Special Offer: A Review for a Review!


My horror short story “Green Thumb” is FREE until Monday! Give me a review and let me know and I’ll immediately return the favor!

Hello everyone! Today is Day 2 of my free book giveaway, and I have an extra special offer to share with my fellow WordPress bloggers (or fellow free-book-giveawayers).

If anyone is willing to download my FREE (very) short story from Amazon, read it, and, most importantly, leave a review with Amazon, I will happily return the favor post haste!

Once you leave me a review on Amazon, let me know about it, and then I’ll go ahead and study up on your blog and give you a dedicated write-up on practicallyserious.com, including a backlink! OR, if you’re giving away a free eBook like me, I’ll be happy to get a copy and leave you a review on Amazon or wherever you’d like!

Not a bad deal, considering my free short horror story is a whopping 12 pages long and can be read in ten minutes!

Remember: you DON’T NEED A KINDLE to read this story! You can read it right on Amazon’s built-in reader. Easy as pie.

So click on my story’s cover or follow this link to Amazon and get yourself a back link/review today!

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Free Short Story on Amazon for LIMITED TIME: “Green Thumb”


“Green Thumb: A Short Horror Story” FREE on Amazon 8/29 through 8/31! Today through Monday!

I am giving away a short horror story “Green Thumb” at Amazon.com this weekend! Today through monday, August 31. Get it while it’s FREE, and, if you can, please leave a review. Amazon ranks its books based on public interest.

Click here to go to the Amazon page!

Some of you may remember a “flash” version of this story published on this very blog. That version was published in eHorror magazine. But I wasn’t going to rest on my laurels, and I revised and expanded the story. Please download it by clicking the link in this post, or at the top right-hand of the blog.

Here is the blurb:

They call the serial killer “Green Thumb,” owing to his quirky habit of leaving small potted plants at the sites of his abductions. Michael will soon learn what that name really means. Following an ill-advised mission to rescue his brother from the clutches of this madman, Michael only succeeds in adding himself to the killer’s strange menagerie. Now he has limited time to escape his tormentor’s bizarre garden torture chamber, where an insane collection of impossible plants suggests a terrifying new meaning behind the nickname “Green Thumb.”

Please help support this blog by getting a copy and leaving a quick (perhaps even wordless, if need be!) review.

Click here to get your copy!

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Short Scary Stories: Clowns at the Bank

evil clowns at bank

Squeaky Schnoz makes a withdrawal.

Flash Fiction: Clowns at the Bank

I’ve been after Clownin’ Around since they took Fleet Street bank. There’s a load of them all in clown suits. They tumble messy through the front doors and stampede right through the undertrained security guards no matter how fat or gun-having. The leader, Squeaky Schnoz, all animated and dancy, surfs in on the general momentum of the others and then he gives a speech that goes a little like this:

“What’s up there boys and goils? Me and deez clowns is gonna perform a magic trick right before your very asses! We’s going to make all the dough in the vault go poof!”

There’s like fifteen of them, sometimes more. Sometimes less. Sometimes exactly. Sometimes the makeup changes but Squeaky Schnoz is constant. He’s the brand. Bad clown. Evil clown. He’s always got the same loud circus spandex with the walnut dick bulge. Same big yellow smile-island with a red smiling lips inside. Same shining crazyboy eyes. He keeps a honker in his hand and if someone pisses him off he honks once. That means: don’t piss me off again or I’ll honk a second time. If he honks a second time, that means: I hope you like tommy guns.

They’ve wasted five people so far and left blood-speckled helium balloon poodles on the bodies, anchored there with candycane bakery string hooped around the wrists. The clowns work fast. They clear out the vault and then the whole gaggle recedes from the bank like a wave at the beach sucking back into the ocean. And the most freakin’ thing of all? They got just this one small Fiat and somehow they all fit in there. All fifteen, sixteen of them. Schnoz drives. And then they’re off, and once they’re gone they’re gone.

Copyright 2015 Earl Hatsby

Evil clowns aren’t the only ones robbing banks in my blog–there’s some ghoulish competition out there. Check out one of my short scary stories: “The Scary Robbers.” Don’t read it alone!

