Bummer, Ted.

Oh, internets. There was a time. Winter of 2004. I was 16, and still high on the whole Pirates of the Caribbean thing. My days were taken up with alternately planning ways for Vanessa Paradis to die, and trying to decide what I should major in if my new career goal was to be Johnny Depp’s kept woman. (Incidently, it probably would have been history- look how far we’ve come.)

I saw Secret Window in theaters four time. Restrained, actually, given the unbelievable and embarrassing number of times I saw Pirates. I loved that movie. Johnny Depp was crazy and creative and adorable and just weird enough that it was funny but not Fear-and-Loathing-in-Las-Vegas weird that is just kind of off-putting to a little white girl from Bayside who has had it drilled into her by her mother since she was a toddler that anyone with tattoos is unacceptable.

We watched it again tonight, and I still totally love it.

The best part? The end, with the girl from the post office who was totally into him, you know, before he started killing people and then is all pssh, whatevs afterwards. My response? OH MY GOSH YOU DUMB WHORE IT’S JOHNNY DEPP I DON’T CARE THAT HE’S FOND OF DECAPITATION BY SHOVEL PUT UP AND SHUT UP.

Hmm. Maybe I’m the dumb whore.


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