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I'm Jon. Increasingly fond of the term Queer. Increasingly concerned about myself. A ghost ate my everything burrito and I was sad but it was a dream about a dog.
I write stuff about Pop Culture and post in on a site called Theory Pop.
Contrary to popular belief, Chris Parnell did not perform my Brit Milah.
"The end of my dissertation."
"No, no, no, no. Not that. There are more important things than that. More important things, like time, like oceans, like the nexus of an infinite number of turning stars. No, no, no, no. Not that. I don’t want any of those things to end. I want to continue on forever with them. I want to straddle the stars and see the future as it was and will and never can be and I can’t. I am limited. I am always limited. I should be a god. Why else is it me? Why is it me seeing through my eyes, as if I’m the only one in the world who does? As if only I see things from my perspective, as if I’m the centre, as if I’m the nexus, as if I am oceans and time and bread and the point at which everything stops and starts and I can never be anything more than this.
"I am so tired. I am so tired."
River turned to the Doctor and smiled an old smile. One he had seen more than once, that same old smile. He was glad she was here for this. Thirteen lives he had lived, thirteen times he had saved the day. Sure, he might have companions, he might have partners, travelling souls he acquired like strays, but River was the only one he knew could keep coming back.
"You have done so much."
The soon-to-be Doctor Song lifted up the Doctor’s hat and placed it on his head. Again, she smiled. He knew she was doing it on purpose now.
"But I saved myself."
All that work. All that work for nothing. He had saved himself. A timelord can only live thirteen lives, and he had lived all of them. He had lived them all, and broken every rule to make sure that he could keep on living. Keep on saving. The Narrative had told him what would happen if he stopped travelling. He had spent so many lives worrying he was doing damage, but now he knew he could not stop. Now he knew he could not stop and there was no way to do anything but that.
He was going to stop.
The fortress hummed louder. It hummed to a tune of Davros’ creation, one of destruction, one of desolation, one of gradual decay for all it touched. Only the Doctor could stop it, because he was the only one left to die. He had seen the futures of his companions, Kat and Molly, and he knew that their timelines were fixed. He had seen River’s future, and knew for certain that her timeline was fixed. He could see it in River’s eyes that she knew too.
"Go on then, sweetie."
Her eyes watched him as he entered the chamber. There was no other option but to channel all of Davros’ destructive power into that one single point. It might not destroy everything inside, but it would destroy most of it. There was no regeneration here.
It was time for him to end.
The Doctor pulled the lever and let go as the humming took him over completely.
Because I will be working at 30 Rockefeller.
"I was remembering around that."
What if the new season of Community isn’t very good?
Undergrad. A lot less impending futureness.
The fuck does this mean? My favourite academics?
Sort of like 30 Rock, but where the show we make is more like Community or Parks and Rec, or 30 Rock.
Sometimes I worry I may be too handsome.
How DOES one get a pocket full of sunshine.
My winning smile.
What if the world was ruled by cats that DIDN’T have opposable thumbs.