If my short horror stories aren’t short- or horrible-enough for you, check out these amazing two-sentence short scary stories. Some of them are amazingly effective! I agree with the author of the post–the best is definately number 6!

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Trivago Guy Fan Fiction: “The Internet Troll”

trivago guy fan fiction

During his epic quest to order a belt online, Trivago Guy encounters a distracting Internet Troll bent on souring the “Trivago Guy” meme.

In keeping true to Practicallyserious.com’s mission to become the Internet’s premiere source of quality Trivago Guy Fan Fiction, we present to you the long-awaited continuation of our epic Trivago Guy novella: “Trivago Guy Buys a Belt (Or Does He?)”

[read the previous installment here]

Trivago Guy sat down at his wobbly plastic computer desk and opened his ancient “America Online” Internet browser, version 1.33. Though he had every intention of heading directly to valuebelts.com to purchase a much-needed belt, he noticed right away that a little mailbox icon at the bottom of his homepage had taken on a delightful shade of orange, indicating a response to his latest posting at the Trivago Guy Fan Page chat forum. This was impossible to ignore, especially for a man with so advanced a case of ADD, and so, against his better judgement he diagonaled the cursor toward the icon.

He stopped himself just short of going click-click.

“No!” barked Trivago Guy as he slapped his hand onto his computer desk, causing an empty plastic bottle of Paxil, which had been perched for years atop an unopened box of expired Trojan condoms, to teeter and fall onto the dusty grey carpet. “I mustn’t let myself get distracted!” He knew damn well that if he didn’t strike while the iron was hot, if he didn’t purchase the belt ASAP, he would soon lose his nerve and remain beltless forevermore. Not very ideal. Time was of the essence! As sweat collected in the farmy croplines of his forehead and trailed down into his sad blue eyes, he clutched his mouse and tried to move the cursor that mailbox icon. .

Nope. It was no use! The glowing orange mailbox—and what lay inside it—was simply too tempting a diversion for Trivago Guy to ignore. Issuing a sigh of resignation, he moved the cursor back to the mailbox icon and with just one click opened up the chat forum. The window embiggened and he saw right away that his arch nemesis, Harry222, had indeed responded to his most recent comment. Trivago Guy’s pulse quickened and the hair on his cuff-rolled arms sizzled beneath the rolled-cuffs of his rumpled silver shirt.

Here’s the deal: Harry222, a random Internet troll, had been posting a lot of mean things about the fact that the “world famous Trivago Guy” didn’t wear a belt on the most recent Trivago television commercial. The troll seemed to really hate Trivago Guy for this simple fashion goof and wanted to whole wide world to know it. In response, poor Trivago Guy, hoping to nip this in the bud, had gone so far as to concoct a fake username (TrivagoRulez) with which he could anonymously stand up for himself on the chat forum. Either that, though Trivago Guy, or risk letting the trend build momentum and the other trolls follow Harry222’s example, uniting against him and souring the sacred Trivago Guy meme. It had turned into an epic battle for his very reputation online. The two had been trading blows for weeks.

But it had all been coming to a head as of late. To catch you up to speed, here’s a quick snippet of their last two-month’s-worth of cyberspace encounters, ending with the message Trivago Guy had just now received. All other commenters besides Harry222 and TrivagoRulez have been omitted to save time and space…

Harry222: Yeah, but that doesn’t explain why he doesn’t wear a belt.

TrivagoRulez: Well I understand where you’re coming from. I really do. It’s just that personally I think he looks cool without a belt.

Harry222: LOL. How can you possibly say that? Hey everybody, I bet TrivagoRulez is actually Trivago Guy himself.

TrivagoRulez: No way man.

Harry222: Prove it.

TrivagoRulez: I’m a 15 year old kid from Colorado, bro.

Harry222: LOL. I just checked your profile and it says Male, 45, Los Angeles. You’re totally Trivago Guy hahahaha

That last response from Harry222 was the one Trivago Guy had just received in his America Online inbox. With a heavy stitch in his stomach, and at a total loss at to how to proceed, Trivago Guy sank further down into his uncomfortable plastic fold-out chair. He’d been hoping Harry222 would have just let it go at “I’m a 15 year old kid from Colorado, bro,” but the comment totally backfired, and now the Troll was actively trying to expose Trivago Guy’s sad charade. If word got out that Trivago Guy was masquerading as his own biggest fan on his own fan page, the entire Internet would have a field day. Sadness would ensue. Not very ideal.

