Month: December 2025

I’m Kayla. I review weird stuff for a living. So yeah, I watched a stack of horror hentai late at night with tea, a blanket, and my cat snoring by my feet. I wanted to see if the mix of fear and… spice works. Short answer? Sometimes. Long answer? Let me explain. If you’ve ever wondered where all those slippery appendages came from, the whole phenomenon of tentacle erotica is basically ground zero for the kink-meets-creep genre.

Before we go on, a quick note. A lot of older titles have rough themes—violence, messed-up power stuff, and non-consent. I’m not cool with that. When it went there, I hit stop. I’ll flag those moments, so you know what you’re walking into.

Quick shameless plug: I gathered all the consent-checked horror-erotica picks I actually recommend over on AllFlesh if you want to dig deeper after this rundown.
Need more context? Read the full breakdown I Tried Horror Hentai So You Don’t Have To where I catalog every title blow-by-tentacled-blow.

What I Actually Watched

• La Blue Girl (90s, campy ninja vs demon vibe): The art looks like a late-night VHS. Some jokes land. But there’s heavy non-consent in parts. I bailed on a few scenes. The sound mix? Crunchy and kind of fun in that retro way.
• Urotsukidōji: Legend of the Overfiend (classic, extreme): Wild animation swings. Big set pieces. But lots of shock for shock’s sake and nasty themes. I fast-forwarded more than I watched.
• Bible Black (occult school, slick art): Moody lighting and a strong soundtrack. Also lots of power play and non-consent. I quit halfway. The tension is real, but the themes aren’t for me.
• A few newer shorts from fan circles with “monster girl” tags: These leaned more camp than cruel. Adult characters, clear consent, and spooky set dressing—candles, rain, creaky floors. These went down easier and felt more…well, human.

You know what? I didn’t expect the music to matter so much. But it does. Low drums. Wet footsteps. Whispery wind. It sets the mood fast.

What Worked For Me

• The mood: Candle glow on stone walls. Red eyes in the dark. It hits fast. Your skin kind of hums.
• The camp: When it leans silly, it’s fun. Think rubber-mask monster energy, but animated and glossy.
• The throwback art: Old lines. Grainy frames. It feels like a lost tape you found in a thrift bin.

What Didn’t Work

• Consent issues: A lot of “classic” stuff crosses hard lines. That’s a no for me. I skipped those parts or stopped the show.
• Shock over story: Big gross set pieces, tiny plots. It can feel mean for no reason.
• Dated bits: Some jokes and gender stuff feel stuck in the past.

How I Watched (And Stayed Sane)

I watched at night, lights low, but kept the remote handy. I checked tags first. “Horror,” “consent,” “adult,” “monster girl”—those help. I also took breaks. A short walk. A glass of water. Sounds goofy, but it resets the brain.

Real Talk: Who Is This For?

• You like horror vibes more than romance.
• You’re okay with camp and weird creatures.
• You want to filter hard for consent and adult characters.
• You can hit stop when a title crosses your line. Because some will.

Still not sure? My coworker spent a whole evening staring down cosmic dread—check out I Fought the Unknown: My Eldritch Horror Night for a companion perspective on walking the tightrope between fear and fun.

If you want softer horror with spice, look for newer shorts and creators who label clearly. The difference shows. It feels less mean and more playful—like a haunted house that warns you before the jump scare.

If you get your thrills from quick, playful snapshots rather than marathon viewing sessions, the world of flirty Snapchat exchanges might be more your speed; check out this guide to Snap coquin for a rundown on how to discover consenting, adult-only spicy snaps and keep your experience safe and fun.

Prefer to swap pixelated phantoms for real-world chemistry? If you’re near Southern California, dive into the Backpage Calabasas listings where a curated roster of consenting adults makes setting up an in-person, horror-free rendezvous quick and hassle-free.

Little Things I Noticed

• Sound design carries half the fear. Even a basic hallway scene can get under your skin with the right echo.
• Color grading matters. Cold blues for dread. Warm reds for danger. When it swings too fast, you feel whiplash.
• Subtitles can be clunky. Bad timing kills the mood. I switched releases a few times just to keep the flow.

For a different flavor—less tentacle, more crumbling castles and candle wax—see how gothic vibes handle the heat in My Night With Gothic Horror.

