I scored girl scout cookies earlier and I’m all wacked out on a thin mints high. We were on our way home this afternoon and I was making Husband drive slowly so I could troll for sugar. I’d almost given up, but then I spotted them, prancing their be-sashed bad selves up and down the sidewalk, hawking their wares like the little sugar whores our culture has turned them into.

“I knew there had to be a coven around here somewhere!” I probably deafened Husband, at least temporarily.

“They call them troops, not covens.” Husband politely explained. Then I waited in the car while he went to the cookie booth and procured the goods. That was for the best, I’m sure.

Now, about this Battlestar Galactica thing.

First of all, if SciFi doesn’t stop making their shows run arbitrary times I’m going to have an episode of some kind of my own. 92 minutes. If you’re going to run the show for 92 minutes say so, otherwise those of us who tivo or use a vcr or other dvr device to record the damned thing miss the big finish to the season finale and have to re-tivo it.

Now, the spoilery bit if you haven’t seen the episode yet:

Was that last part a total shout out to Galactica 1980 or what? When they showed that classroom full of cherubic kids as the cylons were landing Husband nearly had to restrain me because I was so wound up about the return of the Space Scouts. and not wound up in a good way.

Please oh please let us never see their ruddy little faces ever, ever again.

I don’t ask for much.