Desperate to come up with the ideal response to Harry222’s last comment, Trivago Guy consciously abandoned his quest to buy a belt online, raising the likelihood that he would ultimately chicken out and never buy a belt at all. But there was nothing for it. This was a crux time and his sadness was too thorough to permit rational thought. He sat there in silence, bullying his brain for the perfect comeback that would restore his online honor and make everything alright. Boy, he’d really painted himself into a corner this time! If you thought he looked sad on the commercial, you’d get a kick out of how sad he looked right there in front of his Gateway computer. He looked almost like that old WB cartoon character, Droopy the Dog. Basically, picture Droopy the Dog dressed up in Trivago Guy’s signature outfit and you’re just about there.

—Does Trivago Guy escape the Troll’s trap? Does he succumb to Meme-death? Stay tuned!

Trivago Guy WILL be back…

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How Eddie Murphy Lost His Funniness: 8 Theories


Le Vampyre Murphee can’t be expected to stay jovial forever!

What happened to Eddie Murphy? The comic legend’s hugely anticipated appearance at February’s SNL 40th anniversary special on NBC had a lot of us secretly hoping for a much overdo return-to-form. And if ever there were an occasion for Eddie Murphy to revert to his former hysterical ways, the big SNL Reunion was surely the time and place, no?


When Eddie finally ambled onto the stage following Chris Rock’s funny, heartfelt introduction, Eddie gave us nothing but a big fat “Thanks!” Not exactly the comedy gold we were hoping for.

So seriously, what happened to Eddie Murphy’s funniness?Practicallyserious.com has been sent in to investigate…

 8 Excuses for Eddie Murphy’s Current Lack of Funniness

1.) He now operates at such a high frequency of funny that we can simply no longer “hear” his humor. It’s beyond us now. Like how some frequencies of sound can only be heard by a dog? Now his jokes can only be heard by him or others of his ilk.

2.) His initial deal with the devil, which allowed for his great success in the first place, was structured in a front-loaded kind of way. He is now well into the devil-cackling-in-the-background phase of the deal.

3.) Dr. Evil stole his mojo.

4.) As evidenced by the image above, Eddie Murphy is actually a vampire who’s been around for hundreds and hundreds of years. Understandably, after two centuries of watching all of his friends and family grow old while he’s trapped in the same ol’ Eddie Murphy body, he’s finally realized that his affliction is not a blessing, but a curse. Thus the generally solemn demeanor.

5.) His funniness was stolen via a proprietary brain-scan device and used to fuel the hugely successful blog, practicallyserious.com.

6.) Sometime around 1985 he went to his private physician complaining that he was “feeling funny,” and the doctor, misunderstanding him, issued him a regimen of highly experimental anti-humor drugs. Unfortunately the effect was permanent.

7.) Comedy is a fickle bitch. In the same way that some actors are less handsome in the high definition format (due to all those gross pores and veins and stuff) Eddie Murphy is somehow less funny in full HD. Back in low definition tube-TV days the guy was a comedy god, but today’s high resolution format paints his mustache and tooth-gap and whatever else in a whole new light, thus bursting our bubble and spoiling the magic. And, unfortunately for him, all television shows and movies nowadays are shot on and presented in glorious HD. So yeah, he’s basically screwed.

8.) In his older age he has simply become a more considerate guy, thus hampering his ability to prey on others for laughs*

*as evidenced by Eddie Murphy’s refusal to take part in the SNL Reunion “Celebrity Jeopardy” Bill Cosby joke.

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Can You Cash Both Halves of a Ripped Bill?

torn paper money

Pop quiz hotshot: Is this a picture of a $20 bill, or TWO $20 bills? Don’t worry, your bank teller will decide for you!

Late last year I wrote this post concerning the fact that I’d accidentally ripped a $20 bill in half and didn’t quite know what to do with its “dead body.” The bisected bill had already chilled on my desk for months at that point, and continued to sit buried under papers and envelopes for months after the publishing of that post. I simply didn’t feel like dealing with it. I didn’t want to have some kind of embarrassing encounter at the bank.

