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Episode 183 - Ladybugs: LIVE!

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Here's a pic of Bess' first husband (Matthew's father.)

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and here's her current husband (after Chester passed)

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I feel like maybe she's a secret Black Widow going after easy prey but no one TOO wealthy or in the spot light so she isn't caught? Three months after their wedding Chester's gonna have a "sudden" heart attack and it's on to the next schmuck.

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Since it came up in the episode, apparently Mr. Mullen's company designs malls and Chester "sells" the retail space - which seems kind of weird.

 

In the scene where Chester is asking for a promotion they have this exchange:

 

Mr. Mullen: The new mall in the south district. Boy, what a beauty.

 

Chester: I'll sell this space out in no time, Mr. Mullen. Have no fear, Chester is here.

 

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So has the mall been built yet?

Is this like the episode of The Magic School Bus where they want to build a mall on the swamp and Carlos has to argue against Arnold's scary cousin?

 

 

How do I have this information in my brain?

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Finally getting back to my usual routines, just wanted to pop in with my sole omission here. Cant believe none of the hosts pointed out that the girl who listed her interests as boys several times, also listed A Wrinkle in Time as her favorite book.

 

It just struck me as an amazing coincidence considering the movie is now in theaters.

 

Also now that we've proven that covering a Jonathan Brandis movie doesnt automatically make it a bummer, can we do Sidekicks too..............

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How did these two lovebirds meet?

 

Since I would never ask you all to do something I wasn't also willing to do myself. Here's my take.

 

(It's pretty long. Feel free to skip :) )

 

"The Lady and the Bug"

 

by Cameron H.

 

The bar was crowded for a Tuesday night. Sweaty voices shouted over the din of clanking glass and soccer games being televised at maximum volume. Every so often a roar would erupt as some team did something or other that – apparently - deserved some noisy accolades. Bess wasn’t really interested in sports, of course, but her son Matthew was. Football, soccer, you name it. Matthew was a natural - just like his father...

 

Bess sighed. What am I doing here? she asked herself. It was silly. If she had wanted a drink it would have been quieter - and cheaper - to have one at home. But, then again, she wasn’t there to drink, was she?

 

Her eyes danced over the salty rim of her drink. In the flicker of an eyelash she scanned the bar from one end to the other, and in that time, she had already come to a depressing realization: good men (and women for that matter) were impossible to find.

 

There was nothing new - not here anyway. Maybe not anywhere. Just a sea of chiseled features and taut, rippling muscles. If she wanted young, fit, and handsome, she would have stayed with Matthew’s father. Bleh, she thought, I don’t think so.

 

She polished off the rest of her drink in a single gulp and nodded at the bar tender.

 

“Another?”

 

“No, thanks. I think I’m just going to settle up.”

 

“Oh!” came a cry uncomfortably close to her ear, “Just my luck. I’m so ugly, the pretty women leave before they even see me!” The voice spoke in a strange cadence as if performing for an invisible audience.

 

Bess turned around. Her breathe caught in her throat. Standing before her was the oddest creature she had ever seen. He had a face like a beached cod, a voice like a pig fart, and somehow, managed to smell like a combination of the two. His hair was an uncomfortable blonde that made his bulging eyes appear more aggressive. His swollen lips glistened beneath the dim bar lights, but whether from sweat or saliva, she couldn’t tell.

 

Bess was intrigued.

 

“May I sit down?” the stranger croaked.

 

“Please,” Bess smiled.

 

“What can I get for you?” the bartender asked.

 

“I’ll have what she’s having. And she’ll have one too. Big ones! The biggest ones you got! A double. Then make the double a double and then double that.”

 

“Two Salty Chihuahuas, extra salt,” the bartender confirmed as he turned around to mix their drinks.

 

“Salty Chihuahuas? I think I’ve had that before, down in Chinatown. I don’t remember it being all that salty, but it definitely had a bite if you know what I mean.”

 

She didn’t know what he meant, it didn’t make any sense, but it was clear it was racist and that was enough for her.

 

Bess swooned.

