I absolutely adored WandaVision. So, it took all week, but here’s all the WandaVision intro’s recreated using ONLY stock footage. Starting with the 50s:
Very much enjoying making silly things throughout lockdown, so am putting them all in a thread here. If you like what I do, the dream is to get about 500 people to buy me a £3 coffee a month so I can just continue pumping out nonsense here for free. ko-fi.com/matthighton
If you can't afford that, obviously don't do it - I'll still be an idiot! Likes & shares give me delicious dopamine, so are a sustainable alternative. Or if you're a reckless millionaire a one off donation of a cool 20k? Anyway lets start with good old Liz
Was just missing pubs and started to think about the three years during Uni, I worked at a Yatses in Leeds. Here’s a highlight thread of some of the most violent, disgusting and unbelievable things I saw during my time there.
I saw a mother and daughter fight each other when they realised they’d been fingered by the same man, on the same night, in the same toilet cubicle. They were back out the next night.
One night I had to use a bin as a shield as a small riot/brawl started and people were rushing the bar to try and grab booze. All I could do was Gandalf it, trying not to let them pass. But again, holding a bin against a load of wronguns in Burberry after a bottle of Archers.
THREAD If we allow ourselves to accept the concept of the Shoe People (1987-92), a show about sentient shoes living in Shoe Town, then we also must accept the overwhelming grief layered within. This is a town united in loss. Each shoe a surviving single of a once inseparable pair
Initially a quirky, cheerful idea. What we are actually looking at is a mishmash of citizens who are thrown together, trying to pick up their lives after, we assume, their other, their sole mate if you will, has been plucked away from them.
This leaves a town of shoes striving to understand who they are. Living in the aftermath of a predeterministic fate, whereby the type of show they were born as, dictated their very personality.
It had been over 20 years since Elmo had last set foot on Sesame Street. Here he was again, clutching a wooden stake, frozen with fear at the steps of the Counts mansion. Here to finish what once he could not. Sunny days, he whispered and stepped into the dark.
The musk of the air brought it all back. The interior almost entirely unchanged. The deep red of the carpet, the spattered antiques, the stairs where he had found Ernie, cold, eyes open. Dead. Still in his pyjamas.
The darkness that the cellar stairs lead into, seemed absolute. Elmo walked cautiously, counting them aloud - a habit from his childhood. His mind replaying that evening, sure he could hear the bats overhead, waiting for the Counts bloodcurdling cackle.