I think some people are under the impression that you can simply just shoot it on blue, and then it's all done in post. But no, you really need to understand the pipeline, from beginning to end.
Don't censor yourself to comfort their ignorance.
If it turns out that President Barack Obama can make a deal with the most intransigent, hard-line, unreasonable, totalitarian mullahs in the world but not with Republicans? Maybe he's not the problem.
The wisdom of the masses is not always wise. You could put a lot of things to a vote-you could have put anti-miscegenation laws to a vote, and that would have passed pretty handily. Either all people are created equal-or they're not. You're either buying into the original premise of America-or you're not.
So Fox News is the voice of America and Obama is Stalin? Oh my God! I guess that makes me Yakov Smirnoff.
That's the Senate Ethics Committee, an oxymoron since 1973.
Must be nice to be a Republican senator sometimes, because you get the fun of breaking sh*t and the joy of complaining the sh*t you just broke doesn't work.
A good poem is a tautology. It expands one word by adding a number which clarify it, thus making a new word which has never before been spoken. The seedword is always so ordinary that hardly anyone perceives it. Classical odes grow from and or because, romantic lyrics from but and if. Immature verses expand a personal pronoun ad nauseam, the greatest works bring glory to a common verb. Good poems, therefore, are always close to banality, over which, however, they tower like precipices.
The Only Thing More Surprising Than the Chance She's Taking. . . Is Where It's Taking Her!
We must end the iniquitous multi-taxing of the same money. It is not right to tax people's incomes, then their savings on that income, to tax the movement of assets through capital gains tax, stamp duty and tax them again through inheritance tax if they have the audacity to die.
He’d actually hit me! It didn’t matter that hitting me wasn’t really like hitting a regular girl and I’d be completely healed in a matter of hours. I was still a freaking girl, and he damned well knew it. I’d just have to hit him back. With a lead pipe. Or an eighteen-wheeler.