred faces and glaring smiles and sweating bodies. People doing lines of coke, throwing back their heads I’m ecstasy. The music pounded and rolled through the crowd, seeming to affect everything it reached. White smoke slithered around the feet of dancing, gyrating clubgoers, smelling of fun and wine.
“This is like magic,” you say, sitting at the bar alone.
The bartender, his back to you, seems to stiffen as he turns around, grinning. His incredibly good looks stun you. “That’s because it is.”
You recover and chuckle. “Oh? How so?”
“Magic comes in many forms, my dear.” He leans against the surface of the bar so he’s mere inches away from your face. “Alcohol, ecstasy, madness, and merrymaking happen to be my specialty.”
“Because you’re a bartender?”
He shakes his head. “My dear, my dear, my dear, if you really believe that, you’re more naive than I made you out to be.”
The smoke swirls around your feet, snaking up your legs and stroking your bare skin, sending waves of esctasy coursing through your body. “Who are you?” You manage to choke out.
He frowns and suddenly turns his back on you, the quick movement startling you. He grabs several bottles of alcohol and a glass, mixing them together. “It’s a shame that I can’t show you my true form, because you’d turn to ash if you saw me. You see, I find you very, very interesting.”
You blush. “What’s your name?”
“Dionysus, my dear.” He turns around in a flourish, brandishing a colorful drink, grinning like a mad man, but the smile, the mania, suits him. It beckons you closer, hints that it understands you like nothing else before. Something inside you that had been locked away, by you or by society, broke free. The drink is set in front of you, his knowing smile in the background. “And do I have a drink for you.”
—  Modern Mythology: Dionysus (b.a.s)