Ok there was this great post here, about how I was tailed all day by the Firies from Labyrinth and the goddamn Skeksies from the Dark Crystal and also the talking cream puff from Young Sherlock Holmes, and about how this went on for around four hours before I realized I had rather a high fever, and about how the moral of the story was that most people get shivers and sniffles when they're sick, but I get haunted by muppets. And it was beautiful. The Dinosaur, however, vetoed the post on the grounds that, in order to make the narrative flow more pleasing, I took a bit where I played a song on CD and changed it to it having been played on the radio. Apparently the rusty little alethiometer in her head clanged or something, and she's been guilting me about lying to the blog. A little ditty about pots, kettles, and their exchange of color-related insults does come to mind, but I am far too holy to stoop to such a level. I am the God of the Mints. The greatest thing about that statement is that nobody, anywhere, ever, will actually be able to disprove it.
On another note...Band of Brothers. Yes. And yes again. That casting director is going to have my babies. On anotherother note, here's what I've learned from Nip/Tuck. You can have 19th-century muttonchops, a receding hairline, and a penchant for bright orange shirts, but NONE of this matters if you have lovely squinty eyes and a soul of pure evil. Boy readers, take note of this. There is hope.