I work at a sandwich/pizza/pasta shop, and while we of course maintain perfect food hygiene at all times (. . . ahahahaha), there's been an additional notice posted about being even stricter about hygiene due to the swine flu. (I think we're up to five confirmed cases in Maine?)

It starts out with the obvious stuff about washing hands a lot and not sneezing on people, and then it - sort of unravels, until it gets to the following gem:

"If you have the swine flu, stay home and call your manager immediately."

. . . if I am diagnosed with the swine flu, my ass is probably in quarantine, and [shop name redacted] doesn't even make the list of my priorities, okay? I mean, there's probably some set of laws or guidelines in effect that would require some kind of contact, but believe you me, I'm not thinking of that without being reminded.

Oh, [shop name redacted because I don't feel like turning up on a Google search with this particular entry]. Never change.

. . . wow, okay. So. You know what's a really good way to highlight Chuck's inherently juvenile and creepy treatment of women? Watching an episode of it right after tonight's episode of Dollhouse.

(Yeah, I've resumed watching the second season of Chuck after exasperation with the Buy More subplots chased me off when I was marathoning the show a couple months ago. Those subplots still suck. I'm tired of all those people and I have no idea why none of them have quit or gotten fired. But the actual interesting part of the show has proven worth sitting through the annoying and boring parts.)

Buuut anyway. See, Dollhouse has its issues too, many of which are FOX-induced, but it knows it. These past couple of episodes have deliberately ramped up the creepiness factor, with Joss making the entire premise as queasy as possible without actually causing people to vomit. It's made the show better, because it's thought-provoking and it won't let you settle down and choose a side, because EVERYONE is horrifying.

Chuck just - does it accidentally. And I gloss over that, probably because of internalized blah blah blah, but going into it with the mindset Dollhouse put me in ended up with me getting pretty pissed off.

I'm not really sure what my point is here. Don't watch fun goofy stuff with women issues after watching dark creepy fucked-up stuff with women issues, I guess.

I think it's time for me to sleep now.

A few random WTFs.

* Fresh from 0-16, Detroit Lions adopts [sic] a fiercer logo.

*facepalm* Yes. Because. The logo. That was the problem. Superbowl next year for sure!

* I am so sick of my Shakespeare professor. You know what? I do not believe that every single syllable of every single play Shakespeare ever wrote has eighteen different meanings. I just don't. I think some of it is exactly what it looks like on the surface, and some of it BUT NOT ALL OF IT is a lot more complex, just like any other quality work of entertainment. Okay?

* I've been playing this great game called Human Age for well over a year now, possibly pushing two. I'm not sure. It's one of those very low-key game that only requires a few minutes of play every day, and I'm completely addicted and I love it. It's got a quirky sense of humor, which is compounded by the fact that it's a French game translated imperfectly into English - the translations are clear and always coherent, but some of the word choices add an extra layer of entertainment.

Anyway. In the Second Age, you can end up with a pet snake, whose venom you can harvest and sell. The game practically insists that you do this. When you do, it knocks off seventy-five percent of your snake's health (the game doesn't allow you to do it until the snake is over seventy-five percent, so you won't kill it), which then leads to text guilt-tripping you about your unhealthy snake. IT IS A VICIOUS CYCLE.

And yes, I named my snake Grahame.

* A word of RP advice: Be aware of the headache you are taking on if you choose to play a character that is meant primarily as a metaphorical construct. Because when you start treating the character as a character and trying to create something cohesive and playable, it turns out to be IMPOSSIBLE and you end up with stupid questions like, "If he thinks all religious figures tell one hundred percent of the truth one hundred percent of the time, and the Bishop of Digne says the silver was a gift, why the fuck does he think Valjean stole it anyway?" And you CANNOT ANSWER THEM and you end up hoping an awful lot of shit just never comes up in-game. Thanks, Victor Hugo.

Why couldn't I have picked Marius instead?

I assume everyone on my flist knows by now that Amazon is made of douchebags, so I'll just get to the point:

Amazon Rank.

Why.

And here is a bunch of contact information for Amazon.

Um. I seem to have a really interesting situation with my laptop.

I explained about the virus that required me to reinstall Windows in order to keep my CD-ROM working, 'cos my aintvirus software apparently bound it to my CD-ROM driver, right? Right.

