I have to fine recipes for all the crow I’m about to eat. Torchwood managed to redeem itself in the end (mostly).
I’m tired of ripping on this show, so I’m going to talk about the one thing that has consistently made me happy this season: Jilly Kitziinger’s wardrobe.
We’re having a serious discussion at Pink Raygun Galactic Headquarters about which is worse: Starz’s Torchwood or Syfy’s Flash Gordon. It causes me great pain that it’s come to this.
I made a greeting card for the suits at Torchwood: Miracle Day.
I think my DVR is looking out for me. The recording of last Friday’s Torchwood wouldn’t play past the Starz logo no matter what troubleshooting tricks I applied as if the DVR was saying, “Lisa, you really don’t want to go there.”
Torchwood, how you’ve disappointed me. This must be what my mom felt like when I told her I was majoring in English. And planned to be a teacher.
I think I’m the only one who finds Oswald Danes’ apotheosis to be feasible. It’s feasible because Americans are a bunch of infantile chumps.
This episode is so full of WTF I want to shake Russell T. Davies and scream, “You know what you did!!!”
Gwen Cooper, welcome to America. I hope you’ll stay a while. And maybe be my best friend.