My Favorites From This Watch

• A recent “monster girl” short with adult characters and clear consent. Candles, rain, mutual teasing, and a neat twist ending. Felt spooky, not cruel.
• A retro OVA episode from the 90s that stayed campy and weird without going off the rails. Corny fight, cheesy sting, goofy demon design—like a midnight pizza. Greasy, but kind of great.

I wish I could say the big famous titles landed for me. They didn’t. The gritty stuff goes too far, and too often.

Verdict

As a horror fan, I liked the mood when it stayed safe and clear. As a person, I need consent and care on screen. Some newer creators get that. The classics? Not so much.

Score: 2.5 out of 5 screams overall, but a solid 4 out of 5 for the rare consent-friendly, campy shorts.

Would I watch more? Yeah—carefully. With tags checked, lights low, and my thumb on the skip button. Honestly, isn’t that how we all watch spooky stuff anyway?

I watched Southbound (Rotten Tomatoes) on a rainy Tuesday with the lights off and my phone face down. My cat ignored me, which felt rude, because I kept jumping. Halfway through, I paused to check the front door. Twice. You know what? I don’t even feel silly about it.

This movie is a set of short horror stories that all happen on the same lonely highway in the desert. They slide into each other so smooth that you don’t see the seams. It’s dusty, mean, and weird in a way that stuck to me like gas station coffee. For a little production trivia (and a spoiler-free rundown of how the anthology pieces fit together), the film’s Wikipedia entry is a handy companion.

What It Feels Like

Think road trip, but the road hates you. Neon signs buzz. A radio DJ whispers like he knows your secrets. The sky looks tired. It’s not loud-screamy horror all the time; it’s more of a tight grip on your shoulder. Then, bam—blood. And then, quiet again.

The music hums low, like an engine idling. The voice of the DJ (yep, that voice you swear you’ve heard before) ties the whole ride together. I loved those little slips in and out of the radio. It felt like someone was driving, and I was just along for the ride. If twisted radio transmissions creep you out, my breakdown of Pontypool explains why that single-location broadcast can melt your brain in the best way.

The Stories That Stuck To My Brain

• The Accident: A guy hits a girl with his car. He calls for help, and they guide him to this empty hospital. He gets told—over the phone—how to do surgery. With what? Whatever he can find. I had to breathe slow during this one. The sound of the saw, the wet floor, the lights that flicker wrong—it all feels too real. I actually spilled my soda here. True story.

• Siren: A girl band breaks down and gets picked up by a sweet older couple. Dinner looks great. The smiles look… not great. When the door locks, your stomach drops. I liked how normal it seems, until it doesn’t. The masks people wear—literal and not—gave me the creeps.

• Jailbreak: A man storms into a small town bar with a gun. He wants his sister back. The town doesn’t blink. I liked the neon glow and the bar chatter that felt fake on purpose, like a play where all the actors know something you don’t. The ending felt odd, but that’s kind of the point.

• The Way In / The Way Out: A home invasion with three masked men. Then it circles to two tired guys on the road who can’t leave that road no matter how many turns they take. The creatures that hang in the sky—like long, floating bone things—aren’t on screen much, but when they show up, oh man. I got goosebumps. It gave me the same savage rush I felt during You’re Next, so home-invasion junkies should eat it up.

I rewound twice just to see how one story became the next. There’s a shot with a door closing that turns into a new scene, and it’s slick. Film nerd candy, but still easy to follow. For an even geekier, spoiler-stuffed chat about those edits, I put together this longer Southbound piece that dissects every transition.

My Watch Setup (Because That Matters)

• Time: late, after the dishwasher stopped.
• Lights: off, except one tiny lamp in the kitchen. Big mistake.
• Sound: soundbar on, bass turned up a notch. You’ll want that engine rumble.
• Snack: cola, ice clinking. I did the nervous sip thing.

If you’re in the mood for something louder and grimier once the credits roll, I always cue up Rob Zombie’s Halloween as a messy palate-cleanser.

Small tip: watch it in one go. It’s a loop, so breaks mess with the rhythm.

What Worked For Me

• The pace moves fast, no long boring backstory.
• Practical effects that feel sticky and real.
• The radio DJ thread—very clever glue.
• Seamless hand-offs between stories.
• That hospital segment? A gnarly little masterpiece.

