My boyfriend just woke up, mostly still asleep and told me “don’t worry, it’s getting better” in a heavy, American accent, which is unusual for an Australian man.
“Why are you American?” I asked, to which I got:
“Sorry, it’s getting better” in a stereotypical posh English accent.
“Why are you English?” I asked, amused.
“What is he normally?” He managed to ask.
“He? You’re not anyone else, you’re you.”
“Ugh, me” was the last thing he said, in a right proper Aussie accent before he fell back into proper sleep.
Bitch just thwarted a ghost possession by judging his accents
My boyfriend would be gettin’ hit with the baseball bat beside our bed if he ever woke up and said, “What is he normally?” about himself.
Then you would NOT have liked the time he pointed to a corner of our room while he was sleeping and said “they share a dimension with Earth and they take cats to eat them”.
I can actually elaborate on this, because last time I toured the catacombs we had a delightful guide who was a very enthusiastic PhD student and this was, apparently, partly what he was doing his dissertation on. (I talked to him for a while one-on-one; we bonded over the sweet hell that is graduate school.) Anyway, according to him, there was this weird artsy quasi-anarchist amateur-spelunking group that used to throw these very illegal parties down in the catacombs. This, of course, isn’t safe at all because (1) parts of the catacombs are not structurally sound and you risk suffocating or being crushed to death, and (2) they’re damn near impossible to navigate if you don’t know what you’re doing. As in multiple people have literally died of thirst before finding their way out–one of whom finally collapsed a bare twenty meters from the exit, which he couldn’t see because it’s so infernally dark. How’s that for shitty, shitty irony?
Anyway, after stumbling across little bits of evidence that people were exploring the out-of-bounds areas of the catacombs and leaving like, a few cigarette butts and empty bottles behind, the Paris police issued a stern cease-and-desist basically saying, “STOP DOING THAT YOU COULD ALL DIE” and this one group basically said, “Bitch make us” and proceeded to get more and more ostentatious with their bizarre subterranean Magic-Theatre soirees, just to prove that they knew the catacombs better than anybody else and there was pretty much nothing the authorities could do to stop them. The electricity thing in itself isn’t really that mysterious because anywhere you could fit a makeshift movie theatre you could also bring the generators to run it (so long as they’re not gas-powered, because underground that would probably mean carbon monoxide poisoning…not that safety was the first priority here). It would be a hassle, but doable. That’s not the good part. The good part is that not only did they illegally set up an entire movie theatre in the tunnels under the city of Paris, but they left it there just to taunt the authorities. Eventually this kind of stuff stopped. Nobody really knows why except the pranksters themselves, I suppose, but literally only in Paris do you get a troupe of drama queens as epic as they are unapologetically petty.
