Kiru

A controversial maiden inspires jealousies which enviously lead to stricken confrontations, the observant brotherhood left cold and calculating before it's decided to cut-off her head.

But not before she virtuously births an innocent child helpless and unaware, ancient superstitions forecasting gloom, the oblivious baby naked and hungry. 

A childless widower from another province magnanimously agrees to take him in, and then convivially proceeds to multifariously teach him the delicate art of manifest sword fighting. 

He learns the way of the samurai and displays innovative sought after gifts, a restless soul still prone to wander yet always respectful of heritage and duty. 

His father criticizes the master of their dojo who then collusively plots his reckless murder, Kiru arriving in time to discover his own true origins as his father passes.

Left on his own with exceptional skill he bravely ventures forth across the countryside. 

Running into manifold sinister scenarios. 

As the volatile nation erupts in fury.

Honour and betrayal emphatically display their blatant enmity through disgrace within, anyone seeking uncontested quarter treacherously cut down with unceremonious deception. 

As personal aggrandizement and grandiose ambition see a courageous void where others detect virtue, the warring factions give way to anarchy as coveted roles are scurrilously usurped. 

The mad despotic imposition of imperial autocracy in morbid bloom, the constant bitter pernicious infighting leading to death and decay all around.

Malignant plans malevolently metastasize with voluminous cunning and radical inconsistency, improvisationally and opportunistically adopted with sly exhibition and wanton excess.

Alternatively, progressive industry can level the playing field and cultivate peace, so one's life doesn't uselessly and quickly end and striking harmonies congeal lay resolutions. 

Would you really rather launch a ground offensive in hostile Middle-Eastern territory from the sea?

While an idiot madman with no army training . . .

. . . covets unwarranted legendary honour?

Godzilla vs. Mothra: The Battle for Earth

Most freethinking thrifty environmental enthusiasts come up with the hypothesis that the Earth is conscious, as they watch plants live and die and grow while the seasons change and life matriculates.

You don't have to watch Solaris to come up with the animate idea, you just have to observe transient conditions as they shift and change and fluctuate. 

Godzilla vs. Mothra: The Battle for Earth innocently theorizes that the Earth has a defensive warrior, who comes to life when its environment is threatened and boldly protects its biodiversity. 

Dormant for thousands of years Battra suddenly awakes when a meteor crashes, as does the mighty Godzilla who had been slumbering dreamlike offshore. 

Unfortunately, Battra is somewhat unruly and difficult to manage when there's nothing to do, so the Earth also created Mothra to hold him in check after saving the world. 

In order to suggest its ideas are plausible, Mothra exists in the larva stage for over half the film, and doesn't aesthetically emerge until long after its egg has hatched. 

I always love it when giant moths show up, it's a surprising treat that enlivens the senses, so many of them are rather small but then one day suddenly, bam!, there's a giant one!

These feelings must be found in Japan as well otherwise a different "beastie" would have been chosen instead of Mothra (to fight Godzilla), the Japanese loving their ancient environment with as much reverence as Canadians or Québecois. 

I therefore plead with Japan to stop whaling, many North Americans love seeing whales as much as giant moths, it's honestly one of the coolest wildlife sightings out there, no doubt at its finest in Tadoussac, Québec. 

Is the Earth alive and consciously furious with our actions, as we recklessly pollute the environment with no end in virulent pestiferous sight?

Is that why the climate continuously erupts with dangerous storms or droughts immaterialize? 

I can't say for certain but I would argue that the Earth contemplates existence.

Which is a cool thing to celebrate. 

In summer.

And throughout the year. 

Godzilla vs. Biollante

As Godzilla makes his way here and there across the countryside, incensed militaristic rivals seek his utter annihilation. 

Since conventional weaponry is unable to penetrate his armour, a more diabolical solution is theorized involving sinister lethal germ warfare.

Growing crops in the desert would no doubt be sincerely appreciated, so much vast and vacant space lying dormant and underestimated. 

Oil rich nations even seek solutions to future years when the wells run dry, which seems like heresy according to more instantaneous immersive contemporary guidelines. 

Their secret laboratory is destroyed nonetheless and the material they were working on transformed into a giant monster, who possesses the soul of the lead scientist's daughter which can be sensed by a gifted adolescent. 