What Bugged Me (A Bit)

• Some folks are thin as characters. You don’t always get who they are.
• A few CGI bits look soft under bright light.
• One segment (Jailbreak) stumbles near the end; vibes great, logic wobbly.

None of that ruined the ride for me. But yeah, I noticed.

Little Things I Loved

• The motel ice machine hum. Don’t ask me why; it just hit.
• Dust on the diner windows.
• License plates that feel like clues.
• The DJ’s calm voice after something awful—like a bedtime story for people who can’t sleep.

And hey, I swear I heard a tiny sound cue right before the loop closes. Like a wink. I smiled, even though it’s bleak.

If You Like These, You’ll Be Fine Here

• V/H/S
• Creepshow
• Tales From the Crypt
• Long drives with weird radio chatter

Prefer your terror snow-covered and slow-burn instead of sun-bleached? Give We Are Still Here a spin.

If you want an even deeper cut of offbeat horror road flicks, I’ve got a running recommendation thread over at AllFlesh that you can bookmark for your next night drive.

Watch with a friend who laughs when they’re scared. If none of your usual crew picks up the phone, you could always see who’s online and up for a midnight movie; over at FuckPal’s “find a fuckbuddy tonight” page you can instantly match with nearby adults looking for a spontaneous hang—handy if you want someone to scream with and maybe warm up the couch after the credits roll. Or don’t, if you want to feel brave. I thought I was brave. I was wrong.

Rolling through Georgia on a late-night highway run and find yourself near Conyers with that same craving for company? A quick scroll through the Backpage-style Conyers listings will hook you up with locals who are also wide awake, so you can swap scary-movie war stories face-to-face instead of shouting at your Bluetooth speaker.

Content Check

It’s bloody. There’s a crash, a home invasion, and some medical stuff that made my palms sweat. If that kind of gore gets to you, skip the hospital lights, or look through your fingers like I did. If that brand of tragic supernatural brutality appeals, the mother-child chills in Mama hit a similarly raw nerve without the roadside grime.

My Take, Plain and Simple

Southbound is a mean little road movie with teeth. It doesn’t hold your hand, and it doesn’t explain much. I liked that. I finished it, sat quiet for a minute, and then I checked the locks again. Call me dramatic. I slept fine… after a podcast and a glass of water.

Score: 4 out of 5. I’ll watch it again on a cold night with pizza and the lights low. Just don’t ask me to drive through the desert after. Not happening.

I watched the 2013 version last weekend. Lights off. Big bowl of buttered popcorn. My old soundbar humming. It was raining outside, and honestly, that made it better and worse. You know what? This movie crawled under my skin. Not loud. Not fast. But steady, kind of like water under a door. For a deeper dive into the film’s soaked dread, check out our full write-up on We Are What We Are.

For a comprehensive analysis of "We Are What We Are," consider reading the detailed review on Roger Ebert's website: RogerEbert.com review.

Additionally, the film's Wikipedia page offers an in-depth overview of its plot, production, and reception: We Are What We Are (2013) – Wikipedia.

The setup (no fluff, promise)

A quiet family lives by strict rules. It rains and rains. The girls cook. The dad keeps the faith. The town floods. A doctor starts asking hard questions. That’s the path. Slow, grim, wet.

I’ve seen the original Mexican film too. That one feels raw and sharp. The American remake is softer on the surface, but heavier inside. Like a damp quilt.

What stuck with me

• The rain feels like a character. It never stops. My windows fogged up while I watched, and I swear I could smell wet wood.
• Julia Garner’s eyes do most of the talking. She’s scared, but strong. It’s quiet acting, and it lands.
• The dinner table scenes. The prayer. The careful plates. The way people hold their forks. That polite tension? Oof.
• The doctor working through an old journal. He turns pages with care, like they might bite. I paused to grab a sweater during that part. I felt cold.

Fans of slow, snow-swallowed dread like in We Are Still Here will vibe with the soggy chill here.

Here’s the thing: this isn’t jump-scare horror. It’s grief and duty and secrets. The movie lets you sit with it, even when you don’t want to. If you crave deeper dives into horror’s more unsettling family dynamics, the essays over at All Flesh are a perfect companion read.

One scene I can’t shake

There’s a moment by the river after the storm. The water pulls things out of the ground. Not gore, but proof. The camera doesn’t show too much; it just… suggests. I dropped a popcorn kernel in my lap and didn’t notice for five minutes.

