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The Sexual Allure of Alan Rickman's Voice Box

By Figgy | Eloquent Eloquence | June 28, 2010 |

By Figgy | Eloquent Eloquence | June 28, 2010 |



I’m sorry. I forgot where I was for a second and I’m still so giddy from the Mexico loss in the World Cup that I can hardly think straight. The three rum and cokes don’t help much, either. Or the ice cream.

I know that not a lot of you are nearly as excited as I am. And that makes me sad for you. Because, oh there’s no joy like the joy of watching your greatest enemy fail so spectacularly. Honestly what’s it like to live without joy in your life? I kid, of course. You can lead your joyless lives in peace and I won’t mock you too much.

And, yes, Honduras got eliminated with 1 point, but hey! At least we’re not as embarrassing as France! HA.

I might be overdoing it a bit, as my Facebook friends can attest. But, dammit, football’s in my blood and it makes me go insane(r) every four years. But it’s almost over and we can go back to our normal, boring lives where the neighbors don’t seriously consider having me committed for screaming my head off at a football match.

So that’s it. We continue World Cup madness for another couple of weeks before going back to the utter boredom of things like baseball and American Football which are so beyond my comprehension and interest that I’ll leave the ranting about that to someone who cares. I’ll keep enjoying my summer madness.

Here’s your Top 10 for this glorious week:

10. My parents used to play Monkees records to drown out their love-making. I didn’t realize this until the day I walked in on them. Now I sob uncontrollably every time I hear “Daydream Believer”.

I’m sorry, what was the question? —Leftylad

9. [amanda bynes ‘retires’ from acting]

I would also like to take the opportunity to announce that my careers in Indy Car racing, Bull Riding, Neck Jack Swing and Extreme Tetherball are coming to an end. It was a difficult choice, but I believe this will allow me to concentrate on my dual loves of spell checking and watching soup cool. —Mrcreosote

8. I’m not entirely sure, but I think that trailer just got my eyes drunk in order to slip past them and take my brain to bed.

Cheeky monkey. —C.C. Divine

[See? You guys can get so creative sometimes. Who needs ‘bunk!’ or ‘take it behind the middle school and get it pregnant’ anymore?]

7. “I saw that kunstler thing, too. I’ll prob check it out”

I read that as kuntslinger, which sounds like gunslinger, and imagined some kind of violent, vigilante, western involving the wielding of lethal vaginas. Because of the spelling, it would be set in Germany. I can only imagine the subtitles, or worse yet, dubbing.

I’ve only had a bout six hours of sleep spread over three days and it is starting to show. —Viking

[You know, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if this movie already existed. As German porn, of course.]

[About picking gay men for one’s Five Freebies]

6. I say gay is still a contender regardless.

I feel liberal, ultra modern and super rainbow connection when I imagine doing it with extremely hot gay guys. If I weren’t already me, I’d envy my cool, inclusive mindset. —replica

[hee. And hey, nothing at all wrong with women ogling/desiring gay men. Pretty is pretty.]

5. Tammy, don’t try to help them. They know what wooden is, they’re just being contrary. I’m sorry, but how you can argue that having the same facial expression for 2 hours is all right because the character called for it? Acting is a hell of a lot more than blocking and memorizing. Old Mushmouth, and those like her, yes, they showed promise at first. But the School of Lazy Acting took over and all life fled their performances. I’m starting to get very tired of all this terrible acting. There’s just so much of it, and no one seems to want to do anything about it.

Let’s take the example of Jennifer Garner. Now, I loved Alias. Loved it. But for 75% of the show’s run, she may as well have been a cigar store Indian. But they hired her for a look first, and her acting ability second, relying on veterans like Victor Garber to carry the weight of most of the actressin’.

What this comes down to is Hollywood tries to slip them past us, hide them behind people we like, or at least people we know are good, whether we like them or not. It’s not fair really, because pretty soon all we’re going to have is what amounts to a forest of boobs and abs and not much else.

Wooden. They’re fucking wooden. For those of you too simple to get my point, they cannot fucking act and they should not be working outside of a Burger King commercial. Sure, they luck into roles where their woodenness is not as noticeable, but it doesn’t change the fact that we’re not getting what we’re paying for.