Should I even bother taping it back together? I wondered at the time, never bothering to do any real research on the matter. What were the official rules pertaining to bisected or torn paper money? Was there a rule in place to keep me from cashing each half individually at different banks, thus turning my $20 into $40?

I theory, I surmised, I could find two gullible, unaffiliated bank tellers and pass off my bill halves as two separate $20 bills. I could simply tell the respective bankers that I’d simply lost the “other half. Because at what point does a $20 bill lose its value completely? At what point does it get demoted back to “ripped piece of paper,” completely valueless money-wise? Common sense says that as long as you have more than 50% of the bill it could possibly retain its original value.

But what if the bank teller can’t quite tell if the bill’s at the 50% mark or not? What if it’s a close call? Maybe it just kinda sorta looks like half of a bill, but the tear zig-zags and so it’s hard to tell. This being the case, the teller might make the wrong call and give you full credit for 49% of a paper note. You can thus double your money if you get equally lucky with the other ripped-half (assuming you take it to a completely different bank, of course).

Anyway, the whole thing got me thinking. If the monetary value for torn-dollar-halves fell under the jurisdiction of individual bank tellers, some of whom might not be a sharp as others, then surely somewhere out there some Sneaky Pete, at one point or another, has managed to successfully “double his money.”

But really, I didn’t actually believe such a decision would be left to mere humans. Deep down I assumed there was some ironclad process outlined in the Bank Bible that allowed for a more structured and reliable method of judgement re: ripped-bill halves. Or else human error would certainly instigate a chaos wave that would eventually throttle the whole works. Our society would destabilize and collapse and the scary Amazon delivery drones would inherit the Earth.

But I was wrong.

There’s no fool-proof technique to inform the decision. No high tech machine that eats the dollar-half and makes a decision based on the weight and and shape and mass. No relative payment system based on salvaged percentage of physical bill. It’s all or nothing, and the decision is left up to the individual bank tellers after all.

I know this because recently, I worked up enough nerve and/or snit-laziness-points to tape my $20 bill back together and take it to my bank for a deposit (actually, I did it a few months ago but I’m only “recently” writing about it). And while at the bank I made sure to pick the teller’s brain about my dollar-doubling daydreams. And don’t worry, I made sure to word my query in such a way as to not set off any red flags, as I’m no Sneaky Pete.

At the end of the day, the ripped-dollar value judgement—if only a fraction of the bill is available—is based entirely on common sense. There’s no Manchurian Candidate brain-conditioning to assure consistency on the part of the bank clerks. According to my clerk, the decision is made by common sense alone. If most of the bill is there, they’ll give you full credit. If it seems a little sketchy, you’re out of luck. His call.

My teller didn’t elaborate on what he meant by “most,” but I took it to mean “way more than half.” So, if you show up to the bank with approximately a half of a paper bank note, most likely your teller will just tell you you’re out of luck, pal. It’s worthless paper—find the other half or else use use the thing to wipe your bum. Again, I had both halves, nicely taped together, so he didn’t give me any trouble at all. My famous “Darth Maul” $20 bill incident is finally resolved!

But as I said, my teller didn’t elaborate on what he’d meant by most of it. Surely “most of it” allows for a certain amount of wiggle-room insofar as a bank clerk’s judgement is concerned. And this worries me a little, because it leaves the door open for shysters, and therefore our society stands on a wobbly foundation after all. Cue the drones.

Because what if some really tenacious trickster decided to scissor-up three separate $20 bills, and then, from little expendable strips borrowed from each one, create a fourth $20 bill, featuring “most” of the mass of a typical bill?  Certainly, it would take a lot of Scotch tape and lot of time and a very dumb bank teller, but it seems like it’s possible. Worth it, probably not; but possible, maybe.


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“Crossy Road” App Review: Frogger for the Smartphone Crowd


Play “Crossy Road” at your own risk. You may find it difficult to pry yourself away.

Remember “Frogger?” That epic game for the Atari and/or Commodore 64 that had you guide a highly pixelated frog across a busy highway and a dangerous river of logs with strangely incongruous currents? Well that game has been reborn as the hit “Crossy Road” game for your smartphone. When you play Crossy Road, you’re basically playing Frogger, except when you get to the top of the screen you just keep right on going.

