I've worked it out, this feeling you get when you wake up here in the morning and something happens. It's like waking up chained to your bed, the door flies open and there they are. There
you are, in your boxer briefs, chained to the bed. Candy bar wrappers all around you.
That's what it feels like. True story.
Now, I want you all to go back, where possible and find out the first post or comment you ever made in the network.
Mine.
I'm Colonel Cameron Mitchell, brand spanking new to this timeline, universe, whatchamacallit this time.
I pretty much understand what is going on- save for the protesters, what's their deal? We must be too handsome for them to deal with-, have been made aware that a version of Doctor Daniel Jackson is present here, and that there's currently no way home. I can't accept that. Pretty sure I'm not the only one, either.
And knowing that sitting here on my pretty ass is pretty much going to drive me crazy, I'm looking for a jogging partner and someone knowledgeable in fencing.
Friend and foe, I'll be in 1207. No autographs. Bring Coors Light.Still applies.