Anyway, I'm planning on leaving the house as little as possible during the dreaded Summernats. Instead, just for a change, I'll be watching TV. I’ve been watching a lot of Fringe recently. A friend described it to me as “The X-Files, only good”. And he has a point. It’s a lot less ridiculous than The X-Files (although give it ten years, and I’m sure it’ll probably look just as bad!), and the acting is better. Not that it’s really hard to beat David Duchovny’s wooden monotone... Plus, it stars Joshua Jackson, which takes me back to my teenage ‘OMG, Pacey’s SOOOOOOOO hot!” days...
|Bahahahahahahahaha!!! I SO don't remember him looking like a five year old... (Source)|
|The Fringe version is MUCH better... (Source)|
Ahem. So I’ve made it through about ten or twelve episodes so far. And I’m definitely enjoying it. But there’ve been two episodes to date that have nearly had be write it off altogether, and both times it’s been because of my weird-arse phobias. The first point was where I stopped watching Fringe when it first aired on TV. And that was where they removed a dead girl’s eyeball so they could access her optic nerve and recover the last images she saw before she died.
I *HATE* eyeballs. I can’t watch people doing anything involving contact lenses without feeling nauseated, I hate it when I get something in my eye, because that means I need to touch my own eyeball, and I’m still relieved that I missed the day in year 10 Science that involved eyeball dissection. My younger brother used to take great delight back in our CSI watching days in telling me that the vile eyeball bits were over when they actually weren’t, leading to me witnessing all manner of icky grossness *shudders* But at least with the eyeball stuff, even in real life, I can cover my eyes like a four year old until it’s gone.
But the episode I watched last night? That related to one of my weirder phobias. (My weirdest phobia, incidentally, is of people dressed up as cartoon characters of the Mickey and Minnie variety. I blame a trip to Disneyland when I was seven, and juuuuuuuuuust old enough to work out that there were people in the suits. They had cartoon bodies and human legs (albeit in white tights!). And that’s pretty damned creepy at the age of seven).
Right. Where was I? Oh, right. The episode I watched last night. Well, that one started out with a guy getting killed by butterflies. I know, right? He was in a room, and a butterfly appeared. And the butterfly kept flying past him, and wherever it touched him, it would cut his skin to the bone. And then a second butterfly appeared. And then there were hundreds of butterflies. And finally, he jumped out of a gazillionth storey window to get away from them. He went splat. Obviously...
See? http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5t5RLpowQQU&feature=related (all the clips on Youtube had embedding disabled, so you’ll actually have to click through. I know, I know. SUCH hard work!) See what happens when you admire the pretty little butterfly? It turns out to have RAZORBLADES FOR WINGS, brings its friends, and KILLS YOU...
Anyway, it turned out that there *were* no butterflies – it was a consequence of someone poisoning the guy with some weird-arse hallucinogenic toad venom, and he imagined that there were killer butterflies, and his body replicated what his brain believed. Whatever, that’s not the point here.
The point is that I’ve always known that butterflies are evil little fuckers that are out to get me. Now I have proof. I’m never leaving the house again....................... (Okay, fine. What I have is a TV show about paranormal stuff featuring hallucinogenic toad venom. Shut up.)