I love Scrubs. My absolute favourite extract (between Elliot (girl) who speaks first, and the janitor):
"Thanks again for helping me look for Carla."
"No problem. I'll check the dumpster."
"Um...we're not looking for dead Carla."
"That's right, hon. You stay optimistic."
(Standing on Turk's shoulders, wearing a huge coat.)
JD: Roll up, roll up, come to Sacred Heart and see the world's largest doctor! Don't be afraid; I'm just like you!
(Turk throws him off.)
Turk: OK, now it's might turn to go on your shoulders.
JD: (Warningly) Turk, remember what happened when we played Big Black Doctor? People ran.
*hysteria just thinking about it*
I really, REALLY miss Scrubs. You may not have heard me go on about it till now; but it is my favourite show!!!! after Doctor Who, obviously.
Rose: Look, you can't just go swanning off!
Doctor: Yes I can, look, this is me swanning off. See ya!
Rose: My Mum's cooking.
Doctor: Good! Put her on a slow heat and let her simmer.
Jackie: I want to get to know this Doctor bloke! I thought I could do Shepherd's Pie...
Rose: He's finally met his match.
Anyway, interesting day, especially lunchtime. By the end of it I was in a complete state; it took all of my will to get up and go and get the register. Whcih wasn't because I was exhausted, I was just sort of...emotionally drained. Putting it heavily.
He kissed my hand! Well, nearly. It was a bit confusing. Poo.
The woman of your dreams may be dreaming of you.
Bloody pop-ups. I can't get rid of them; 'tis very annoying.
We started a new poet today; Simon Armitage. And JUST when I thought we might have a subject other than psychopathic killes, guess what? We do a poem about a man who kills a hitcher and throws him out of his car, and watches him bounce down the pavement and down into a ditch.
Although saying that, all my poems seem to be about tradgedy and death. I can't seem to write anything else. I wrote a couple of ones about love but deleted them because they were deemed to be too embarassing.
Oh, and update:
"I am just going to grab her, knock her out with a baseball bat, and stuff her in the piano, with no food or water. And with a pirahna. A NON-VEGETARIAN pirahna!"
As described at lunchtime. I am talking of course, about Becky; the most horrible, bitchy girl ever to have lived, who is now taking it upon herself to say mercilessly nasty things about my friends behind their backs.
Sharp clack on shiny wooden floor,
Heels gliding towards the door.
"Who could ask for more?
Black mascara, lips savage blood red,
Rucksacks? Oh no - they have handbags instead.
"Just the sight of us should fill you with dread!
Blazers? None. Skirts? Very high.
Staring at me with a despondent sigh.
"If I were like you I'd want to die!
Soon met with another army; The Boys.
Dressed to charm and fall for their ploys.
"We don't love them - they're just our toys!
And whispers, like little fires breaking free;
Rumours, insults, giggling, looks...is it me?
"We're something you could never be.
And so it goes on, and the numbers rise;
More people to weep over and despise.
"We'll be the cause of your demise!
You believe in malice, manipulation, greed.
And I will NEVER become one of your creed.
What I have is all I'll ever need.
Doesn't EXACTLY cover the essence of the plastics...but there are bits.
And as much as I do not like this poem, I have to admit that a couple of the last few lines have particular relevance:
Are flowers the winter's choice?
Is love's bed always snow?
Apart from that I don't agree with it at all. Love at first sight? Come on. Anyway, had better go before my eyes dissolve. Ciao! Comment!