million dollar idea: instead of spending thousands of dollars on steady-cam equipment, filmmakers should just attach a camera to the head of a chicken and carry the chicken around as you film.
hi i’m kitty i don’t know anything about star wars whoops
“What am I looking at?”
Lando leaned forward and laced his fingers together. “My taxes.” He paused, then gestured to Han. “Our taxes,” he corrected, with an unnecessarily rakish grin.
Leia squinted at the datapad. “Tax fraud.”
“Oh, no no no. Absolutely not. My accounting is impeccable.”
“I don’t see how it could be,” she said. “He’s a smuggler.”
“Hey,” Han began. He shut his mouth when Leia leveled him with a look. He opened it again to persist, but saw that Lando had a shit-eating grin as he watched their argument-in-potentia. Han glowered at Lando, and made him grin wider. Han huffed, hooking his thumbs on his belt.
“Legally, he’s a long-haul transport navigator,” Lando said, and Leia snorted. “Because he has a spouse at home—me—he qualifies for a higher income deduction as well as a few credits unique to the profession.”
“Wait, credits?” Han asked.
“Because he’s my dependent,” Lando continued, ignoring him.
“The hell I am.”
“That puts me in a unique legal position—not many people know about this, but in order to incentivize long-haul transportation, a spouse who claims a long-haul transport navigator as a dependent qualifies as a household caretaker, which is a kind of head of household that’s able to claim significantly more not only for themselves but for any other dependent spouses they may happen to have.”
“But his transport isn’t legal,” Leia said, fascinated. Han was pretending to understand the conversation, which would have been more convincing if he weren’t already fiddling with a kinetic sculpture on one of Lando’s shelves.
“It’s art.”
“What?”
“As far as my taxes are concerned,” Lando said, “Han transports art. They can’t prove that it isn’t. And I’m always careful to get the valuation right.”
“How do you know what I transport?” Han asked, indignant. A piece came off the sculpture in his hands. He looked down at it, then looked at Lando. He made a hasty attempt to reattach the piece. The entire sculpture collapsed. Han took his hands from it, and attempted to lean casually against the shelves with his elbow to block it from view.
“They call me,” Lando said.
“No,” Leia gasped, delighted.
“Yes,” Lando said, grinning again. “They know I’m his partner. They know I can’t be sure I’m getting my fair share unless I know exactly what he’s getting. So they call me.”
“What!” Han stood straighter, his brow furrowed and his face all twisted into an incredulous pout of anger.
“They might have been able to catch him smuggling,” Lando said to Leia, still not addressing Han.
“They would never,” Han sneered.
“But they’re never going to get him on tax evasion. There’s no way he would have been paying taxes on his own.”
“It never even occurred to me that he would,” Leia said.
“I’m right here,” Han reminded them.
“So you can see why I can’t divorce him,” Lando said.
“I don’t follow,” Leia said.
“My household caretaker status is the foundation of all of this,” he said, pointing to the datapad. “I divorce Han and the whole thing collapses.”
“Collapses how?” Leia asked, narrowing her eyes.
“Cloud City goes bankrupt.”
Han choked.
“How many people have you married?” Leia demanded.
“Leia, you know that you’re my favorite wife-in-law,” Lando said, “but I don’t think I’m comfortable discussing that aspect of my personal life.”
The pile of former-sculpture slid from the shelf, and clattered to the floor.
Han pretended not to notice.
This is GLORIOUS and also 100% in character for someone who allegedly doesn’t know anything about star wars.
This is the lucky clover cat. reblog this in 30 seconds & he will bring u good luck and fortune.
THIS ONE!!! THIS IS THE ONE THAT WORKS!!!!!
I reblogged him the day i started treatment and 1. GOT TO MY APPOINTMENT ON TIME 2. FOUND A FREE PARKING TICKET SOMEONE LEFT IN THE METER FOR ME AND 3. GOT FREE STARBUCKS AFTER MY APPOINTMENT!!!!!
I’m convinced bc I reblogged this on Friday, got hired at a job I had a million interviews for, went on a first date that went well, and got kissed a billion times so like hell ya to the luck cat
“Being the Queen is not all about singing, and being a diva is not all about singing. It has much to do with your service to people. And your social contributions.”
Aretha Franklin (March 25, 1942 – August 16, 2018).
My mother’s guests’ son showed up wearing high-waisted black tights, a crop top, and body glitter. I have been desperately searching through my closet for my “GAY” NASA shirt because I do not wish to be so grandiosely out-gayed in my own home.
Did you out-gay him, son?
No. I can’t find my shirt!!!! This calls for desperate measures… time to break out the unseasonably warm Denim Jacket With Rainbows Pouring From The Nipples and High-Waisted Jeans.
It’s 8 PM and I wanted to change into my Data Star Trek Pajamas but those aren’t gay enough.
God dammit! Nowhe’s playing some kind of bubbly Carly Rae Whatshername pop. What do I do??? How do I relaliate….? Is Janelle Monae enough to save me? Joan Jett? Lads, I don’t think I’m gonna win this one.
Update: his mom inadvertently tipped the scale a little in my favor by saying, “Oh, nice jacket! Jake, come look at this jacket, you’ll love it!” and then I got to explain that I painted it myself:
I don’t think Janelle Monae helped much because the only songs of hers I have downloaded onto my phone are the ones about robots. I know robots are gay culture and all, but does he know that???
But then he pulled ahead of me by striking a pose in my dining room and I swear to god, his thigh muscles rippled like Glittery Gay Gaston. Ugh.
SCORE!!!! I switched to playing MIKA and moonwalked aggressively down the hallway and his own grandmother stepped out of the bathroom and said, “Oh, I thought you were Jake!”
Clearly she mistook my powerful gay energies for his, because we could not look more different.
Desperate times call for desperate measures. Time to Sit In A Chair Funny.
You know what?
He wins. He’s out here living his best life while I gave up using dating apps because I wanted to divert my emotional energy into making YouTube skits about noir detectives who eat cigarettes.
Like ABBA said, the winner takes it all. I guess that means I’m straight now.
are…are gay people cats?
Where did you get that idea?
I feel like this is a liveblog of the first event of the Gay Olympics. All we need are overexcited commentators.
Steel Phoenix Studios 