"Damn. Oh well, sometimes you just have to lie back and think of England."

I seriously need to do work.
Seriously.
SERIOUSLY.
Instead I've been playing with my tarot deck and staring at comics.
This weekend we watched War Inc. and The Prestige (both v. good in their own, v. different ways) and were drunk via circle of death and had Scissor Sisters and Bruce Springsteen dance parties. Jameson, Kate, Veronica, and I went into the last 4 minutes of a TKE party for shits and giggles.

During the day I watched a loooot of Doctor Who and a wee bit of Turchwad. Here's what I think: Moffat and Davies should brainstorm overarching plots together, relying heavily on Moffat, Uncle Rusty writes the fist half, Moffat does the second. Then they each proofread the other's work to make sure there aren't any Tinkerbell Jesuses or River "Mary Sue" Songs in there and voila! Moffat doesn't fuck up the Doctor and RTD doesn't muck up any endings with dumb shit.
As far as Torchwood goes...let a blind chimp scribble on some paper and force John Barrowman to interpret that as a script...better yet, I'll write the rest of it. It really couldn't get any worse.

I could go on, but I won't. Instead, maybe some work on this paper is in order.
My bandwidth is probably going to be capped after today. Poo.
Soon is the going home time.
Braisington is speaking in tongues.
I'm hungry.
Goodnight.