froodle | Entries tagged with torchwood

Do you think that if I could get a doctor to certify me as being wanktard-intolerent, I could go on permanent medical leave and never work again? Because pretty much all jobs are going to involve some level of wanktardery, and if it was possible I might die from it, they'd pretty much have to pay me incapacity benefit or something, right? That would be awesome.

What is decidedly not awesome is when some numbnuts decides to pull me away from my massive workload in order to "talk to you all about NPS." Dick, I know what NPS is. I am part of the motherfucking trial. I am at my desk every day calling these jizzstain customers back and recording their moronic comments verbatim. I do not need a fucking presentation on your lameass board with it's lameass charts. I MADE THE FUCKING CHARTS! I KNOW WHAT THEY MEAN, DILHOLE! And it especially pisses me off when I am subjected to their idiotic attempt at a peptalk. I do not respond well to peptalks. I don't respond well to pep. In particular, I do not respond well to peptalks about how a certain thing is working fabulously when I know that is not the case because, and pay attention here, I AM PART OF THE GODDAMN TRIAL TEAM! Do not fucking lie to me, I am by nature both smart and cynical, and when someone shines shit and tries to call it gold it makes me very fucking cranky indeed!

Urgh!

In other news, I think there should be a show that is made up of characters who are either too good for their original show or who wound up being screwed over on it. Lafayette from True Blood and T-Bear from Supernatural would be the stars and they would fight crime, in between T-Bear's bouts of crying and attempting to kill himself and Lafayette's secondary but much for lucrative career as a go-go dancer. Josef from Moonlight would be the local crime kingpin - he'd sort of be their stated enemy, but really it would be one of those relationships where they have a grudging kind of respect for each other and sometimes Josepf would help them out dealing with other, baddier baddies. The main baddie would be the Carver from Nip/Tuck, only back when the Carver was still really fucking terrifying, before we found out it was just dumb old Quentin behind the mask. Zack Addy would be the adorkable gender-ambiguous lab assistant nature always intended him to be, and everyone would keep a stern eye on him to make sure it stayed that way. Mark Anthony would pop up every now and then as a time-travelling manwhore/adventurer - a bit like Jack Harkness only not rubbish or in Wales. Also, Jeremy Renner would get to be in it all the time and not die.

VICTORY IS MINE! I have at last triumphed over the beast that is Gamestec, and having completed my nine-day stint, I may now kick back and enjoy my four-day weekend with the Hogfather, Torchwood and whatever episodes of the Wire that I don't watch tonight. Also, I would like to say that Stringer Bell makes economics both sexy and dangerous, and if he was an actual lecturer instead of a drug-dealing dealer of drugs, I would actually get up on time for his classes. Because otherwise he would KILL ME DEAD in both a literal and figurative sense.

In other news, though the Devil in Amber may lack the homoerotic misadventures that made the Vesuvius Club such a bundle of man-lovin' joy, it does without a doubt have the best opening line ever: "He was American, so it seemed only fair to shoot him." Aanywa, it is plenty homoerotic thus far and I think Miriglum is telling lies when she says otherwise.

Also, you know what I totally forgot to mention in my trauma over Greasy McPimpface and my glee over Torchwood? This absolutely spooktastic fog that came out of NOWHERE IN PARTICULAR last Thursday. Seriously, I said goodbye to HAG, went into Borders, noodled around somewhat and bought Torchwood, and when I emerged Leeds was made entirely of grey spooky greyness! And then I had to walk home and it was pretty damn spooky, but not in a cool way like fog on the IoM is spooky, where all it's hiding is boring Isle of Man-ness, but in a SCARY and UNPLEASENT way whereby the fog is hiding NEFARIOUS VILLIANS. And because this is Leeds, it wouldn't be cool nefarious villians like werewolves or ghostcars, but distasteful and everyday nefarious villians like muggers and rapists.

Anyway, I believe that's about it for tonight, so I bid you adeiu and farewell while I go and enjoy my FOUR DAY WEEKEND! Later days.

So, before I start my traditional "it's payday so get thyself to ye olde internet cafe and pay off your credit card bill while swearing never to overindulge in spendthriftery ever again as long as you live, wench" missive, I would like to point out that if you don't read Philip Reeve's Larklight right away, you will burst into flames from lack of PURE AWESOME. Space! Space giant spiders! Space Queen Victoria! Space pirates! Space corsets! Space houses in space! It's full of greatness and space. It even has drawings. Truly, it could not be a better book even if it had Johnny Depp, and surely there can be no higher praise than that.

Christmas, while lacking in the third season of Miami Vice, was nonetheless a pleasent affair of not being at work, eating mince pies and watching such festive themed delights as the Thief Lord, (it has snow!) Doctor Who, (the Christmas Invasion, so it totally counts, and Fiyero is so blatently gay it is unbelievable) that episode of Bones where they all get locked in the lab on Christmas Eve and Dave gets high on antibiotics* and Hodgins is revealed to have a suprisingly good body for a ginger person... and then I got bored of Christmas and watched That 70s Show and Eerie, Indiana instead. And Fitzcairn was in That 70s Show, and I think it's a sign that God wants me to buy Highlander again. So it was fun, and quiet, and generally very joyous.

But then! Oh Boxing Day, the drama of it all. See, I had to work, but none of the buses were running. So I arranged to get a lift with one of the girls I work with, and I'm standing on a street corner at eight in the morning, freezing my ass off, when I am approached by a very large, very black, very heavily-accented man who asks me if I'm okay. So I say that yes, I'm fine, I'm just waiting for someone. So he asks if I'm working, and I reply that I am. And then he asks if I have a place we can go, apparently under the impression that ladies of the night work at eight in the morning on Boxing Day. No, no, say I, I didn't mean that sort of working. I'm waiting for a lift, for my job which is in an office. So he walks off some distance down the street, and I try to stop my knees from shaking and use my psychic powers to get Jayni out of bed. Alas, to no avail. Sleazy McUseswhores returns, and asks if he can have my number. I say that's not a good idea, and that I have a boyfriend. Sleazy replies that he could make me happy (because every woman wants a guy who uses prostitutes and assume that any unaccompanied female out in public must be on the game) and that I have beautiful long hair. I do that quick, panicky, "Oh God help me I'm going to be found raped and strangled in a ditch in Beeston and I know I said I'd do anything to get out of work but not this please Jayni hurry the fuck up!" equivilent of a smile, and Sleazy continues that perhaps I need a knight in shining armour to cut my hair for me, and at that point I fake a text message, babble an excuse and run all the way back to my house.

And then Jayni didn't show up at all, so I had to get a lift with another girl who didn't start until ten, and then I had to walk home from Horsforth and I got lost and ended up in about twenty million industrial estates, and then Holbeck, but eventually I got back so it was okay. And nobody else thought I was a hooker.

Anyway, that was pretty much the stand-out moment since I last wrote, and now I must go home and immerse myself in Torchwood, having done the traditional pay-day shopping trip and coffee with Hot Allocator Girl (whose number I have finally got, go me!) and perhaps do some Hoovering or similar domestic tasks. Although, probably not.

*And while we are on the subject of Dave, Snithy, I rewatched that scene with him and Goodman and their pillows were not touching so you just keep your filthification to yourself, thank you. Dave/Goodman is wrong. Because, the squints are like a super-awesome family in which Goodman is the Daddy and thus Dave/Goodman is incestuous and cross-generational and generally too horrible to contemplate.