I miss LOST. I miss it sooooo much. I'm not sure how much longer I can go on. I need Locke. I sense I'm breaking out the DVD's TONIGHT. Although I'd prefer the knife throwing bad ass to Mr. Touchy Feely but I'll take what I can get at this delicate juncture. I'd even be semi-glad to see Jack.
I'm even thinking of...oh it's too awful! I just can't! Oh, okay. I'm thinking of taking myself to the fanfic boards to slack my unholy desires. I know! It's awful. I feel dirty even talking about it. Buuuuttttt...there are some VERY talented writers out there who seem to want to spend their time rehashing others work. There's actually an urban legend (and if you can confirm with documentation) that one of the X-File writer's was discovered via her X fanfic. I have no problem with this as an exercise, I just don't want them not doing their own work and wasting talent. Fanfic. The Methadone of a LOST addict. Damn you, JJ and your weird ARC schedule that will leave me with a gaping hole in my soul for twelve weeks.
So until I make a decision about the fanfic I thought it might be fun to go through my fictional carry on as if I were on the doomed flight. So, here we go.
Rose: Okay, looks like Staci was from Georgia so she probably ate grits and played the banjo. Driver's license has her at 150 pounds and if she wanted to go to her grave thinking that, I have no objections. Although I'll point out I tossed her corpse on the pile and, well, let's say 150? No. Also, note for the record that her roots needed touching up at the time of her demise.
Apparently married for four years. To the same person. There's a wallet full of pictures of dogs, cats and a man holding a stingray. That's...weird. Did anyone think to grab the wedding ring? It was quite a rock. Oh, okay, Kate, good move. I thin kyou're 100% credible in the honesty department.
Lots of credit cards, business cards, like three dollars in change and a bunch of ones. Maybe she was in Sydney on strip club business? No, wait, it looks like she was staying at the Ritz and taking cabs so she had to have at least three hundred dollars in ones to tip everyone for every damn thing they do. I mean who gets a buck for opening a door? She has a Post-It here noting that in the South doors get opened for free because it's called polite.
Um..hey, we got drugs people! Valium, Paxil, Lamictal, Ben Gay, Tylenol, Excedrin, Midol, Tylenol PM, Advil, Benadryl, Afrin, Excedrin Migraine, Tylenol III, Motrin. Was this chick like three hundred years old? What? Okay, sure, Charlie you can hold that stuff until Jack gets here.
Hey, there's three Krystal Chiks in here. No, stop! Hurley, dude, you do not want to be the fat guy stereotype. Give those to Claire, she's eating for two.
Books, Sawyer, I got books! Janet Evanovich, Mary Janice Davidson, Amanda Quick. Maybe she really did have two personalities. So nothing for you. Wait, here's a Harry Potter at the bottom. And my Lord, she paid full price for it! Oh, wait, no she has a Borders Member Card here.
Chanel lipgloss, Chanel mascara, Bare Minerals base. For God's sake Shannon, she hasn't even been burned yet, don't put it on YET.
Stale gum, sticky pennies, a couple of mismatched earrings, three pairs of ugly and cheap sunglasses. Sixty million receipts from Target. A recipe for Lemon Curd Cake from Martha Stewart and a pack of rubber spiders bought for 75% off at Big Lots. My God, what a nut job. Maybe she could put a Post-It with Clean out damn purse on it. Oh, wait, she's dead. Never mind.
Yahtzee! We have an MP3 here and extra batteries. Wait. What is this? A bunch of 80's dance crap? Frank Sinatra? Who the hell is Oingo Boingo? Ru Paul? I guess we'll save that for when we throw a prom. Thanks, dead chick.
You know, to hell with it, let's dump the rest of this in the fire and just keep the bag. It's a Coach and I can gather mangos in it or something. See ya, Staci.
Staci: Hey! What are you doing? Stop going through my crap. I'm not dead, I was checking out Locke's exceptionally cool knife collection, drawing up some architectural renderings so Sayid can build me a cool hut and listening to Boone yammer about his nanny angst. What a whiner. I hope he falls off a cliff. Claire, I will kill you if you TOUCHED my Krystal chicks.
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