The giant monster doesn't take a shine to ye olde dastardly Godzilla either, the inevitable battle as insanely organic as it is technologically aggrandized. 

Thus, in attempts to take down one monster the world desperately wishes it had never created, another even more virulent beastie accidentally emerges through scientific despondency.

Atomic weapons no longer feared by inane warmongers sensationally skewed, the world awaiting the next disaster with resigned disbelief disputatiously fused.

Will A.I lead to Terminatoresque catastrophic developments in the freakin' near future, as the superstructure embraces its bacteria with acritical mass marketed glee? 

Or will it resemble the Star Trek scenario where it casually assists our sublime explorations?

If the Terminator scenario arises what can be created to defeat A.I?

Godzilla would never stand for it.

Or Biollante.

Fee-phở-fly!

Blurbanal

*I miss birds in winter dad. It's fun listening to them in the warmer months.

**I can't disagree with you there son, there's nothing quite like early morning bird song.

*Crows can be kind of a pain I guess, when they gather and won't stop squawking, but it's cool to see them at first, they're pretty impressive birds. 

**You've got to look past the mysticism and focus on the concrete innocence, they're clever indeed for sure but clairvoyant considerations lead to malign contingencies. 

*Do you think birds used to be dinosaurs? A lot of big time scientists seem convinced.

**I tend to trust what they say especially if there's disagreement, but if dinosaurs shrunk and grew wings after millions of years, why do turtles still have shells, and why are crocodiles still so big?

*Could there have been divine intervention?

**The balance of Nature is oddly harmonious. 

*Could aliens be using our planet for research and development?

**I'm not wise enough to say "yes" or "no". It's possible they used to show up regularly, but then infighting or some kind of environmental disaster cut them off, and things started mutating without their husbandry after that.

*Viruses emerged. Toxic discourse.

**Most of the toxic manifestations seem to have been generated by humankind. 

*Is Global Heating like one of Riddick's Elementals, then, a mutated force seeking to achieve environmental harmony?

**We aren't treating the environment very well. If a conscious presence wanted to intervene but couldn't do so directly, it might take the artistic route, and unleash apocalyptic reckoning.

*Is that where zombies fit in?

**I would imagine so, son, I would imagine so.

*Especially in this political climate.

**Caw caw caw.

*It's a bird's life for me.

Arizona Dream

Reliable independence eccentrically maneuvering from one spirited random job to the next, compelling experience artistically dispersing enigmatic vehicular labyrinthine waves. 

Freely lost in the intriguing maze with neither career-oriented objective nor financial goals motivating, the integral wonder of consistent experiment continuously riveting incremental strides. 

Until you're tricked into one day returning for an old school function off in the void, and your childhood hero emphatically tasks you with regular employment definitively supplied. 

Unobservant and oblique the following days psychologically distressing, until a suicidal heiress and her flamboyant step-mom suddenly stop by to purchase a Cadillac. 

Invited back to their oddball stronghold to mix and match variable witticisms, he of the mercurial artistic temperament viscerally seduces the uncanny widow.

Why not make a flying machine that aerodynely searches the skies, for no particular reason whatsoever but to lovingly embrace aeronautic freedom?

The moribund millionaire also falls for his otherworldly irresistible authenticity. 

His companion floundering in the flotsam. 

As exotic reveries concretely jettison. 

*Do you think dreams are sending us secret messages dad, that relate to everyday life?

**It's difficult to say, son, and it's different for different people. You can write down what happens in your dreams though, and then see if it becomes a reality. After a while a lot of people realize it doesn't, although, there's always the possibility they're misreading the signs.

*Who can read the signs accurately, dad? Do experts in the interpretation of signs exist?

**There are doctors who know something about it although they constantly bicker amongst themselves, and so many alternative theories exist that at the end of the day it comes down to faith.

*Like trust in the doctor?

**That's right, you see, they may be incorrect, but they know more about it than you, so their mistakes are likely more advanced than yours, and therefore to potentially be taken into consideration.

*What about popularity? Does popularity influence interpretation? 

**Well, the brightest of the doctors sometimes becomes the most popular, and since his or her mistakes are likely closer to being correct than his or her counterparts, they become what's known as, en vogue.

*So many people listen to others even though they're also incorrect?

**That's right son, that's correct.

*Strange, this world of dreams.

**Have a good sleep, son.

*Will do.   