So. Um. I reinstalled Windows, and my CD-ROM is working fine, but here is where the interesting thing comes in: I have poked around a bit on my hard drive, and apparently I did not so much wipe away my old version as I did, uh, layer over it. I have discovered that it is still there, complete with all the files I had on it.

So, my question: Is it at all safe to access any of those files to back them up, or do I risk unleashing that virus again? Alternately, in order to free up space on my harddrive once more, should I reinstall Windows yet again, following a different method than I used before? Or should I just say FUCK IT ALL, borrow more more from my financial aid, and replace my currently defunct Mac?

Things I am going to hell for:

* Singing Spike Jones's "Der Führer" under my breath while watching a documentary in Western Civ on Hitler's rise to power. (Okay, so this is only one thing. But it can't be good.)

Look, the documentary was awful. I mean, if a documentary uses the phrase "dark, demonic personality," can you really trust it? It's probably a bit much to demand a neutral presentation of facts when it comes to Hitler's reign, but must it be sensationalized? Isn't it shocking enough all by itself?

I Googled the doc in question and found that it was made in 1956, which explains a lot. Including my professor's use of it. I've written about this guy before, and how much I enjoy the effects of his seeming inability to move beyond a grounding point sometime in the seventies, but sometimes it is a bit questionable. There's got to be a billion documentaries on this subject that are better than The Twisted Cross. (See? Even the title is ridiculous!)

. . . anyway. I have been a bit MIA journalwise because I have been having issues with my internet, but this will hopefully be resolved shortly. In the meantime, I have a couple of stories in the works, one of which is finished and needs typing - it's written entirely by hand, on paper; it's been years since I did that! - and one of which is getting there and will need to be presented for inspection by the flist before I unleash it on fandom in general.

So mostly, the "random" feature on MP3 players is random only to a point, randomly playing the same twenty-five songs over and over regardless of how many actual songs you have.

Every once in a very great while, though, it will really make my day. It did the other day, when I was walking home, by first cuing up "Bad Horse Letter" from Dr Horrible, which is short enough for me to post the (almost) full lyrics:

He rides across the nation
The thoroughbred of sin
He got the application
You just sent in

It needs evaluation
So let the games begin
A heinous crime, a show of force
A murder would be nice of course

Bad Horse
Bad Horse
Bad Horse
He’s Bad

The Evil League of Evil
Is watching so beware
The grade that you receive
Will be your last we swear

So make the Bad Horse gleeful
Or he’ll make you his mare . . .

Get/You’re saddled up
There’s no recourse
It’s Hi-Ho Silver
Signed Bad Horse

There was that moment of silence between songs. Then:

Javert: Listen, my friends, I have done as I said
I have been to their lines
I have counted each man
I will tell what I can.

Cue me, staggering along the sidewalk outside a hospital, giggling helplessly to myself.

NO, JAVERT. BAD JAVERT. NO BISCUIT.

(Random aside: Thanks to the Les Mis blooper reel, I nearly typed "I have been to their homes/I have watered their plants," which is, as far as I'm concerned, an infinitely superior interpretation.)

Oh, man. Here is my stupid snow story, since everyone else has one:

For the second Monday in a row and third Monday overall, my Western Civ class has been snowed out. We also missed a class because the professor was ill.

We are FOUR classes behind in the kind of basic framework history class that never covers everything it needs to cover ANYWAY. This is RIDICULOUS. We are supposed to have a test today that was meant to happen last Wednesday (it's a Mon-Weds class) and I now assume will happen this Wednesday.

I am feeling GREATLY WHINY about this. I don't think I've had a course yet that missed this many classes, and we're only a month and a half into the semester. He's gonna have to make some cuts from the syllabus, and dammit, I don't want him to cut any of the stuff on twentieth-century Russia. I am looking forward to those classes. Even though I also totally have a book that I'm going to read one of these days that will have much more information. I DEMAND MY RUSSIAN HISTORY IN CONVENIENT LECTURE FORM.

Okay. In my Shakespeare class (I am taking a Shakespeare class, which I have only wanted to do for like ten years! but I digress), we are reading As You Like It. For some reason, the campus bookstore ran out of copies, so I have had a bit of an epic battle in the past couple of days trying to locate a copy. Borders had, I swear, EVERY SINGLE ONE of his plays EXCEPT AYLI. And an entire SHELF of Hamlet. WHATEVER, BORDERS.