 

She put her purse in her lap and directed all her attention to the man straining to straddle the barstool next to her. His hot, heaving breaths came out in the type of billowing gusts you would expect from a man twice his age.

 

The bartender returned and slid two towering glasses toward them. Chester looked at the pale, pink color with a critical eye. He took a sip.

 

“Ooh, it’s lucky I've got a pretty girl next to me,” the man said, “I haven’t drank something this fruity since I was in the Navy.”

 

Bess bit the end of her straw and drank - slow and deep. Terrible and offensive things seemed to ooze from his lips like molasses. Sure, not a lot of what he said made sense, but the homophobia and bigotry came through loud and clear.

 

“Oh, you were in the Navy?”

 

“Me?” he said, “Yeah, I was in the Navy. Although, I tell you, I was a pretty lousy seaman. They said I gave a whole new meaning to ‘seasickness.’ Every time I leaned over the side of the ship to puke, the ocean would throw up on me!”

 

Frustrated, and sensing that he would never get around to introducing himself, she offered him her hand. By way of introduction, she simply said, “Bess.”

 

“Bess! Bess! Pleased to meet you!” he cried ecstatically, “What a name! What a beaut!”

 

He cupped her hands in his. They were warm and clammy and seemed to swallow hers whole. He kissed the back of her hand, coating it in a thick, pungent film that she would later find out, wouldn’t wash off for days. Her toes tingled. The feeling spread throughout her body. She stole a glance in the bar mirror. She was half expecting to see her hair standing on end.

 

“And you are?” she prodded.

 

“Chester.”

 

“Chester,” she repeated, “What a beautiful name.”

 

Her words were coming out in a breathy whisper hardly audible above the cacophony of the bar. The air felt thin. Breathing had become difficult. Just speaking to this man was like bathing in an ocean of pure sex, and she was drowning in it.

 

“Heh, nice of you to say,” he quipped, “but I feeling I was named Chester because my parents hated me.”

 

“Hated you?” she asked, “I don’t believe it. You?”

 

“You kidding? When I was born my mother took one look at me and told the doctor to put me back! When the doctor smacked me, my father told him to do it again. I tell ya: I get no respect.”

 

“You poor man…” She dabbed her eyes with a cocktail napkin, grateful that he was so busy adjusting the collar of his shirt to notice. She placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. Chester flinched at the contact.

 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized, “The last time I was touched on the shoulder like that, an usher at was asking me to leave the adult movie theater: disturbing the other customers.”

 

“Oh you…” she flirted.

 

“What can I say, I’m a crier.”

 

She held up a single, slender finger up for the bartender. He materialized somewhere out of the hazy, sexual ether.

 

“Another?” he asked.

 

“No,” she replied, “I think it’s time to go. I’d like to pay our tab.”

 

She handed the bartender her credit card. Chester watched the bartender walk away with a bemused intensity. As soon as the bartender was out of sight, Chester said, “Oh, you shouldn’t have done that. I woulda paid...”

 

“I didn’t want you to.”

 

“Oh” he said, “I get it. Well, thanks for the conversation…”

 

Shoulders slumped, he got up to walk away; however, to his surprise, he found his exit thwarted by a firm hand pressed against his chest, fingernails digging into his fleshy skin. She stood and kissed his neck. A sound like a gorilla with chronic asthma huffed from his throat. Her tongue slipped between her lips and ran up the contour of his neck. The tip of her tongue traveled up to his chin; first one…and then the other.

 

If she hadn’t been tugging on his bowtie, his musky scent would have sent her to the sticky barroom floor in a quivering wave of ecstasy. Heat radiated from her body with the intensity of a dying star. She wasn’t prepared for this. Nothing could prepare someone for this. All she knew was either going to burn out or explode.

 

She kissed him then, long and hard. The experience wasn’t unlike what she imagined kissing an octopus must be like: salty, wet, and slightly fishy. There was a schizophrenic randomness to his tongue that caught her off guard. Was he biting her tongue or was his own tongue somehow sharp? How could she make it never stop?

 

“The time for talk is over, Chester” she hissed in his ear. “You’re coming home with me.”

