So in the 1939 film The Wizard of Oz, in the scene where the Wicked Witch of the West disappears from Munchkinland in a puff of sulfurous smoke, Margaret Hamilton was supposed to stand on a trap door, which would take her below stage just as the pyrotechnics went off. Well, she went to her mark, the smoke went up, but the trap door didn’t open and she got a face full of flames (which was compounded by the copper-based green makeup she had on her face).

Almost seventy years later, during a production of the musical Wicked, at the end where Elphaba (the Wicked Witch of the West) is melted, the actress descends via a trap door and elevator, creating the illusion of being melted. Well, in one performance, Idina Menzel went to her mark, the trap door opened, but the elevator wasn’t ready for her, and she fell below stage and broke her leg.

The moral of this story: forget water and flying houses, trap doors are a witch’s kryptonite

gothicchristian:

tagged by @wickedmetalviking

name: Hannah

birthday: I don’t enjoy meaningless birthday wishes. LEAVE ME IN PEACE!

height: 5′5′’

sign: This superstitious, profiling garbage belongs in the garbage heap next to phrenology.

sexuality: the husbeast

country i live in: United States

favorite color: emerald green, but purple and deep red are great too. I like colors! Just not on me.

time right now: 9:24 a.m.

average hours of sleep: I can’t decide if I need 6 or 60.

lucky number: see “sign”

last thing i googled: hyper-vigilance

blankets i sleep under: 1-2

celebrity crush: I guess Vin Diesel.

favorite book: … I really just need to make a separate post listing all the books I own. I really really like books!

dream trip: I’d really like to visit Hong Kong or London.

i tag: @the-holly-jolly-hatter, @the-life–after, @the-lamest-one, @thatjesusnerd, @phantasmaxdivinaexsilentium

thank you @gothicchristian.

corpsesandcoffee:

*during sex*

me: i want you to hurt me

them: tobias forge killed off all the papas

me: wait

them: and he’s never bringing them back

me: stop

you know what’s bad? my parents saw Ghost several years ago, maybe even during Papa Emeritus III’s reign (maybe even before he dressed down). totally wasted on them, since they hated the band: not just because “omg surturnuk”, but apparently the showmanship wasn’t to their liking (keep in mind, they don’t mind the showmanship of Kiss and Van Halen, and love the 70s classic rock bands that inspired Ghost)