Don’t piss on my leg and tell me it’s raining, you petrified lumps of mental driftwood. —Smokin

[I loved this for several reasons: 1) people were bitching way too damn much about what ‘wooden’ meant, 2) Smokin is generally so quiet and then he breaks out into an awesome long response and 3) I just loved it.]

4. [from the trailer to “Predators”]

“to kill a predator, you have to first catch a predator”

Will the stranded crew’s elaborate ruse to trick the predators into believing the only female of the gang is underage, oversexed and into banging alien warriors be successful? Will the enticing and seductive offers of wine coolers and hand jobs be enough to get the predators to de-cloak and put the weapons down?
It works for Chris Hansen. —Smokey

3. I’m a creepy pirate dummy and I’m rappin’ for Je-bus.

I look like I’m from Satan so you’ll never believe us.

You shouldn’t have sex and you shouldn’t smoke grass.

Take it from the dummy with a hand up his *record scratch* —MC Pirate Dummy

[#2 is a double-whammy from our favorite Panda Lover. They would’ve won #1 except that, well, you’ll see.]

2. FINALLY! I knew the day would come when I would find a venue for my message to be heard. You better believe that I have the perfect script for this. It’s a multigenerational sci-fi saga set in the distant future during the reconstruction after a near-apocalyptic event. An in-depth examination of the price for survival and what it means to truly be free, it has a byzantine plot structure, humor, pathos, elements of time travel, cybernetics, and cloning. Let’s just hope those voters feel the same way that I do about full-frontal nudity from a MegaPanda. —jM

[Please let jM write the next SyFy movie! PLEASE!]

Ninjas were basically a non-factor until the early eighties, but by the late eighties almost surpassed pirates before falling back into the crowd.

Fools. They’re always there. Waiting. Hiding. Even in plain sight.

What’s in the suitcase in Pulp Fiction? A ninja.

What did Bill Murray whisper to Scarlet Johansson at the end of Lost in Translation? “We’re surrounded by ninjas. Bye.”

Keyser Soze in The Usual Suspects? Turkish ninja.

“V” in V for Vendetta? Burnt British ninja!

Alfred in Batman Begins: “Why do we fall, Sir?”

Because ninjas trip us. —jM

[And here’s our #1. Possibly one of the funniest, most bizarre comments I’ve ever read on this site. Even better, I think it comes from a first-timer on the EE!]

1. I want to have sex with Alan Rickman’s voicebox.

True, we’d go through the difficulty of being from two separate worlds (with me being from the US, and he from deep inside the respiratory system of a British man) but no matter our struggles, we’d always find ourselves back with each other, for he is everything I am not—deep, nasally, and drollingly memorable while mine is feminine and forgettable. My parents would forbid me from seeing him, saying that he is not my type and “what would the neighbors say?” But we don’t care what anyone else thinks, and in the dark of one night we would run off and elope.

Then - years down the road - we would have children. And those infant larynxes wouldn’t even bother me with their whining and crying, because they have a bit of their father in them. I would listen to them cry all day long, not feeling the need to stop them and get them what they need. Eventually, my neglect of the larynxes for the benefit of my ears would lead to their death, for which I am held responsible and imprisoned. I use my one phone call on my beau — Alan Rickman’s voicebox— who admits that I am irresponsible and doesn’t think he’ll be able to look at me the same way after I get out of the big house. He is leaving me. I no longer have the will to live.

Yeah, nevermind. On second thought, I’ll go with Cillian Murphy. —penelope


Congratulations, Penelope! In one brilliant comment you made me crack up, made me gag, weirded me out and cracked me the hell up all over again. I don’t think I’ve ever read a comment quite like that, and I absolutely love you for it. Your prize is, of course, an alarm clock that plays soothing Alan Rickman sound clips all night long, then screams in the morning to wake you up.

Damn. Now I want that for myself. Enjoy!

That’s it for this week. Please don’t forget to vote for your Five Freebies here.

We need more votes, people. If you don’t vote, how can you complain about the lack of so and so when the list goes up! Decisions are made by those who show up!

Oh, yeah, I just quoted “The West Wing.” That’s how I roll.

All right, see you next week. I’ll be busy yelling at my TV some more. My one wish? For Brazil to fail. That’s all I want. Godtopus be praised. Amen.

Figgy is a displaced Honduran living in Dallas, TX. You can read her ramblings at her blog , where there is much snark and occasional pictorials of hot, shirtless men.

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