So yesterday I went to the campus library, which I do not do much because it is gigantic and does not use the Dewey Decimal system (and, okay, the giant posters on the wall explaining how things are categorized aren't that hard to read, but it is still off-putting), and found the world's most antiquated edition of As You Like It. It's a 1963 reprinting of an edition first published in 1890. The "footnotes" frequently take up entire PAGES of the text, and always fill at least half a page, which is distracting and makes it hard to read the play itself.

And I NEED to concentrate on the play itself, because it is published with Elizabethan spelling intact. It's perfectly readable, but disorienting, and if you tell me that it would not take you a good thirty seconds to figure out the word "deuife" even with Obvious Context, you are a LIAR.

. . . so I think I'm gonna order a copy off Amazon, which I was avoiding because I didn't want to lose too much time waiting for it. We have vacation next week, so it'll still get here in time to get plenty of use out of it. I'll just make do with with this crazy edition until then. It's neat and all and I'd hang on to it if I was just reading for fun, but since it's for school, I'd like an edition that as immediately accessible as possible.

A few random items, because I would like to get into the habit of, like, posting again. Or at least to not have entries on the front page that are from October.

* My Western Civ professor is about as stereotypical as a history professor can get. It's amazing. His terminology is grounded firmly in the seventies at the latest - he refers to "examinations," which I of course am aware of as a term for tests, but I have never once had a teacher who used it before now. He also explained to us about Louis XVI being in "the hoosegow" during part of the French Revolution. The hoosegow, you guys. And he said it twice. I kind of love him a lot.

Also, his scorn for the aforementioned Louis XVI knows no bounds. He kept cracking on the guy for not being able to make a damn decision, and he would do it in this polite-history-teacher way that just made it more awesome. He sounds like he's editing himself for the classroom, but if there was some kind of French History Bitching Session, he would just let it rip and really tear Louis XVI a new one.

* Victoria's Secret sells lollipops. I do not know if this is a new thing, since I only started shopping for proper bras (as opposed to sports bras for Wal-Mart) like six months ago, but it is new to me. And hilarious. And of course I bought one.

. . . and, since it was of a particular brand, it qualified me for a free small stuffed dog. It is flashy and ridiculous and I cannot determine a reason for it to exist, and I have a history of naming stuffed animals after characters in whatever fandom I'm in at the time. So, obviously, Bewildering Scribble Dog's name is Jack.

* The series three Doctor Who finale arc makes less sense every time I watch it. It also makes me want to write more year that never was fic. And that just brings me back to the stagnating recent-past-paradigm, because even though I STILL have no idea where to end it and have more or less decided that including the YTNW is not entirely workable, I just still can't shake the idea. Maybe it needs to be another fic, or something. Maybe there's a reason I can't get any farther with what I've got. Maybe I need to suck it up and start writing the damn thing again already. It might help to start doing drabbles again or something.

* The finale does, however, contain one of my favorite lines, after Saxon greets the President right before the broadcast: "Can I make you some tea? Or is that not American enough? *pause* Can I make you some grits? What are grits, anyway?" Because he doesn't go for the obvious coffee joke! Also: GRITS. Ha. I wonder if RTD was aware of that joke being extra-funny because grits are a specifically Southern food, and a lot of our Presidents have been Southern. If it was just because grits are inherently funny, that's okay too.

* Seriously. Does anyone know of a good drabble challenge community that I can use to get myself posting again? I spent about a month last year posting drabbles every day and it was fun! For me, at least.

I had such a weird dream this morning. It was weird because: it was coherent and had a plot, and it involved a movie and TV show. This last is weird for me because I never dream about the things I've watched. Well, hardly ever. It's a noteworthy event when I do.

Okay. So, my dreamself (I am never quite me in dreams, no idea why) had inexplicably travelled back in time to 1997, and was stuck there. I needed help getting back to my time. So I was in a reception area, waiting to talk to - I think a private investigator?

Said PI was James Bond. Natch. (I place the blame for this entirely on tahira_saki and doihearawaltz. I'm probably lucky that Antoine Dominic and Camille didn't have cameos.) Well, who else do you go to for help with a really strange problem? It's James freaking Bond! He can fix it!

Except that when I actually got into his office, I didn't want to tell him the actual problem. Which, fair enough, because "I travelled back in time from 2008" is a little crazy-sounding, even in a dream. So I made something up and then went back to the reception area to figure out WTF I was going to do.

I was in luck: the Tenth Doctor was there. He took me home.