What rubbed me wrong

• The pace gets glacial. Some scenes hang on a look for a beat too long.
• A couple police choices felt silly. You’re like, “Really? You’re going in there alone?” It’s the kind of frustrated shout-at-the-screen moment that reminded me of the sharp, resourceful mayhem in You’re Next.
• The faith angle gets heavy. Not preachy, just weighty. It worked for me, but I get how it could tip over for others.

How I watched it (and why it matters)

I made hot tea halfway through. My cat hid behind the couch during the thunder cracks, then peeked at me like, “Turn it off?” I didn’t. The sound design hums and taps, like pipes in an old house. If you can, watch with good speakers. It adds a lot.

I also paused once to text my sister, “This is so damp.” She sent back a rain cloud and a skull. Felt right.

Little spoiler corner (light, I promise)

The girls carry more than chores. By the end, choice fights duty. It gets messy. It’s not shocking just to shock; it feels earned, like a storm finally breaking.

Who should watch

• You like slow-burn horror with bones (not just noise).
• You enjoy moody stuff like The Witch or The Invitation.
• You can handle sad themes and tight family pressure.

Or, if you want another tragic tale of familial bonds twisted by the supernatural, Guillermo del Toro’s produced Mama (2013) offers a similarly damp, heartbreaking vibe.

Maybe skip it if you need big scares every ten minutes. Or if food scenes make you queasy.

Feeling like you need something lighter after all that atmospheric heaviness? A lot of us look for a quick mental reset once the credits roll, and an easy way to yank your head out of storm-soaked dread is to pop into the no-strings world of Fuckbook where you can connect with other adults for flirtation and casual fun that’s the polar opposite of brooding horror nights.

If the film’s portrait of a rain-drenched, tight-knit community has you curious about real-life, late-night connections in smaller towns, Indiana locals can explore what’s happening after dark via the updated classifieds at Backpage Muncie personals — the site’s fresh listings make it easy to set up discreet, no-pressure meet-ups and replace lingering chills with some warm, real-world company.

Final take

We Are What We Are is a patient, soggy nightmare with heart. It’s careful, not flashy. Some parts drag, but the mood wraps around you and doesn’t let go. I finished it, turned on a lamp, and let the rain keep talking.

Score: 8/10. I’d watch again… maybe not during a storm.

—Kayla Sox

I watched this on a cold Friday, around 1 a.m., with a big bowl of kettle corn and a fuzzy blanket. The title alone made me laugh. I mean, lederhosen plus zombies? I was in. I hit play and hoped for goofy snow chaos. I got that. And a lot of green slime.
If you’re curious how the critics sized it up, you can skim the Rotten Tomatoes page for scores and snark before diving in.
Need the nitty-gritty production gossip? Check out the late-night snow-gore snack write-up for all the oozy details.

So…what is this thing?

It’s a short, snowy horror-comedy set on an Alpine mountain. A group of young snowboarders get stuck after a stunt goes wrong. They end up at a small lodge where a rich guy shows off a new snow-making spray. The spray is bright green and super sketchy. It hits a worker in the face, he starts acting weird, and then—boom—zombie outbreak. The locals in lederhosen turn fast. The lodge turns into a war zone with beer, skis, and loud polka-ish music in the background.

The whole thing scratches my ’80s zombie-movie heart—bright blood, big reactions, and zero apologies.

I watched it on my living room TV with my Roku. The sound was decent. The picture looked a bit grainy in dark scenes, but the snow made the colors pop.

The vibe: silly, snowy, and sticky

• The tone is goofy on purpose. Lots of slapstick.
• The gore is cartoon-level. Think fake blood, globs of green goo, and heads bonking into railings.
• The music leans old-timey Alpine, with a wink. You’ll hear stomps and claps while someone gets chased across the snow.

I almost turned it off in the first ten minutes because the acting felt stiff. But then the lodge party kicks in, and I started grinning. It knows it’s a cheap thrill. It doesn’t pretend to be deep.

