J.D.: FUCK YOU!
Posted on Sunday, 13 December 2009
Notes
I MAY THROW UP ON YOU
Don't pander to me, kid. One tiny crack in the hull and our blood boils in thirteen seconds. Solar flare might crop up, cook us in our seats. And wait till you're sitting pretty with a case of Andorian shingles, see if you're still so relaxed when your eyeballs are bleeding.
Space is disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence.
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