I was too busy yesterday (and too caught up in the fucksterics of the Oprah’s-still-on-board phase of Freygate) to comment on Wednesday night’s flagrantly-ridiculous episode of Lost.
It’s a good thing I was too busy…
…because there are no words for shit like this. A smoke monster? At this point, we (the audience) can pretty much rest assured that we’re just yarnballs and the writers are not cats, they’re saber-toothed tigers, swatting mauling us bloody for their own amusement.
They’ve messed with my head so much, I’m open to them introducing anything into the story at this point.
Even The Great Gazoo.