Marvin & Tige

A young kid with no known family blindly struggles to get by, after his mother suddenly passes one forlorn and sombre evening. 

Adapt at finding food yet still suffering from malnutrition, the enticing canned goods he regularly consumes lacking all-encompassing vitamins and nutrients. 

Good fortune serendipitously emerges after a borderline homeless widower takes note, and invites him to stay with him until members of his family can be located.

He's worried since the youngster's on his own and has a bad attitude and can't read or write, his inner-avuncular instructive instincts attempting to find ways to teach and educate.

He's not so great at it though he'll admit his personality lacking warm-hearted discourse, he's blunt and direct and ye olde hard-knocksy which even the child awkwardly observes. 

Nevertheless, his intentions are honourable and he tries his best to give the lad a home.

The makeshift family embracing improvisation.

Abundant arguments. 

Resolute care.

Old school stories flush with sympathy encouraging less severe social structures, wherein which compassionate dynamics overtly showcase heartwarming alternatives. 

There must be no cultural shortage of kind and friendly tales circulating, where people finding themselves down and out are tenderly uplifted with heartfelt sympathy.

Is it foolish to wonder why impoverished circumstances distressingly abound, alongside so much wealth within so many countries where riches proliferate? 

Doesn't a more level playing field lead to more innovation and greater diversity, compelling ideas and irresistible inventions accompanying arts and crafts and newfound technologies?

Supplying millions of impoverished people with food and shelter and healthcare and education, doesn't just lead to healthier communities, it also cultivates a more gifted culture.

It's working all across Europe and also in Australia, New Zealand, Canada & Québec. 

It doesn't even cost that much considering.

And you don't need a massive army. 

Lost in Yonkers

Intelligence, when examined multifacetedly, has many industrious tributaries, whether it's the hands-on practical methods of labour and commerce, or the idle imaginative nature of academia. 

Not that reading isn't hands-on or labour prone to distraction and daydreaming, the multilayered convulsive vortex producing versatile compelling symmetries. 

Standardized tests can delineate efficiencies for specific subjects categorically determined, and if successful with these tests administrative accolades invariably accrue.

Social skills at the same time often aren't tested with authoritative skill, but cultural knowledge brought to vivid life securely allows one to snuggly fit in.

Fitting in can be rigidly frowned upon and categorically dismissed as routine flimflam, just as abstract knowledge may seem rather useless by the utilitarianly inclined.

People often specialize in something and know that subject very well, if you're to ask them a question about it they'll no doubt respond with relevant discourse. 

Do they lack intelligence because they aren't gifted in multiple domains?, I would argue they do not, since their subject of expertise demonstrates erudition. 

Getting along with people, co-existing, should be more highly valued, as a sign of communal functionality that encourages peace and tranquil living. 

Working the eccentric into such a framework along with novel peculiarities less disposed to small talk, is a gifted skill of its collective own readily displaying incumbent sympathy.

In Infinite Jest, David Foster Wallace bluntly examines intellectual styles, and without the most diplomatic language, brilliantly arrives at working-solutions.

He points out that most people aren't nearly as intelligent as they think they are and that fools often make incisive observations, while grotesquely filling his multidisciplinary pages with people self-destructively obsessed with over-achievement. 

I always thought it was irritating to focus on subjects I knew little about, and had no interest in thoroughly studying, to show-off my learning with people I didn't like because that was what they expected. 

I thought most people had strengths and weaknesses and respecting their strengths was a sign of culture.

Help them work on their weaknesses in school.

Let their strengths shine at work and play.

Trucks

Machinery has on awkward occasion posed philosophical questions while at work, the consistent use of fuel-powered-entities blended with distraction leading to hypotheses. 

Such theories no doubt imaginatively aided by consistently observing different narratives throughout life, the uncanny ludicrous application of televisual conceit to work and play.

But if oil and gas is eventually created as life inevitably dissolves, it was therefore once indubitably alive in possession of thought and spirit and appetite (Plato).

Machines inarguably seem inanimate when not turned on when lying dormant, with no fuel warmly generating power to encourage motion and requisite function. 

But when active does the fuel they burn once composed of life once again draw breath?, ontologically igniting ancient schematics blueprints attuned to reanimation. 

As the reignited organic material takes hold of the metallic construction, it nurtures different kinds of behaviour, which is why machines seem like they have personalities. 

