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It stinks.

The essence of marketing?

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In similar vein to 'Gonzo.', here's another ethos-defining note.

It's something I'm hesitant to include, but overall consider it appropriate.

With age, I become more peaceful and peaceable. So 'rant' is something in which I rarely indulge.

But, as I've now learned by abstaining from alcohol longer than was probably necessary or wise, a little 'expressive outlet' can be healthy. So here's something from years ago, and about which I still feel strongly.

Breakfast with Weaver.

The alien in the room.

One of the joys of being f**ed-up is that you get to live a life almost totally out-of-sync with others, and sometimes yourself.

In one such moment yesterday, I found myself, after working through the night, sitting down for a nine-in-the-morning viewing of 'Alien Resurrection', a movie which is nowhere near as bad as many would have you believe.

For the thirteen people worldwide who haven't seen it in the dozen years since release, here's the long-story-short plot summary:

It's 200 years since Ripley died.

The United Systems Military has assumed the task of breeding and harnessing the deadly aliens.

Scientists clone a new Ripley and extract the queen alien inside of her.

She breeds, the aliens break free, and the killing begins.

Ripley, fully dressed this time rather than the natty vest-and-panties from the original movie, saves the day (but not many of the cast).

On a note of relevance to the point of this piece is the verbal exchange, about ten minutes into the flick, between Ripley and the smug head scientist, speaking of the onboard cargo.

[Rip:] She'll breed. You'll die. Everyone will die.

[Smug scientist:] I think you will find that, uh, things have changed a great deal since your time.

[Rip:] I doubt that. And it won't make any difference. You're still gonna die.

'Told you so…' as the next hundred-or-so minutes roll by, Ripley's of course proven right.

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