Bring it in! Take a knee! I have something to tell all of you. It is time to dispel a myth that has been propagated by evil, ill meaning stinky stinkers that stink. They smell bad, too. I mean like, horrible, terrible body odor that wreaks with a wreakiness that wreaks of wreaking. These people smell so bad that my dog tried to eat their underwear WHILE THEY WERE WEARING THEM because they smelled like wild animal poop.
What could make a group of people so terribly awful that skunks won't approach their position because of the smell? They have been spreading the totally untrue, unbelievably deceitful, horribly harmful belief that Die Hard is not a Christmas movie. This is patently false.
I see you out there. You're a doubter. You wallow in the stench of your beliefs. Listen up, and let Jimbo set you straight. The proof is in the pudding and, assuming you can follow the most incredibly simple of all arguments, you will come to understand how wrong you were, after which you will be allowed to take a shower and get rid of your odoriferous emanations. I mean, you can't use my shower because I don't want that smell in my house, but someone will allow you to use theirs. Just not me.
You see, those of us who have done actual historical research (and I've got one of those fancy pieces of paper that says I have. It also says something about "bachelor" which I actually am now, but was not when I got it. Go figure.) know that there are things called primary source documents. That's how real historical research is done. Not by reading a book by someone who calls themselves an "expert." Seriously, when I researched the security around the Manhattan Project, I did so by getting hold of copies of the Official Documents of the Manhattan Project. I got a crash course on using a microfilm reader that semester. I also read the memoirs of Leslie Groves, the Commanding Officer of the whole thing. Did you know that Los Alamos used a lower grade milk than any other United States Army installation? They had to get permission to put it in the commissary. True story bro. I know that because I saw the actual freaking request and response.
Granted, it wasn't my most stunning discovery, but that's what happened.
When I did my Capstone Paper on the involvement on the Heer (German Army. No, the Wehrmacht wasn't the Army. The closest analogue to the Wehrmach in the US would be the Department of War/Department of Defense.) I actually read translations of reports filed by the commanders of units who committed mass shootings because that's where the information I needed was. I also read the transcripts of the Nuremberg Trials (well, as many as I had time too. I only had a semester.) because that's where I needed the information contained there.
I also visited the local Holocaust Museum (on Orchard Lake between Twelve and Thirteen Mile Roads if you're local to Detroit. Stop in. It's horrifying.) but I didn't include anything written there. Why? Because it's a secondary source.
(For the record, it was undergraduate work and was never published. The reason why you can't find it in publication is because it wasn't published because I didn't publish it. Now when the person in the comments screams because they can't find it I can tell them that the reason they can't find the stuff is because it wasn't published and they'll look like the dumbass.)
Sorry for being like, all serious and junk. I do that sometimes. Maybe more than I should.
Granted, it wasn't my most stunning discovery, but that's what happened.
When I did my Capstone Paper on the involvement on the Heer (German Army. No, the Wehrmacht wasn't the Army. The closest analogue to the Wehrmach in the US would be the Department of War/Department of Defense.) I actually read translations of reports filed by the commanders of units who committed mass shootings because that's where the information I needed was. I also read the transcripts of the Nuremberg Trials (well, as many as I had time too. I only had a semester.) because that's where I needed the information contained there.
I also visited the local Holocaust Museum (on Orchard Lake between Twelve and Thirteen Mile Roads if you're local to Detroit. Stop in. It's horrifying.) but I didn't include anything written there. Why? Because it's a secondary source.
(For the record, it was undergraduate work and was never published. The reason why you can't find it in publication is because it wasn't published because I didn't publish it. Now when the person in the comments screams because they can't find it I can tell them that the reason they can't find the stuff is because it wasn't published and they'll look like the dumbass.)
Sorry for being like, all serious and junk. I do that sometimes. Maybe more than I should.
BUT ANYWAY...
At the top of this post you will find a PRIMARY SOURCE DOCUMENT (queue impressive sounding music) also known as the promotional poster for the movie itself. Page back up. Read it. I'll wait.
WAITING...
WAITING...
WAITING...
WAITING...
WAITING...
WAITING...
WAITING...
STILL WAITING...
SERIOUSLY, ARE YOU DONE YET?
Okay, so what does the first line of writing on the poster say?
"He had the perfect plan for Christmas."
For what?
For Christmas! IT SAYS CHRISTMAS ON THE POSTER! DIE HARD IS THEREFORE A CHRISTMAS MOVIE! THE PROMOTIONAL TEAM CONFIRMED IT! THEY NEVER COULD HAVE DONE IT IF THE PRODUCER AND THE DIRECTOR DISAGREED!
I WIN! I WIN! I WIN!
I'll just stand here while the dozens (KEEP DREAMING!) of the Jim's fans are chanting his name.
JIM-BO, JIM-BO, JIM-BO...
JIM-BO, JIM-BO, JIM-BO...
The doubters are now defeated, vanquished. Their suckage has been displayed for all to see. Their golf balls and garden hoses revealed. Their argument has been destroyed. Their cause discredited. I have wreaked havoc (more wreaking!) upon their lines, sent their forces fleeing, advanced upon their capital and lowered their flag.
You may all now congratulate me on the publication (via this blog, if not in any academic journal) of my painstaking research which consisted of seconds worth of reading a promotional poster. Your agreement is accepted. Your objection is irrelevant. I have achieved my life's work and successfully put an academic(ish) debate to bed.
As I ride off into the sunset celebrating those of you who have seen your argument defeated are highly encouraged to congratulate me on my victory while you are on the way to your shower. Don't forget to wash your pits. They stink. Badly. And use soap this time. Please. You need it.
Those of you who knew and acknowledged the truth from the beginning are urged to be magnanimous. Try not to plug your nose and say "Pee-you". Allow the non-believers to borrow your soap. Encourage them to wash themselves in your showers. Loan them your shampoo. Especially if it's the good stuff. They need it.
Those of you who knew and acknowledged the truth from the beginning are urged to be magnanimous. Try not to plug your nose and say "Pee-you". Allow the non-believers to borrow your soap. Encourage them to wash themselves in your showers. Loan them your shampoo. Especially if it's the good stuff. They need it.
Somewhere out there is that one goofball that can't grasp that this is a thousand words worth of joke. That person is advised to go soak their head. They may gag themselves with a spoon if it makes them feel better. But know this Karen: I don't feel bad for you. You're an egghead.
Some Die Hard related objects are available for purchase at the link below. If you click a link and buy literally anything from Amazon I get a small percentage at no additional cost to you.
Some Die Hard related objects are available for purchase at the link below. If you click a link and buy literally anything from Amazon I get a small percentage at no additional cost to you.
No comments:
Post a Comment