Thus, one takes it easy with older machines less intimately acquainted with flexible immediacy, while it's fun to reasonably play with brand new constructions recently made.

Trucks takes things to the next level and gleefully removes the human factor, the trucks indeed suddenly turning on their once unsuspecting masters.

As they take over the small town of Bridgeton there's little that the lords can do.

Besides try to find a way to get out of there.

Before machine-kind embodies absolute rule. 

*Isn't this what you'd call crackpottery dad, machines coming to life and killing everyone?

**That's certainly an argument you can make son, although the off-kilter theory still mystifies.

*Tough to stop your mind from wandering when doing boring stuff, isn't it dad?

**It's helped to make so many cool stories.

*I still don't think machines are alive.

**You're probably right. But, really, who's to say? 

*Sigh. Okay, maybe driverless cars are a bad idea.

**Good to keep humans in the loop son.

*No doubt. I don't know what I was thinking.

**A.I can't freakin' drive cars. 

*Loved the station wagon. 

Haranglutton

Disenchantingly, the voracious craze for oil & gas having yet subsided, the forlorn day melancholically came when planet Earth had no more oil.

Level heads had pleaded for centuries to smoothly facilitate a transition plan, but inherent greed and inestimable faith in the status quo were insurmountable.

Cultures had begun to rely on AI to make their decisions for them, and it had not foreseen the inevitable scarcity nor uttered warnings about its hardships.

It was highly relied upon as billions of people asked it relevant questions, and followed its advice with openminded standing throughout the complexities of daily life.

Without oil there was no AI and people had to think once again, the grand overbearing gloomy imposition leading to madness in the most domesticated. 

The well-off had found subjective ways to creatively preserve their way of life, individually cut off from communities at large they made their way far off in the country.

Seeing their chance, the most ambitious of the disenfranchised raised their voices. 

And exclaimed in heartfelt crescendo. 

Their visionary ideas for a sustainable future. 

Time and care is articulated taken to passionately construct the alternative speeches, opposing ideologies steadfastly interwoven within their stately verbose orthodoxies.

The lofty presentation of high-minded ideals makes an impact amongst the faithful, and seems to be winning the derelict day before it's exoterically confronted. 

The here and now, the stresses of the moment the discovery of food for winter impressing, many people in its vigorous plea to indefinitely champion wants and needs.

It is a film I suppose, so what can be done when another group militaristically imposes, its brutal discipline and absolutist fervour throughout the helpless indoctrinated lands.

Unity of ideals and spirit still thriving.

In a mad doomsday Shakespearian scenario. 

With a steady focus on a struggling family.

Loved the bear strolling through the woods in the end.

Chrysanthemumbles

Florial stigma calisthenic clutter

chatterbox chowda grimacing gruel,

discordant snag touchdowncast iron

tenacious troll bitesize embankment. 

Cheerio chisel postal precision

indented margins Kodiak foal,

dilapotato tumbledown thesp

neolithic narration sculpted foam.

Tame effervescence mild precipitation

meteor showerefore chocolate chips,

decadent fluke lithe charisma

gloatisserie gleam sugar shack shimmy. 

Sonarly squiggle sonorous swag

écoute les hiboux verdant pulse,

evergreen surroundings wild inculcation

incorrigible shuffle lay 'doctrination. 

Glade befuddle transfixed aura

solar elixir ceremonious glide,

edible berries serene implosion

subconscious subset manifest slumber.

Ludicrous luncheon anthropomorphized 

exacting impossibility convex shards,

mid-afternoon tea recuperative snack

animate alchemy wondrous conv'lution.

Crisp calabreeze dainty declamation

febrile compartment improvised custom,

embeelzebubbly uproarious hilt

glib variation fomenting blush. 

Trowel delegation indesjardins

potentate proxy Methuselah mettle,

indisposed quake irrelevant zounds

primordial spool waylaid tricoté.

Decathlon flummox insolvent decorum

itinerant craze barmy sombrew,

mellow expedient corrugated crib

impersonal jinx delicate moj'.

Cloven dispersal magnanimous herd 

ungulate gammon Venetian blinds,

coal collocation charming flamb

disorderly douse famished liaison. 

Stagnating roundabout coiled disposition

slithering sidewind donutter frill,

lucid illusion chomp chomp chomp chomp

acquisitive faction surmontivideo. 

