for want of a snorkel

“Therer’s something wrong here. Why do I feel like I’ve seen this before?” she said, setting the glass on the coaster.

“It’s the fixed camera angles. It’s usually employed in Wes Anderson films.” he said. He began brushing the crotch of his pants left and right lightly, until he palmed what she could faintly make out as an outline of his penis into a more comfortable position in his pants.

“I’ll be honest, I’m not wild about it either but this is what passes as originality nowadays. Not his camera work, mind you. The aping of it. Like it’s a brilliant homage! An homage to what, exactly? A camera angle makes something an ugly approximation of quirk?!” He wanted to trail off but he was caught in the sentiment. She eyed him quizzically and started the daily up again.

The hero is on-screen in classic silver age garb. A trident is raised in anger against Bo Bridges, and he is promptly impaled.

“Look at it this way. We can scrap it now and call this proof of concept. It’s just fucking Aquaman.”

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