I’ve been playing this popular free app on my brand new Galaxy S5 smartphone for about a month now. I can’t stop. I won’t stop. I shouldn’t stop.

Crossy Road is a surprisingly satisfying gaming experience. And I’m not big on phone-based video games/apps in the first place. But I think it’s human nature to indulge in at least one new game upon the purchase of a snazzy new smartphone. You need to see what the puppy can do, right? Besides take cat pictures? Which mine does amazingly well?

I went with Crossy Road, which plays exactly as described above. You guide your animal/character—of which there are many, though more on this later—across an endlessly scrolling series of roads and Frogger-esque log rivers and sometimes, when you’re lucky, open fields of grass. Move too slow, a hawk swoops down and eats you.

You have infinite lives so long as you have infinite patience. It’s all about setting a high score and then striving in vain to beat it.


There are plenty of characters to unlock in your quest to beat your Crossy Road high score, each with its own unique in-game personality.

This is one of those games that are free to download and play, but which has additional content that you can purchase in-game. This paid-content mainly comes in the form of additional purchasable animals, almost all of which you can also earn for free once you collect enough in-game coins.

So, you can enjoy pretty much all this game has to offer without paying a cent of real money. I believe this is a huge part of the game’s draw and charm. I really appreciate not being treated like some kind of “first time’s free” meth junkie, which is how most free-to-play games tend to rope in their victims.

I detect no obvious subterfuge in Crossy Road. The developers seem to make their money through the unnecessary impulse-buys described above, and through completely voluntary advertisements, which will earn you free coins if you choose to humor them.

The freeness is only one part of this game’s charm though. Developer Hipster Whale has done a pretty clever job giving this game quite a bit of personality. Each of the many available animals/characters available to you has its own little quirky gimmick, which manifests itself while you hop, skip or jump on your endless journey across the “road.”

For instance, there’s a pigeon that farts and leaves a white little poop in his wake every now and again. There’s a crazy old man character who randomly cackles. A baby dragon blows fire and flash-torches cars and trees as they scroll by. A goat bleats with real gusto. A robot soldier machine-guns the air. A wizard zaps passing trees with his magic staff.


Each time you play Crossy Road there’s  just enough variation in the landscape to keep you from getting bored.

Fun stuff, all done in throwback pixel graphics reminiscent perhaps of games made for early PC and primitive console systems. Retro graphics yes, but—if you have a smartphone with a halfway processor—they’re also silky smooth and strangely addictive to look at. Somehow watching the wizard fry pixelated trees never gets old.

Contemplating the game’s strange, silly title, I believe I figured out the overall reasoning behind this game existence. It’s clearly all about the somewhat recent success story of “Flappy Bird,” another consciously retro, enticingly simplistic gaming experience.

The two games have a similar Nintendo-esque color palate, conscious pixelation, an identically gaming objective (travel as far as you possibly can before dying), and similar names syllable-wise. I believe Hipster Whale figured it might as well own up to what it was doing—striving to match the meteoric success of Flappy Bird.

Hipster Whale has apparently succeeded. Judging from the Crossy Road reviews on Google Play, factoring in more than a million downloads, I think it’s safe to say this game is a pretty huge hit. But where Crossy Road really succeeds is in replayablily. Many have criticized the unapologetic monotony of Flappy Bird as a source of mind-numbing frustration. Not so with Crossy.

This game does a great job mixing things up just enough to keep you from feeling like like Christoph Waltz in The Zero Theorem, while always maintaining that low-committment sameness that keeps you coming back for more. The endlessly scrolling road, in its seemingly infinite variety, feels like it’s making itself up as it goes.

I’ve played this game probably fifty times by now—it’s a great “clean the slate” diversion and awesome killer of time—and the road still feels like it’s different every time. Add to that the fact that there’s always a new animal/character to unlock, there’s plenty here to stave off monotony.

I have to recommend Crossy Road to anyone on the lookout for a fun new game to play on his or her smartphone.