Gallant excursion fluid residual

snowbelt contorsion bonhomme luge,

insatiable iris tasty cuisine

convivial vacay studious sliver. 

Equinox Flower

Docile diminutive barren lotion

studious encouragement insipid lounging,

sheer dedication bedouin brow

prosperous journey windswept stealth.

Falcon festoon petrified viaduct

vital tradition newfound trajectories,

versatile threshold fecund elaboration

hybrid harangue embroidered conniption. 

Derelict diminuendo indignant stampede

cozy caprice byzantine verse,

shutterbug 'slaw coca-bifocola

lumberton lunette fiesty gargantuan.

Intellect industry cerebral artistry 

ludicrous variance spiritual rhythm,

sacre bluebellrung piccolo plasma

fisher fiesta mink arug'. 

Doting disintegrate vaporous swirl

steam-engine whistle fluid cascade,

disarming allegiance earnest distraction

vacant obscurity wholesome void.

Nautical nebulae veline vedette

laidback seclusion storefront stroll,

intuitive browse discerning homage

clandestine collage emotive fuel. 

Heralded harken kraken cadre 

zodiak zephyr tenacious teddy,

spontaneous sharing gushing glare

erudite script fervid eccentricity. 

Rigid resilience lithe determinacy 

opaque shadow furtive blush,

conception pillar plush exhibition

indicative throb shimmering sheath. 

Glib infatuation harnessed extraction

unbridled feather carefree flakes,

recalcitrant meadow recrudescent glade

contumelious dell frenetic afield. 

Enigmatic instinct tempestuous glob

globular glisten deciduous dew,

frosty discrepancy drifting dalliance

rustling reverie sojourn breeze.

Flip hibernation transient torpor 

eclectic dream impassioned variables,

slumbering forest cavernous mountains

blithe somnambulism joyous fragility. 

Why do some animals sleep throughout the winter while others struggle to find food?

Was it through the defiance of a jaded divinity?

Or as the climate shifted, did they simply not move away?

Feel bad for local deer anyway.

They be strugglin'.

Big time.

Good Morning

Dashing undulation conundrum vibration distinct deconstruction anomalous motif, excessive earthenware tropical seclusion haphazard happenstance lithe resuscitation. 

Breathtaking burnish animate intake sedulous smarm audible iota, siesta cistern ebullient scowl treasure cheshire churl Romeow kowtow. 

Volcanic indigo luscious lugubrity exultant quake tornado traction, swirling sophisticates Socrates sojourn dialecTuring torpiddly testude. 

Dartnel doozy seditious clench incorrigible artifice flayed gesticulation, infinitesimal thrift iridescent moonshine engaged narcoleptic sugarbeet swoop.

Dissonant diletante brisk encapsulation pandromeda malt salubrious scion, steadfast ellipsis stalwart lobe omega maestro marigold slur. 

Palimpsest postulate discursive allegory improvised bulletin Nantucket news, wilderness waffling cerebral sentiment mortisane rigour halélélou. 

Seductive synergies ola oasis picturesque paradise celestial cruise, vehicular voisin soluble circuit erratic decompression hark carbone. 

Nimble encampment forested Fresca feverish fireside mountainous 'mallow, abeyance alight solace configured cavalcade coastline balustrade buzz. 

Singsong serenade innocuous utter aquifer 'ology haberdash swank, detailed disinterest commodified coda koala catalyst saffron luge. 

Heretofore halcyon auriferous yolk toastie taberknickknack fi-fye-foamfries, stately indifference complacent coaxing cajoled consignment indefinite flamb.

Stifling staccato pinpointed mottle cranberry twizzler doting dust-devil, transmutated transience simmering broth renaislàinte 'beration ursignatory. 

Lay back.

Give a demonstration. 

Casually observe.

Reiterate. 

Testudinosaur

A young foolish eager adult who enjoys walking through the woods, notes the changes in the forest as the vigilant years distend.

His mother wonders why he's so obsessed with taking photos in the woods, but kindly notes the intuitive goodwill curiously in touch with his endeavours.

He's able to find work which often keeps him strictly occupied, the crafting of exceptional texts first and foremost on his mind.

Unconcerned with traditional appearances or the usual ways in which people act, he compiles a vast collection of eclectic novel bric-a-brac.

