You come at the king, you best not miss.

A lesson in exaggerated masculinity, ebonics and (in terms of script writing and characterisation) in creating a stereotype defying, multi-dimensional and morally questionable character (very minor spoiler):



Omar from The Wire is pretty much the greatest Robin Hood figure ever to emerge in the history of television, and I include Robin himself in that sweeping statement. He's gay, he cries about his dead boyfriend, he only robs drug dealers and yet he himself provides drugs to some random woman with a kid (I'm not sure about what kind of relationship he has with her yet, although he has a lot of affection for the child, so perhaps it's his sister or something)... He's just awesome. Unfortunately, curiosity killed the cat when I looked up his Wikipedia page and accidentally read something about his future in the programme... I hate the ease of information on the internet. It should be restricted, like one of those crazy communist/theocratic/fascist countries I've always wanted to have a go at running.

Today we had to Escape to Victory by taking Jam to Alex's flat for a whole 6 hours of cat related hi-jinks. It was almost completely unnecessary however, as the landlord only arrived late afternoon, and was only around for a very short amount of time. We're actually now considering staying on, so we'll have to catch him again before he starts advertising our home left right and centre column.

But anyway, it was nice to hang at Alex's for a while, although we were pretty dead beat from staying up late/getting up early, and we might have been getting in the way of some serious studying (sorry Sophie). Alliteration is a fun thing.

I think tiredness is really getting in the way of how quickly and eloquently I can write this, so I might call it a night for now. Go and look at some pretty Heather pictures instead, or stare blankly at Ed's and pretend you know what he's talking about, or read Matthew's which is HI-LARIOUS.

Night night.

P.S. I found a tampon on the doormat today (not Heather's, presumably not the landlord's, thankfully unused). A lesson in carefully picking your future flatmates.