This is such crap. And all my own fault too, as dad helpfully reminded me today.
In the meantime work is dull and I live for Sundays, when I don't have to go in for another two days. Effing work.
[*SMACK* Stop whinging!]
Things are okay really. I just want to go back to my old job, which may be a possibility. And now it's there, tantalisingly possible. Very annoying, having to wait 'til Monday to find out. Or maybe beyond.
[A relapse into whinging]
Also, my tiles are not straight on the bathroom. How can the walls not be straight? I have to hack the bloody things off.
That's fucked up right there, dude. *g*
* * *
My beloved Merkins, your president is a scary, scary man. Magnificent fodder for comedy, not so hot on the leading-the-country thing owing to scary right-wing I'm-the-king-of-the-worldness. Tosser.
(I loved Mischa's rants about him. Things of scatalogical, blasphemous cursing beauty, they were.)
Perhaps we could arrange a swap -- you could have Tony Blair to be president and we could make George the Queen, where he could do nothing but be amusing fodder for our rottweiler tabloids.
Tony obviously *wants* to be the president of America since God knows he's never in bloody Britain, where you can't get a train or a hospital bed or keep a mobile phone without being robbed. And at least Tone can find two brain cells to rub together without the aid of a map from Uncle Dick and an instruction video.
Georgie would make a perfect queen. I mean this in every possible way, but maybe it should be King. King Dubya of the Untied Kingdom [sic]
The real queen could retire to Windsor and grow corgis. Prince Philip (who is one of those Grecian folks) could stay and he and George could out-gaffe each other.
Also Dubya would fit right in in the great royal family tree of fuckups, fuckwits, drug addicts, priapic mingers, pontificating wankers, losers of empire and yo-yo dieters.
I'd like to see Georgy-boy opening mental health centres in Scunthorpe, really I would.
* * *
This week's rec: "Simple Things" Zero 7
If you liked Moon Safari, this is for you. It's all a bit grown up.
* * *
(1. It begins...) Okay, this is odd. Who the frell is that?
(1.a. Oooooooh. **** is in the ****! But then so is ****. So maybe it means nothing.)
(2. Five minutes in) MacGuffin! MacGuffin!
(3. Ten minutes in) This is weirder than "Won't Get Fooled Again".
(4. 12 minutes in) Nah it's not. Nothing is weirder than WGFA. It is odd though
(5. 15 minutes in) Ugh. No wonder he's sneezing
(6. 18 minutes in) You know, I once read a fic by Char Chaffin *exactly* like this. Only without aliens, obviously. *g*
(7. 20 minutes in) Chiana! That's disgusting!
(8. 25 minutes in) What *is* she up to?
(9. 28 minutes in) TA-DAAAA! The title is explained.
(10. 32 minutes in) The loooong John/Aeryn scene. *Excellent* dialogue.
Flaps arms and says "ooooo" [me, not *them* obviously]
(11. 40 minutes in) Some sniffly "awww"ing sets in. It's the good kind of angst though.
(12. 41 minutes in) The ad break that will have you all screaming "You BASTARDS! Don't you DARE to try to sell us shite NOW!!" at the TV
(13. 44 minutes in) Ooooh. Evil. Nice. So sad.
(14. 42 minutes in) The point at which I firmly expect Farscape viewers to have a COW. An absolute cow. I mean it. A HEIFER.
Can open! Calves everywhere!
(15. 44 minutes in) Time to whistle "The Boxer". This also possibly ameliorates the cow-birthin' moment. We shall see.
(16. 45 minutes in) Just when you thought that (14) was the main plot point. Big finale whatthefuck? moment
(17. 45 minutes in) TO BE CONTINUED.
I have mixed feelings about this one. Particularly (14). The previous ep I loved very much. It had an operatic feel about it.
In this one, that last five minutes was a splendid facer but I want to know where they're going with (14) and (15). I also want Maayan to post what she thought.
Post, dammit. *g*