Lastly: each successive “hop” forward gains you a point. My current Crossy Road high score is 348. I invite anybody reading this to download this very fun app and see if they can do better. Post your high score in the comment section!

Read my take on another classic smartphone game: Angry Birds 

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This Natural Ice Formation is Just Plain Nuts!


Jack Frost sure has a sense of humor this winter.

I felt the need to share this with my readers. My cousin recently sent me this photograph of a twig covered in ice. This is an undoctored photograph of a real event that occurred in nature, taken during the latest cold spell in frigid Long Island, New York.

The formation is quite literally nuts. Not only is the shape obviously suggestive of a certain body part exclusive to males (hint: not the Adam’s apple), but the actual mass of ice seems wholly disproportionate with the little bitty twig inside. How did this much ice grow in so bulbous a configuration around so teeny a clipping of flora?

My cousin had no answer for this, as he was merely the discoverer. Apparently, the specific circumstances of the discovery—location, time, weather—did nothing to shed light on the mystery, or else my cousin would have reported on it of his own accord. That’s about as far as my journalistic due diligence took me on this particular assignment.

So anyway, there you have it. This hunk of ice had no business taking on such mass, taking on this particular shape, or ballooning with such a symmetrical and shiny finish. And yet it did. A winter miracle, folks, and one with only one evident takeaway:

It’s cold as balls out there.

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Bad News, Folks: Your DVDs Have Finally Gotten Elderly


Are your DVDs finally obsolete? That depends on whether or not you currently live in 2003.

Well folks, the dreaded day has come. Your big huge movie collection? The one you’ve spent more than a decade accumulating through impulse-buys and Christmas presents and permanently borrowing from friends? Useless. Paperweights, all of them. Dvds have finally gone and gotten old on us, and now we’ll need to think long and hard about how to rebuild.

I realized the end had come the other day when I got a random hankering to watch the 1993 sci-fi cops n’ robber film Virtuosity, starring a young Denzel Washington and a skinny Russell Crowe. I’d recently re-watched Ridley Scott’s very good American Gangster, starring those same two actors, and this made me curious to see if that same chemistry was alive and present back when they made Virtuosity.

So I ordered the dvd on Netflix and it arrived promptly five weeks later. I’d actually somehow managed to build up quite a bit of  excitement to see this film, and when I finally popped it in the player and watched it on my widescreen HD television my jaw literarly dropped to my feet and exploded.

The “Virtuosity” Incident

Where were the glorious pores in Denzel’s face? How come I couldn’t quite get a fix on the grease-levels of young Russell Crowe’s hair? Why did the futuristic police station look like it belonged in some high school theater production?

To be fair, Virtuosity is a terribly lame movie. Hollywood didn’t exactly bring out the big guns for that particular production. I’m pretty sure they shot the whole thing on the home video camera my parents had back in the early 80’s. But still. As I watched that film up-scaled on my blu-ray player I had the distinct impression that I was watching something with hella low resolution. And though I’ve been watching DVDs on HD televisions pretty regularly over the last few years, this was the first time I cringed at the drop in picture quality.

And once the DVD door closes, friends, it stays closed. Suddenly my entire collection of dvds felt like a huge, sleazy waste of shelving space. Obsolete and old and sort of grandfathered in, because however dirty they made me feel I knew I’d have to share my home with them quite some time yet. ‘Cause, not like I can just throw them all out and replace them with blu-ray versions—that would cost a friggin’ fortune!

So yes, these hundreds of DVDs—including such cinema classics as Predator, Aliens, Rosemary’s Baby, Minority Report—were like ancient phone-in schoolteachers who’d earned their tenure and were now just handing out worksheets and collecting big fat checks. Can’t get rid of them. Can’t get much out of them.

DVDs are old. Not dead and buried like VHS, not yet, but old and sad and flea-markety just the same. Ever since the Virtuosity incident, I’ve stopped taking for granted that I actually “own” all those titles in my collection. Now it’s more like I simply have in my possession low-res YouTube versions of those same titles. When I go to Best Buy and I see a blu-ray copy of Raiders of the Lost Ark, I now feel a pressing need to purchase it, even though I already own the DVD version.

The Harbinger of DVDoom


Twas not blu-rays or Redbox that did DVDs in. It was HD cable TV killed the beast.