And I immediately ended up right back in 1997. It was August 28 (I checked the calendar), which was the day after my last involuntary journey. I was in the same reception area, waiting to see Bond again. (There was a whole wacky subplot here with this crazy family that I'm sorry I can't remember, because the wait was long and they kept me from being too bored.) This time, I decided to tell him what was up, I guess because if he had the Doctor as a client, he would be used to weird shit like this. (That's waking logic. In the dream, I don't think I had a reason.)

Unfortunately, when I got into his office, he was superbusy and nobody would go AWAY, and I wanted to talk to him about it alone for obvious reasons. To complicate things further, Jack Harkness was now working for him and I was worried about letting something slip about the Doctor that might screw up Jack's timeline. So I definitely had to wait for him to leave the office, but he couldn't. There was too much that needed doing.

Eventually, I lost my patience, told Bond I'd talk to him later, and went back to reception. Where the Doctor was waiting. I learned that this was not the last time I would end up slipping through time, and that picking me up and taking me home had apparently become something of a theme for him, with his timeline being less linear than mine and all.

. . . the end.

Is it just me, or does that sound like potential for a strange little AU crossover fic?

Right, so, oops with the not posting for over a month. I've never done that before. But I'm not dead. Plus, I have a new layout finally, and it's the first non-baseball layout I've had since I first turned this into a paid journal in 2004. I also edited my profile to be less tl;dr and more - well, cryptic, I guess, since I've never been much good at describing myself. There is also a new mood theme, partially completed and still in progress.

I shall endeavor to get back into the swing of posting. A month is just ridiculous.

ANYWAY. I have an important question about the Doctor Who series four finale, which never got asked in my episode review because I was too gutted and FUCKING FURIOUS to write a proper review. (Also, I think eventually I remembered and forgot again, as you shall see under the cut.) But I have to know:

( minor spoiler for Journey's End, and yeah, I can't believe I'm watching the episode again, either. )

Okay, that's all. I'm gonna go back to watching some of the most ill-conceived television I've watched since . . . Torchwood.

(Wow, random and gratuitous Torchwood bashing is a go. I was griping about TW earlier with karaokegal and I guess I'm still feeling a tad aggressive.)

HELP. I have finished Les Miserables (and cried on the bus in so doing, which at least looks slightly less ridiculous than crying over an audiobook, which I have also done on a bus and probably makes me look like I am crazy). AND NOW I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH MY LIFE. I have, according to the shipment date on Amazon, been reading this fucker since September thirtieth. I have never in my life spent a MONTH reading one book before. I feel vaguely as though I've braved a gauntlet or something. And it didn't help that the last chapter GOT ON MY NERVES, like, you! Valjean! Quit being a damn martyr and suck it up! You! Marius! You are a passive-aggressive twat! You! Cosette! Do you actually have any operating brain cells in that lovely head of yours?

I mean, I know I'm bringing in a more modern-day mindset on this one, but Valjean's decision-making process when it comes to his conscience - tends not to sit well with me. I bought it when he turned himself in to save Champmathieu at the expense of Montreuil-sur-mer's well-being, because there was no good choice to be made there and Valjean himself was in a daze for much of it, but telling Marius of his past was purely selfish. All it did was put Marius in the position of having to lie to Cosette. Honesty to help someone else is good. Honesty that hurts someone else so you can have the relief of telling the truth is crappy. Especially when you make me cry for you anyway when you do it, you jerk.

Marius didn't annoy me quite so much, because he is a DORK and he will never escape his innate dorkness and I cannot help but be fond of that. I especially enjoyed how he somehow came to the conclusion that Valjean, the ex-convict, ratted out M Madeleine for being an ex-convict, and then stole his money? Somehow? I mean. I appreciate that, at this juncture in the narrative, it is difficult for Marius to imagine that Valjean could be a particularly good or selfless person, but I love how he came up with the only scenario that could possibly be more convoluted than what actually happened.

And I'm not even dealing with Cosette. That is my approach to female characters in pre-twentieth century literature in general, because they tend to be, oh, thinly written? So I accept it when they suck, as they so frequently do, and I ignore them. Cultural context and yadda and there's no point to getting worked up, really. But I just could not quite overlook that she was so wrapped up in being married that her father slipped her mind. I suppose if I thought about it I could hammer it into something that makes sense, but I don't WANT to think about it. It HURTS my BRAIN. What the fuck is wrong with her?

