Overnight delivery in the Uncharted Territories must be hell.

One thing that popped out from last week's Farscape:

"Uh, Mister Braca? The brass mivonks you ordered last year are here. Sorry about the delay; we were backordered. If you'll sign here?"

*sigh*

I read somewhere, when the furor over Sci-Fi's ritual frelling of the fans first ignited, that they were planning to have a major Braca episode in Season Five. The way Scorpius got one a coupla years ago, I think.

Just one more thing to be totally cheesed off about.

Close entry.

It has begun.

Up until now, there was always a chance to turn back. A chance for sanity to take hold.

The point of no return ... has come.

It's not that fire is falling in Baghdad that worries me.

It's that the fire will be coming here.

My city. The place where I was born.

As of nine-thirty PM ... it's open season.

God help us all.

Close entry.