Pray for Detective Somerset.

Unless you live under a rock, or for some reason, don’t have the internet but indeed do live out from underneath a rock (one large enough for a human to live under)… Morgan Freeman, and some woman who was not his wife, flipped, rolled and destroyed a 1997 Nissan Maxima (her car, it has to be, right?). This accident left both of them in serious (or was it critical? I’m sure that if it was critical, it has been downgraded to serious) condition.

Shawshank’s Red.

The voice of the Olympics.

Mr. American Express.

March of the Penguins.

God (you know, via Evan / Bruce Almighty)

America’s new, preferred voiceover go-to in situations of emotion and comfort.

This accident. The spinning Maxima. Could it be that our beloved Morgan Freeman’s near meeting with death was the result of actions and events plotted by this man:



That’s right, I’ve just insinuated that James Earl Jones is the mastermind behind a narrowly unsuccessful attempt on the life of the man who has replaced him on the mantle as America’s-favorite-deep-voiced-black-guy-who-they-really-like-hearing.

I’m not terribly surprised. It’s fucking Dark Vader, for Christ’s sake.