Scenes that stuck to me like wet snow

• The snow machine demo: The green spray blasts a guy, he staggers outside into the cold, and you know it’s bad. His eyes get glassy. He lurches back into the bar, and people think he’s drunk—until he bites someone near the dartboard.
• Bar-room brawl: One of the snowboarders chucks beer steins at zombie heads. The clink-crack sound is weirdly funny. Someone slips on a puddle and takes two zombies down like bowling pins.
• Fireworks in the snow: They light a bunch of fireworks to draw the zombies away from the door. Bursts of red and gold pop over the white slope while the heroes sprint to a snowcat. It looks cheap, but it works.
• The snowcat chase: Loud engine. Chunky tracks. Zombies thump against the metal sides while the driver yells over the noise. I felt my shoulders tense up. I don’t even like big machines, but this had grit.

Small detail I liked: the breath clouds in the night air. You can see how cold it is. You can almost feel the wet gloves.

What worked for me

• Short and fast. It doesn’t waste time.
• The setting. Snow makes everything brighter and weirder. Blood on snow looks poppy, like fake cherries.
• Physical comedy. People wipe out. Doors jam. A snowboard becomes a shield. Simple, dumb fun.
• The bar owner. She’s tough, tired, and holds a shotgun like it’s her third arm. I wanted more of her.

What didn’t

• Some jokes fall flat. A few lines feel like they were written in a rush.
• Night scenes can be muddy. You lose faces in the shadows.
• The characters barely grow. If you want rich backstories, you won’t find them here.
• Cheap-looking effects. That green goo? It’s very Halloween store. I still laughed, but yeah.

For a more formal take on the film’s splattery antics, the Los Angeles Times ran a concise mini-review that breaks down the pros, cons, and camp factor.

Who should press play?

• You love campy horror with snow, like Dead Snow, but want something lighter and shorter.
• You can handle fake blood and slapstick bites.
• You’re hosting a winter movie night. This is perfect between pizza and hot cocoa.

Feeling inspired to swap the fictional Alpine mayhem for an actual mountain escape? Before you book your lift ticket, skim the nightlife cheat sheet for Avon over at Backpage Avon—it gathers up local lounges, events, and adult-friendly hangouts so you can plan some off-slope thrills to match your on-screen chills.

Binged a weekend of undead flicks on streaming? Warm up with this breezy carnage after reading the Paramount Plus zombie marathon recap to keep your queue stacked.

For even more bizarre undead hijinks, swing by AllFlesh and browse their vault of zombie curiosities before you hit play.

Need a spot to geek out over snowbound splatter with other queer horror fans once the credits roll? Check the detailed rundown of the rooms and community rules in the Gay Chat Zone review—it’ll help you decide if this lively chat hub is the perfect virtual lodge for your next midnight movie ramble.

If you hate goofy gore or you need a smart plot, skip it. If you want a wild ski-lodge mess, this scratches the itch.

Little snack pairings I tried

• Kettle corn with extra salt. Works with the beer-on-screen vibe.
• Hot cocoa with a tiny pinch of chili powder. Warm face, cold movie.

Craving something cartoonier after the blood-snow ballet? Peek at this hunt for movies like Scooby-Doo on Zombie Island for a lighter palate cleanser.

Final take

Attack of the Lederhosen Zombies is a one-sitting, snow-splattered giggle. It’s clumsy in spots, yes. But it owns its chaos. I laughed, I winced, I yelled “Don’t go out there!” at least twice. Then I went to bed and dreamed about zombies yodeling down a slope. Not scary. Just loud.

Would I watch it again? With friends and snacks—yep. Alone at 1 a.m.? Maybe not. But you know what? For 80-something minutes of snowy nonsense, it does the job.

I watched Crimson Peak on a rainy Tuesday night. Lights off. Blanket on. I rented it on Apple TV, made hot cocoa, and settled in. My cat, Nori, took the arm of the couch like a tiny gargoyle. I thought I’d be scared silly. If you want the condensed version of my reaction, I actually put together a spoiler-free rundown over at Crimson Peak gave me chills.

Here’s the thing: I wasn’t terrified. But I was spellbound.

So, what is it?

It’s a gothic ghost story by Guillermo del Toro. Think big house, dark halls, old secrets. Mia Wasikowska plays Edith. Tom Hiddleston is Thomas. Jessica Chastain is Lucille, and she steals scenes like it’s nothing. It leans more romance and mood than full-on horror. More candlelight and whispers than jump scares. And that’s not a bad thing—just different. It fits perfectly into the kind of candlelit dread I talked about in my night with gothic horror.