As time passes, the resident animals become more accustomed to his presence, and stop worrying when he shows up at the local marsh to take his pictures.

In tune with local wilderness rhythms, he begins to notice turtles on the tracks, engaged in humble exploratory actions as they carelessly observe and note and wander.

As trains often use the very same routes to conduct their commercial affairs, the artist becomes alert and watchful in his cataloguing of the turtles. 

Then one day, a train approaching, he sees a turtle on the tracks, and moves quickly to swiftly move him/her to a safe location in the forest.

His timing is somewhat off and he arrives too late however.

Only to miraculously emerge.

In the supernatural land of turtles. 

With a larger budget the land of the turtle may have seemed more convincing, not that it doesn't have its unique features which encourage light compelling applause.

I liked how the turtles he moved off the tracks were pissed when they saw him in their land, and vented their sublime frustration with grizzled undisciplined nonchalance. 

Using real turtles in the crafting of the intricate scenes may have been frustrating, if they weren't incredibly adorable and innately attuned to all things cinema.

Theresa Montesque naturally shines as the helpful mom, who takes a modest interest in her son's work while trying not to be overbearing.

Who knew that turtles were using the tracks to secretly travel between dimensions?

As the sun beats down with wild intensity.

Throughout the typical working day.

*The voyage back to the forest is cool as well. 

**Never play around train tracks. You never know when the train might show up.

My Secret Santa

Takin' care of the young one, hard work and responsibility, definitively tuned to age old custom, difficulties compounded, by an absent husband.

On the freakin' flip side, a trust fund wildcat causes damage, his father increasingly fed up with his lack of discipline and wild expenditure.

They meet in a record store one day where she's selling her collection to pay the rent, her candid suitor instantly recognizing her as the singer from The Screaming Kittens.

Her daughter seeks enrolment in a coveted nearby snowboarding school, and since she's just been fired by the cookie factory, coming up with the tuition seems impossible.

Nevertheless, if she can find work at the local ski resort which houses the school, the tuition fee will be cut in half and she'll also chill in a cool environment. 

The only job available however is that of Santa Claus himself, and she's uncertain if they'll consider her if she doesn't have the right disguise. 

It works, she's able to trick them and find gainful employment on the fitful mountain.

The suitor from the record store taking note.

As she lithely brokers hopes and dreams. 

My Secret Santa charmingly enchants with tenacious grit and hardworking solemnity, the advice offered by the newfound Santa helping kids deal with difficult times. 

Not only taking in gift suggestions but dispensing that meaningful advice as well, the Spirit of Christmas resplendently shines through with peaceful vigour and exultant understanding.

Like in Miracle on 34th Street, the real world critiques the upright bearings, and can't reasonably handle a compassionate Santa who smoothly delivers honest decent labour.

But she isn't sent to a mental institution, although there's complications and she has to deal. 

As the impact of wise hands-on knowhow.

Reflectively envelopes communal elasticity. 

The Blob

A quiet night in the peaceful countryside picturesque and romantic, delicate and adoring, a young couple familiarizes itself with the night sky through active stargazing and vigilant discernment.

When a gigantic meteor from deep within space suddenly lands nonchalantly nearby, a local woodsman out for a stroll in the vicinity taking a closer look.

At first everything seems fine it's just a rock harmless and nondescript, but after it cracks open a translucent goo gesticulates and wavers with distressing undulation. 

The woodsman picks it up with a stick and then brings it to his hand for closer inspection, where it smothers his skin and absorbs his bones with greedy invasive absolutist hunger.

The young couple arrives to find him overwhelmed with pain and helpless frustration, they immediately agree to give him a ride to a local doctor who agrees to see him.

Back in town everything seems fine shenanigans alight - a dull even intensifies.

As the encumbering goo increasingly expands.

Aggressively digesting.

Every human it encounters.

It's clear that imminent space danger is posing a limitless unprecedented threat, and the grandiose resources of the entire world should be excessively deployed as a countermeasure. 

A giant interconnected web of satellites should gallantly cloak the world complete, to boldly save our economic interests and definitively ensure that nothing gets through.

If North America, in consultation with the United Nations, comes up with the imposing ubiquitous design, aesthetically vetted by Québec, and humorously lampooned by Ontario, the effective blueprints should be ready in a fortnight, after which security will be impeccable. 