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I'd like to take a moment to recognize an unsung hero of this fine film...

Ladybug player #3: Tina. I'm not sure they ever actually say her name in the film, but she's ever-present in the soccer sequences and is a hidden gem because she's super sassy. She's rolling her eyes while Welfelt is talking, she's taunting the other team, and near the end she straight up punches a few girls on the field.

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She only has a few lines...

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She's my hero.

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Great Balls of Fire, a song by a guy who married his 13 year old cousin is featured in a movie which plays with pedophilia as a joke? Yep: Checks out.

 

I feel like Great Balls of Fire would make an excellent movie for this pod.

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At about 46min and 22sec, when "Martha" is playing with the team, the ball is clearly only half filled and squishily flopping around the field. My only thought is that the filmmakers thought this would make the ball easier to control for filming purposes but it looks ridiculous.

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How did these two lovebirds meet?

 

Chester was finishing up his meal at his favourite greasy spoon diner. Like clockwork every day for lunch he'd come in and order a big bowl of chili, fries, bacon egg sandwich, and a steak which also came with a few extra eggs. Hey, there is no such as bad cholesterol he'd tell himself. He was finishing up his meal when the waitress walked by,

 

"Hey Martha, tell the cook last time I saw something this greasy he worked for sanitation in Jersey."

 

"Oh Mr. Chester and your jokes." She said assuming it was a joke from his hands up gesture and bug eyed expression. As English was her second language she just assumed it was funny and gave him a courtesy laugh.

 

"Chester you still got it." He remarked to himself as he went back to finishing his coffee. When from across the dinner he heard a loud bang followed by the clanging of silverware on ceramic. A heated gnarled cry soon followed.

 

"God dammit Bess," the mystery voice snarled, "For the last fucking time, I don't care about your or the boy. I ain't giving you a dime and won't ever. I'm done with this and I'm done with you."

 

Then Chester heard the soft coo of a tired and weak voice crying out between sobs, "I thought if we did this in a public place you wouldn't make a scene. Please be reasonable." He turned to see what the commotion was about. At the other end of the dinner there was a toe headed woman with her head in her hands. She appeared to be maybe 20 years younger than Chester and while she wouldn't be gracing the covers of any magazines she had a certain charm to her look. Across from her a hard looking man. A barrel chested one man brute squad of a man with trucker cap, sleeveless flannel shirt, jeans that had seen a thousand miles, and tattered work boots. The man snatched at a pack of cigarettes from the table and put one in his mouth before standing up. He threw the pack back down at the table, but more so at the woman, and pointed directly at her.

 

"Well you were never one for thinking were you? Don't you ever contact me again." He stormed off to the entrance of the diner, "Oh, and the coffee is on you Bess." He laughed to himself and was out the doors. The woman buried her face deeper into her palms and began to cry so loudly Chester could hear her from across the place. He squirmed his seat, thinking to himself what a jerk that guy was. That's no way to treat a lady. Soon the other people in the diner went about their regular business but the woman kept sobbing. Chester shifted in his seat some more. This wasn't right, he kept thinking. What could I do though? Then it hit him.

 

"Martha, a slice of that pie for the lady. Make it two I'm joining her." He said as he got out of his seat and moved across the diner to the crying woman. Her head still down as he made his way over and nervously introduced himself. "Say, I know the timing is not great but you've got to try this pie. I mean every lousy joint has a lousy pie but I tell ya this one is the lousiest. It's so lousy I'm on doctors’ orders to have it three times a day so I will keel over and stop bothering him. It's so lousy they drop into warzones to end conflicts because nobody wants to go near it. I tell ya, you got to try it to see how lousy it is. Boy, that's what my mother use to tell all my dates." Then from the tears he heard a faint chuckle. "I think you're getting it now. I mean don't get me wrong this pie is the worst. I'm pretty sure eating it violates the Geneva Convention. It's cruel and unusual punishment then again that's what my ex-wife said being married to me was." Another chuckle. "I don't know your story lady and you don't know mine. I come home to my first wife packing bags. Are we going on vacation I asked and she said no I was. A one way ticket to an apartment in the city. It wasn't all bad until the rats called an exterminator to get rid of me. Then I meet this other lady, real nice lady, did a lot for charity namely marrying me. One day I tell her I want kids and she said so did she, just not ones with my looks. So here I am building my life up for the third time and just when I don't think thing could get any worse I eat this pie and I know, yes it can."