Curious what the wider critical world thinks? The aggregated reviews on Rotten Tomatoes paint a similarly atmospheric picture—rich visuals applauded, story debates aplenty.

How I watched it

I paused once, right after the first ghost shows up. Not because I was too scared, but because I wanted to breathe and, yeah, whip some whipped cream into my cocoa. The sound of the house creaking felt like my old radiator. You know what? I liked that. It felt lived in.

What it felt like

The house—Allerdale Hall—felt like a person. It breathes. It groans. The roof is open, so leaves fall inside like red snow. Actual red shows up a lot. The clay under the house seeps up and stains the snow. It looks like blood, but it’s not blood. It’s clay. That stuck in my head all night. The chilly, slow-burn tension reminded me of the winter-bound unease in We Are Still Here.

Real moments that got me

• The bathtub scene: a wet, black ghost creeps up slow. I was sure it would jump. It doesn’t. It just watches. I sank into the couch.
• The elevator: the sound it makes is like a sigh. When it drops, my cat jumped. I laughed out loud.
• The wax cylinder: Edith plays an old recording. A dead wife speaks from a hiss of static. I leaned closer without even thinking.
• The kitchen: a knife on a table, a red stain on the floor, and Lucille’s face calm as ice. My stomach twisted a bit.
• The end in the snow: a shovel, white ground, red clay bleeding through. The wind bites. The camera lingers. I could almost feel the cold.

Del Toro has always insisted that Crimson Peak is less about powerless damsels and more about giving its heroine real agency; he even joked to Time that he “armed the damsel with a knife.” You can dig into that insight in their feature on the film.

That slow, watchful approach to haunting feels spiritually akin to the mother-centric dread of Mama (2013), another film that knows a quiet corridor can be scarier than any jump scare.

Stuff I loved

• The house design: the hole in the roof, the mold on the walls, the sinking floor. It’s art.
• Costumes: the silk gowns, the tight collars, the gloves. You can hear fabric whisper when they move.
• Color: white snow, red clay, black halls. It tells the story without words.
• The score: soft strings, a waltz that turns cruel.
• Jessica Chastain: sharp eyes, quiet rage. Every line lands.

Stuff that bugged me

• The ghosts look a bit shiny sometimes. A touch too much CG for my taste.
• The plot is pretty easy to guess by the middle. I called one twist while stirring my cocoa.
• The pacing sags a bit in the second act. I checked the time once.
• The love story feels thin. Pretty, but light.

If the film’s restrained romantic streak leaves you curious to explore content that’s far more direct about passion, you can browse this carefully curated roundup of no-cost adult platforms at fucklocal.com/free-sex-sites/—it helps you skip the sketchy stuff and jump straight to safe, reputable options that won’t cost a dime.

If you’re based on Florida’s Treasure Coast and want something more geographically targeted—maybe you’d rather channel that post-movie mood into meeting someone nearby instead of surfing broad national sites—you can explore the local personal-ad scene through Backpage Port St. Lucie. The directory organizes fresh, verified listings and built-in chat features, making it easier to connect quickly without wading through endless spam posts.

Who should watch this?

If you like The Others or old-school haunted tales, this hits. If you want lots of jump scares, maybe not. It’s more candlelit doom than loud shock. If nocturnal solo viewings are your thing, consider pairing it with the bleak folk horror of The Witch or the courtroom chills of The Exorcism of Emily Rose—both deliver very different but equally potent frights. For more musings on elegantly spooky films, swing by AllFlesh where cinephiles dissect atmosphere like it’s an art form.

Small, handy tips

• Watch with good sound. The house noises matter.
• Keep the lights low. The colors pop in the dark.
• October watch? Perfect. Rain helps, too.

A quick nerd note (but simple)

The production design is top notch. The blocking—where people stand and move—keeps your eyes working. The color grading leans red and gold, then cold blue at the end. It’s careful work. You can feel it.

Final take

Crimson Peak didn’t terrify me. It haunted me. I kept seeing that red snow when I tried to sleep, and hearing that soft elevator sigh. I’d give it a strong 7.5 out of 10. For mood and beauty, it’s a 10. For pure scares, maybe a 6.

Would I watch it again? Yep. On a cold night, with cocoa, blanket, and Nori pretending she’s the queen of Allerdale Hall. And honestly, she kind of is.