I had to wait for a while after feeding the fish; the bettas can have their lights off straight away because they are hand-fed, but the others need a little time. I haven’t managed to get in the shower yet, so I thought I’d grab a couple of California Cuties (they’re citrus fruit, not surfer boys) and park myself in front of the TV. I checked Discovery and found a documentary called Venom Hunter that sounded as if it might be interesting. I knew they’d overdo the “fear factor” and the special effects would make me roll my eyes, and the host would be Australian or British, probably called Steve or Mike, and well-built, and he’d handle the animals like that irritating Steve Whatsisface who got skewered by a stingray, but I thought, “Meh, I’ll survive.” True to form, the host is British (and called Steve, though the only hawtness is due to dark brown eyes and fantastic delts/lats, and he’s rather annoying), and a black forest scorpion in the Amazon was described as “extremely deadly”. Extremely deadly. O RLY? It’s either deadly, or it’s not, kills you or doesn’t; dead is dead, and in the grand scheme of things, death is always at least relatively extreme. That isn’t the point of this particular rant, though; I already know that gone are the days of documentaries that are about information. Now, you’re supposed to be frightened, or revolted, or both, and if the creature is dangerous, expect the screen to look like a goddamned video game. I guess the average viewer has an attention span so short that, “Ooooh, pretty colours. Look–scary, scary!” has become necessary.

Nope, this has nothing to do with the semi-hawt and entirely annoying Brit, though I can’t wait to see him do the bullet ant “gloves” tribal ritual (hehe–that’s gonna hurt), it’s the commercials. It’s not even Thanksgiving until next weekend, yet the Christmas commercials are already in full swing. I’d originally intended to try to watch this without my trusty laptop commercial-avoider, and just mute them instead, but after the Bacardi commercial that I didn’t need to hear to know they were trying to tell me that Bacardi would make me the life of the Christmas party and all the guys would be after me, and then my old friend, “Every kiss begins with Kay’s”, I gave in and got the laptop. If it takes Kay’s jewellers to “begin” a kiss, then I think it’s time to trade for a new partner. I absolutely fucking HATE their commercials; it’s always some weenie-looking pussywhipped guy buying some ridiculously expensive diamond something-or-other for his moderately pretty wife/girlfriend/whatever, and she, of course, saves the look of utter adoration for after she opens the box. Dude may start out “meh”, but add $2000 worth of compressed carbon harvested by African slave labour, and suddenly, he’s a sex god. Christ. Are any actual men and women that fucking pathetic? Sadly, I fear some are. Not that I buy jewellery, or that P. buys much for me (I have some I never wear), but if there is a jewellery purchase in the future, it certainly won’t come from there. I know one whose kisses don’t begin with Kay’s. AMD, Intel, Asus, Nvidia, maybe, but Kay’s…nah. 😀