Your buried shoe box grief

Riker wants to stay up and watch the Late Late cunting Toy Show. Here's how I feel about that particular televisual feast. Can I say no? Sure I can. The reasons are reasonable and manifold:

I can tape it. We have the fucking technology. I'll be taping it for Data either way. I don't see how either of us are going to be able to stay awake that late. I'm too old. She's too young. It's not like it's McCain's concession speech or anything. I'm not going to be rewarded by the shedding of joyous tears of fatigued schadenfreude. And unless some misdirected Pakistani Brit terrorist starts lobbing grenades about, there will be no live witnessing of history. If I want to cringe with embarrassment and boredom I can just sit up reading my old bleugh entries like I do most Friday nights. Really, I should just fucking tape it and send her sulking to bed. She'll get over it.

I'm staying up, amn't I? Le fucking sigh, folks, part fucking a bizillion.


UPDATE: Read my live bleughing of this occurence here. You'll need to scroll down and work up.