Sigh.

Anyway. Now I can't quite decide what to do next. I want to read at least parts of it over again, and I have to go back and read Waterloo, because I kind of, um, lost my patience and skipped half of it. But also I think I need to read something slightly less taxing. Which is EVERYTHING EVER PUBLISHED, so. Any recommendations? Funny is good, please. Depressing is bad.

Subject line of rapidly-deleted spam:

"McCain says ENHANCE"

. . .

I am STILL reading Les Miserables. I'm nearly seven hundred pages in, which is a little over halfway through. I've been reading for about a week and a half, and I'm just going to go right ahead and toot my own horn here - it is extremely unusual for it to take me so long to read as much as I've read. I don't spend as much time reading as I used to, but I can still blow through a five-hundred page novel in a couple days if I've got the time and motivation to do it. But there's no blowing through Les Mis. There just isn't. It constantly requires me to slow down, to go back, sometimes because I'm not sure I read something right, sometimes because Hugo's sentences tend to involve about sixteen commas when he's really worked up, and sometimes just because I particularly liked something and want to read it again. It doesn't require the level of attention that, say, Shakespeare needs, but it's not just a book, either. It's eating my brain and I keep talking about it because I need to process it somehow. It's exhausting and exciting, and I know how this sounds, but I kind of understand why people call it life-changing. This is not a casual reading experience.

Of course, because I am me, I also have to point out that it is completely ridiculous. When last we met, I was gleefully expounding upon Valjean's daring escape from the courtroom following his confession via the simple expedient of walking out while people stared at him slack-jawed. Since then, he has scaled a fifteen-foot wall with his bare hands and almost been buried alive. And those are only a couple of the highlights. I don't want to give EVERYTHING away.

But let us not forget Javert! His superpowers are even cooler. Check it out:

Thenardier took hold of the pistol and aimed it at Javert. Javert, who was only three feet away, looked him steadily in the eye and merely said: "Don't shoot, please! You'll miss."

Thenardier pulled the trigger. He missed.

"What did I tell you!" said Javert.

Sure, Valjean is alarmingly strong and can climb walls with his bare hands, but Javert can dodge bullets from three feet away without moving. RIDICULOUS. I may be a little bit in love with Victor Hugo for so brazenly putting that in there, without any explanation whatsoever.

And of course, heightening the COMPLETE INSANITY of the plot are the constant digressions, where Hugo is mostly quite seriously discussing his philosophical beliefs or offering a detailed history lesson. The section following Javert the Supercop, for example, is thirty pages about a revolution in 1830 that didn't quite happen. Valjean's exploits in wall-climbing and near-death by burial are broken up by twenty pages of history on a (fictional, but only because Hugo decided not to use a real one for fear of causing offense) convent, followed by another ten on the evils of convents. The total clash between crazed melodrama and Srs Bzns just makes everything so much more amazing. Yes, they complement each other thematically as well, and the digressions always provide background and color that, even if they don't directly relate to the plot, still support and flesh out the story. But. Also hilarity. And I'm pretty sure Hugo is in on the joke.

I love this book so hard.

You know what's weird? Regional foods. Especially things that seriously should not be regional because wtf.

Like, I understand about Moxie soda being regional, because it has a very distinctive flavor that people either love or hate. There is no "meh" about Moxie. People don't say, "Okay, I guess I'll have a Moxie, then," when it turns out that a restaurant doesn't have their first choice of soda. I can appreciate that it wouldn't catch on on a national level. It used to be wider spread, but now it's just a Maine product.

But things that should not be regional:

* Italian sandwiches. People, it is cheese, ham, pickles, onions, olives, tomatoes, and green peppers, with salt, pepper, and oil on top. (NOT lettuce. Add lettuce to your Italian and it is no longer an Italian.) This is not exactly a sandwich filled with mystical ingredients that are hard to find outside of New England. Apparently, however, you can't get the right kind of rolls to make them with. I don't. Get it. It's like a hot dog roll, but bigger! How hard is that?

* Red hot dogs. I mean bright red. Dyed. They are more savory than brown hot dog and the skin snaps when you bite into them. Surely bright red hot dogs are not too weird for the general populace. They are, however, manufactured exclusively by a regional meat company, Jordan's. Perhaps the mystery only goes as far as Jordan's holding the patent.

