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Sunday, 4 March 2012

Why The New Sherlock Pisses Me Off

On the morn of the 3rd March, in the year of the Mayan cataclysm, in great vexation, I gingerly rapped on the door of 221B Baker Street.

A small delicate woman with pinched nostrils meekly answered.

 I laughed, because I remembered her from that show with Lionel Blair years ago.

"I've come to see Wholmes".

"Who"?

"Ah ha!" I exclaimed, "So you admit it!"

"Admit what?".

"That The Doctor and Sherlock have morphed into the same idiosyncratic child of Moffat. That they have both become so superior to their stations that any emotive pull has been drained from either show and all suspense removed, and that they have both been rendered little more than an masturbatory, intellectual exercise for up their own arse clever clog screenwriters."

"I don't know what you're talking about" she retorted, "I'm just a cleaner for the museum".

"Oh" I said, walking off, a little lighter than before.

2 comments:

  1. Mr. Garth, Love your commentary! But I'm your typical dumb arse and I forget shite constantly. So can you do this one spec of dust a favor? Go to feedburner.com, burn your feed. Then under 'publicize', activate the 'email subscriptions' option and paste the code into a text widget. I would love to get emails when you post : )

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  2. Hey thanks - I think I've set it up for you to do just that...

    Whenever I get an anon comment I'm always tempted to try to picture the person behind the mysterious grey silhouette. Do you have short, dark hair and almost permanent stubble? I suspect, like me, your potential beard coverage lets you down around the cheek area, and this is the reason behind it.

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