 

The woman laughed a little and looked up at Chester and smiled, "That's quite the pitch for this pie. I think you might have sold me."

 

"That's me. I can sell snow to an eskimo, open cars to the Kennedy's, dust to the dust bowl. In fact I'm off to a very important interview later at this company, Mullen something or another, who are looking for sales people. I don't know what they're selling but I can sale it."

 

Martha came by and put two slices of pie down on the woman's table. The woman picked up a napkin and wiped away tears from her face. She motioned for Chester to sit and join her. She noticed the left behind pack of cigarettes. "You don't happen to smoke do you?" She asked.

 

"Me? Nah, I'm yellow enough as is. I tell you, sometimes when I'm in a hurry people try to hail me. I once had mustard on my face for a whole day and nobody noticed. I'm so yellow I tell ya, that I make Robert Ford look good."

 

"You're not that bad," the woman said as she took a bite of the pie, "Well not nearly as bad as this pie."

 

"What did I tell ya, what did I tell ya. The only thing worse in this joint than me is the cooking. Hey chef I kid because I love but seriously the people of Guatemala want you back. Know what I mean?"

 

The woman laughed aloud, "No. No I don't."

 

"Tough crowd I see. At least you're laughing at my words and not at me."

 

"No, it's... well... you didn’t have to do this for me."

 

"Did for you? Lady this one is for me. A schlub like me and a great dame like you."

 

"Ha, no sense on beating around the bush here. You practically heard everything. I'm in my late 30s with a son who's almost a teenager. I have a horrible ex, a not so profitable job, and a house with a steep mortgage. Who'd want any of that?"

 

"That doesn't sound that bad. A horrible ex? I have two. Not so profitable job, I'm going in for an entry level sales position. A house? Great! I have a ten foot by ten foot painting that IS my place. Not to mention you still have your looks and I have, hey, what do I got? Oh dear, is this pie better than I am? They couldn't even sell me for a buck twenty."

 

"I believe the pie is one fifty."

 

"One fifty? Maybe if I dressed nice I could fetch a buck twenty but a buck fifty. No way."

 

The woman laughed again, and looked out the window at the world around her. Thinking about all the things it held for her and her son, and then she looked across the table and this oddly shaped man. Sure he had a few years on her and probably was never really a looker in his time, but his goofy smile and odd personality had sort of charmed her. "I'm not sure how I could ever thank you for cheering me up like this on one of the worst days of my life."

 

"You could thank me by joining me for dinner. That is if we could find a place that serves hairless gorillas. It, ugh, it would be on me."

 

She looked over and the crumple pack of cigarettes and down at the horrid pie before her. Despite its bad looks and foul taste she'd almost completely eaten it all.

 

"It's a date. I’m Bess." she said sticking her hand out.

 

"Nice to meet ya Bess, I'm Chester. The pleasure is all mine."

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Chester was finishing up his meal at his favourite greasy spoon diner...

 

Wow! This is really great, Cam! I think you've really captured his voice. I like how we both described him as "odd looking." We also both seem to agree that it would be well into the conversation before introductions are made, and when they do eventually occur, it will 100% be Bess who initiates it.

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That woman outside the changing room went down like a fainting goat.

 

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That woman outside the changing room went down like a fainting goat.

 

 

Ha!

This just occurred to me, but she completely pusses out when a man she thinks is a predatorial pedophile goes to touch her daughter (grand daughter?)

WAY TO GO, lady.

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Hey so here's a thing I made in the spirit of remaking this as a Lynch Trailer:

 

https://vimeo.com/259508382

 

Song is Nick Cave - Do You Love Me

 

A Little late and not quite as polished as I had hoped, but it made me giggle while making it and got the mood across that I was hoping to.

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