Threats from space should only modestly take up around 3.5% of global budgets, and should we hunker down and buckle up there's no freakin' tellin' how much "ground" we'll cover.

I used to think the night sky was just a peaceful tranquil dome, effortlessly excelling at facilitating dreams and coordinating wise immaculate dominion.

But with the tangible threat of the enemy it casually obscures it must be tamed.

Like the frontier from The Last Starfighter.

Let's get 'er done!

Just in time for Christmas.

The Garfield Movie

Ye olde Garfield comically elucidates the decadent steps to satiation, going above and beyond modest humble take out to supply himself with everything on the menu.

His habitual endearing shenanigans see the traditional maintenance of gormandized excess, his enabling kind-hearted oblivious owner freely facilitating ambitious plans. 

Nevertheless, he accidentally finds himself in trouble one dismal and lonesome day, when none other than his legitimate father comes to his daring rescue with ferocious courage.

Garfield and his father are estranged the younger holding an ironclad grudge, blaming dear old dad for abandoning him as a child to a cold and isolated subsistence lifestyle.

His father tries to explain but Garfield ain't a' listenin' to what he has to say, their reunion made even more awkward when an angry nemesis suddenly outwits them. 

They're tasked with stealing thousands of quarts of milk from a local dairy known for its security.

The only one who can aid their struggle.

A resigned bull jaded and lovelorn.

Garfield was huge in my youth he had just come out and was quite the sensation, I still have the first dozen or so books with treasury compilations and holiday specials. 

Did he encourage other lazy underachieving characters like Bart Simpson or Peter Griffin, I can't determine if there's a direct link but similar viewpoints widely circulate? 

I was surprised to see Garfield off his game in this incarnation he's fraught with error, indeed he's the overconfident dismissive fool who unintentionally disrupts their meticulous strategy.

I remember him succeeding unilaterally in the '80s and often encountering self-aggrandizing serendipity, I wasn't sure if I had just forgotten his occasional misfortunes or if the comic had become less mischievous in recent decades.

I fondly remembered ordering take out pizza with tasty breadsticks and lasagna dishes, as I watched Garfield devour legions of cheesy mouthfuls indelicately unconcerned with weight or diet.

The boundless enthusiastic unaffected gains of fictional characters. 

With a bit of editing, effortlessly blooms.

Garfield at Large, posthaste ad infinitum. 

The Wild Robot

A helpful and benevolent domestic robot finds itself stranded in the wilderness, on an isolated island abounding with wildlife whom it initially can't comprehend.

It requires tasks, a role to fulfill, calling and purpose, industrious discipline, but the animals refer to it as a monster and tend to avoid making direct contact.

Except for an audacious fox who attempts to help it learn natural ways, after it uses its advanced programming to study the different languages the animals speak.

Unfortunately, one troubling day, while out and about doing this and that within the forest, it takes a tumble and accidentally falls on a nest of birds and kills the mother.

A baby survives however and now has no one to guide and nurture him, the harsh wilderness stepping in to potentially claim a helpless soul.

But the robot sees a task that can be fulfilled with warmth and friendship, the gentle nurturing of the chick through kind instruction and didactic teaching.

The fox hangs around and the oddball trio makes a name for itself in the wood.

The other animals curiously taking note.

Of the non-traditional heartwarming activities. 

If you like North American wildlife and tender stories with a tough edge, working within the tradition of Terminator films without the focus on armageddon, you may come to love The Wild Robot with sincere unabashed expressive levity, it's thoughtful and well-done and has something to offer both adults and children.

The robot's like a much less bellicose humble Terminator who eventually learns the value of life, and how hard work and honest self-sacrifice produce sweetly flowing constructive communities. 

It even builds a winter lodge that the animals stay in to keep warm together, it's like drinking-in-the-Jungle Book's-lagoon times 1,000 in terms of exceptional cool fictional animal gatherings (there's a lynx, an opossum [they cute!]), porcupines, a bear, raccoons, deer, everything, the wildlife coverage is phenomenal!). 

With the elegant message, the eloquent lesson to move beyond limits and calculation, by employing kindness and warmth and empathy to the curation of life wherever it's found.

The variety is multidimensional and it effectively blends technology and nature.

Please train A.I to love animals. 

How could they pose a systemic threat?

*I'll be watching this on a yearly basis for sure. Probably in the winter. Loved it!