20-Oct-2005

Oh, my God!  A weekday without a xanga update from me!  How did you all survive it?  And by "you all," I mean the lone stalker with no teeth who dials up from his serial killer cabin in the woods.  To him I say, yes, I am available Friday night.  No, but seriously, seriously, yesterday was one of the longest days at work.  Ever.  And the fact that H-Berts asked if I was Dakota Fanning's stunt double in "Dreamer" didn't help.  Luckily, I got to go home to... a stale bowl of Cheerios and a crying stint on the couch, wherein Max looked up at me with his sad, soulful eyes and said, "Stop your cryin,' bitch, 'Criminal Minds' is on."  I love "Criminal Minds."  It is the saddest sack sorry piece of serial killer shit the geezer network has put on the air since "Diagnosis Murder."  Okay, I don't know if that's a CBS show, but it does involve geezers.  Back to the matter at hand.  If you have ever seen "Silence of the Lambs," "Helter, Skelter," "Copycat," "Law & Order," or hell, even a particularly despicable episode of "Murder, She Wrote," your mind will reel at the ridiculous claptrap that goes on during this show.  You'll catch yourself saying, "Wait, it's supposed to be a reveal that shooting someone in the face is pesonal?  But we learned that back in 1991, when Sam Waterston first succumbed to the invasion of a staff shrink."  Seriously, it feels like these writers do their research from back episodes of early 90s procedural dramas.  But what can I say, I still watch it.  But only because Max likes it.  And for those of you wondering, yes, Max is a cat.  Shut up.