On the other hand, speaking of depressing, Christmas is just around the corner — and everyone who knows me knows how much I luhhhhv the Most Wonderful Time Of The Year ™.
Blessings on the Cute Engineer for sending me this. A very recent Whovian, I have folded the clone race of the Sontarans to my imaginative bosom. Strax is my homeboy — if you’re not geek enough to read the whole linked entry, just suffice it that he’s a member of a race of sawed-off warriors whose zest for combat make the Spartans and the Vikings look like pikers. Alas, his life took a few freakish turns, so now he’s a nurse and sometime butler in Victorian London who still dreams of dying in battle, and occasionally travels to the scrubbier parts of Glasgow for a good bar fight, just to keep his hand in. Since most days I have trouble deciding whether I’m more inclined to take care of people or beat them half senseless, he is my mascot.
This should keep me going through New Year’s.