So what did them in, anyway? What age-related infirmity finally bitch slapped DVDs from old to elderly? At first I thought the obvious: blu-rays. But no. Blu-rays have been around for years and they’re still not the primary way Americans watch their movies. I have no research to back that up, but I’m confident the statement nonetheless. My brain was my research.

Most people watch their movies and shows via their HD cable subscription and/or a streaming service like Netflix or Amazon Streaming. There are no flourishing big chain video stores left. No obvious way for movie-fans to rent blu-rays except through that mysterious Redbox kiosk in your supermarket—a good way to rent movies, actually, but one for which many of us are still warming up to.

For most of us movie/television fans, we’re getting our fix through digital HD cable and streaming. That’s what’s on our televisions and laptops. That’s the standard now, and it’s been for a few years.  And just about everything worth anything has been remastered and converted to allow for an HD experience. Now the late night movie on your local television broadcast is a much higher resolution than the version you’d gotten for your birthday back in 2004.

Suddenly it’s better to watch a watered down, commercial-ridden, edited-for-time version of 1989’s martial arts/gymnastics hybrid action film Gymkata than the completely untampered-with version sitting on your bookshelf.

That, my friends, is what finally nudged DVDs into the old folks home. Not blu-rays—a format which may never reach the popularity of the DVD at its height—but the simple, inevitable realization that, even though you already own the deluxe DVD edition of Scarface, you’re not going to sit down and watch it until it’s playing on television. Butchered or no.



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8 Reasons Your Boyfriend Calls You “Baby”

thinking about babies while kissing

Don’t jump for joy just yet, ladies. When your man calls you “baby” it’s not necessarily a sign of romantic affection…

Okay baby, check it out. Here at practicallyserious.com I get a lot of questions regarding relationship advice. As well I should. One question I’ve been getting a lot of lately is this: “Hey Prac, what does it mean when a guy calls you baby?” And it’s true. Oftentimes a dude will refer to his lady friend as “baby” when the couple is about to make out. As in: “Oh baby…” or “I love you baby” or “baby I love your way.”

Well, I’ve been getting this question at least twice a day and I think it’s high time I cracked the case.

8 Reasons Your Boyfriend Calls You “Baby”

1. He’s not actually calling you baby. He is not even talking to you at all. He is talking to the grimacing baby just behind you sitting on the nightstand. Where it came from I have no idea, but that’s what’s happening.

2. It’s a Freudian slip—deep down he thinks you act like a baby. A literal baby. A Gerber baby. Maybe you flop your arms around too much. I guess try to stop flopping your arms so much.

3. He wants you to know that you smell like a baby. Try to improve your hygiene bathroom-wise.

4. He is making fun of you for wearing Huggies diapers instead of lace underwear for the fourth Valentine’s Day in a row. It’s a real buzz kill. Please stop.

5. He’s not talking to you. Not directly, anyway. You just happen to be in the same general area is all. You see, he’s talking to the zygote currently growing inside your uterus. The minute he found out he was going to be a father you have been demoted in his eyes to “organic baby house.” It’s totally uncool, sure, but at least he loves the baby.

6. He’s simply under the impression you are a baby. He’s thought you were a baby from day one. He thinks you’re an oversized, out-of-proportion baby that just happens to look like a grown-up woman. He’ll be the first to admit that the relationship is wrong and illegal and highly controversial, but he’s been taught to always follow his heart and in a way he enjoys going against the grain. “Eh, let them talk!” he says.

7. He is not calling you baby. He’s calling himself baby, referring to himself in the third person like Frankenstein’s monster or Arnold Schwarzenegger. But he’s also totally dyslexic. So instead of “Baby love you,” you get “Love you, baby.”

8. He thinks your name is “Baby,” not Margaret. This is because every time he says “Hey Baby, what did you do with my tighty whiteys?” you simply tell him what you did with his tighty whiteys instead of saying, “Hey stupid, my name ain’t ‘Baby.'”

This post is the long awaited “baby” of my most visited post ever “8 Reasons My Keep Their Eyes Open When Making Out With Women.” Check it out.

Readers: Need any relationship advice? Leave any and all questions in the comment section—I may feature it in an upcoming post!

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