* And the one that inspired this post, that I just found about yesterday: whoopie pies. WHAT THE HELL. Wiki tells me that these have at least spread out to a certain extent and can occasionally be found in restaurants (which, a whoopie pie is not a restaurant dessert, I am sorry), BUT STILL. I don't even like whoopie pies very much and I am appalled. A whoopie pie is two round pieces of (usually) chocolate cakelike pastry held together with a whole bunch of frosting. (I've never been much for frosting. Yeah, I know, shut up.) How is this not a national treasure?

I am curious to hear from people outside New England, about their regional foods or if they have found the stuff I am talking about in their area. Or if it's just called something different.

I would just like to offer a hug to everyone on my friendslist who is having shitty workplace karma, whether it's your boss using your drinking straw to clean his nails, getting yelled at on your day off for missing a shift due to circumstances beyond your control, or getting fired for dropping a pan of food. You are good workers and good people who deserve better than that bullshit.

I'll just be over here being quietly grateful that the worst thing about my job is having a manager who likes to explain everything fourteen times in a row as though I am a small, retarded child.

. . .

Work sucks.

Today, as I probably note every year, is my grandmother's birthday. I called her and she was telling me about all the cards and phone calls she's gotten today. She said it was nice to be remembered and loved. It's her second birthday since Grandpa died, and the first was only a month and change after the fact. Last year we made a point of having a party; this year I guess people were still thinking of her a little more than before. Either that, or she noticed it more because living alone after fifty-plus years of marriage probably never quite gets comfortable.

Moving on. Let us now discuss things that are awkward!

* Sitting in class watching a 60 Minutes feature on some work your professor did because that is what she is teaching about, and in the feature she starts crying, and she IS SITTING RIGHT THERE SHOWING US THIS. I think I was blushing. She obviously did not mind, but - I did.

(This class is cool - it's about how sign language came into existence as a true language in 1990s Nicaragua. There was no sign language in Nicaragua before that. My professor played a major role in studying and documenting how it came to be. Very awesome. But WITH THE CRYING and the BEING IN THE SAME ROOM and AUGH.)

* I don't know if I'm going to survive my play analysis class, guys. We did this insane exercise where people came up with words to go with their names that matched the phoneme - oh, whatever, let's just go with first letter. Close enough for purposes of description here. But we had to do that, and we had to come up with a gesture to go with it, AND we had to repeat the names and gestures back at people, and OH MY GOD.

You know how, in Enchanted, the big musical number breaks out and Patrick Dempsey has no idea what in the blue hell is going on? And he continues not to get it for the entire thing? And there's this one truly awesome shot where people are throwing their arms in the air, and he's got his sarcastically half-extended with, like, still-life jazz hands going on? That is how I felt. I was Patrick Dempsey with sarcastic jazz hands and I was the only one who DID NOT GET IT. I was so embarrassed. For me, for my classmates, for my professor, for everyone. I swear to god I would rather read a baseball RPS I wrote out loud to the class than EVER FUCKING DO THAT AGAIN. Is this because I am an English major and not a drama/theater major?

The moral of the story is, I have a sensitive embarrassment squick. (This is why I can never be a true John Barrowman fan.) The end.

Hey, does anyone remember a show called The Torkelsons? It lasted twenty episodes in 1991, then was repackaged as something called Almost Home, which was a baffling decision that involved moving the family to Seattle and erasing two of the five Torkelson children from existence. Most of its viewership, such as myself, came from when the Disney Channel picked it up in the mid-nineties and aired it non-stop.

Anyway, that's not my point. My point is that, in 1991, someone in the marketing department was clearly smoking the finest crack available, because the episode I am watching right now (god bless you, YouTube) has the mother, Millicent, hallucinating Elmo out of sheer exhaustion. Yes. That Elmo. WTF is this? Were they trying to boost The Torkelsons's ratings? Or was this at around the time that Elmo came into existence and this was part of some sort of multi-show promotional thing that, when taken out of context, loses all logic and cohesion?

Either way, this is the weirdest canon crossover ever.

WHAT THE MOTHERFUCKING SHIT YOU GUYS.

THEY TRADED PUDGE FOR FARNSWORTH. I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP. I CANNOT EVEN.

I think my brain just fell out.

Man, I haven't been been tracking baseball very closely this year and they STILL managed to shock the shit out of me at trade deadline. Hell, the deadline's TOMORROW.

What in the holy hell.

. . . uh, americanleaguer? We, uh. Should have words about this.