I’m sorry - her name is Gash?  *chortles mightily*

“Breathtaking”, is it, Becky? Tell me - how did they source the feathers for that ensemble that you’re gushing over? Did they get some low-paid lackey to sweep up countless feathers from the bird cages or did they just swoop into a chicken farm, slaughter a few birds and harvest their plumage?

Don’t be a dick. Tip your server as generously as you want to saturate your liver and speed your way faster to your inevitable demise.

Has the sentient beachball been sacked? Oh, the pity!

YES. Torchwood touched on that briefly in an episode of theirs. Just because the Plague isn’t present in our communities does’t mean that was cured/eradicated.  Oooh, love and pox...

So...he’ll be Whichever Waiter The Casting Director’s Banging This Week?

A couple of years ago, when I was feeling particuarly ratty, I spent the entire day in bed watching the god-awful Hallmark films and series available on Netflix UK. There were one or two films that were okay, but, oh holy fucking shitballs, the majority of their output is terrifyingly bad. Everyone is so...so...white. …

Just for comparison, this is one of the UK Peloton adverts. It’s not as annoying, but I’d still pistol-whip that fucking wanker cheerleading them on. He’s irksome.

Take your star and bloody well nail it to her head. Good christ, but...christ.

Oh, Another Life is fucking dreadful.  Seriously, painfully dreadful.

The one series that I wish Netflix would have carried on for at least one more series was Sense8.  Yes, it was messy, yes it was confusing and yes, there were times when you just wanted to slap Riley for being an irritant, but it was a fabulous way of showing us, the viewer, what the world looks like beyond the…

He probably tugs one off with mayo as lube.

I’m sure if you served him curry with that staple condiment of all pasty-hued Yanks, the mighty Ranch Dressing, he’ll slurp that curry up like the demented whore that he is.

We don’t do Thanksgiving here in Scotland, not because it’s terrifyingly basic, but, well, we just don’t give a shit. But many moons ago, when I was at University, I helped a friend organise a Thanksgiving dinner for some Scotland-stranded Americans (apparently they were “lonely” and a meal would “Bring Them All…

...

I’ll stick with my Kenwood.  She’s older than me, but dear god, she’s bloody reliable.

Ahh!  She looks like she’s having so much fun.  And a hefty “Fuck you sideways with a rusty chainsaw” to the wankers at the school.  

Aaaah!  Congrats (and curse them for making me feel all fuzzy inside!)

Ah, Nicholas Sparks.  I wish he would, in a pool of petrol.

That’s where they come from, via a wormhole lines with bell-bottom flares and questionable body hair.