I swore I wouldn't.
I will not.
It will not happen.
~looks beseechingly at Val~ Get the damn pixie out of my head!
~looks beseechingly at G~ Get the damn bunny out of my garden!
No. No. No. No. No.
Dammit. Miss Baston's just given me another copy of the documentary on tape, too, and he's on it. Wretched, camp-as-hell, bailing, talentless, *beautiful*-even-at-sixteen-damn-him, *pixie*.
Leave me alone.
I will sell your records. I will *burn* your records, you talentless son of a bricklayer. I will jump up and down on them, I will put your CD in a microwave, I will parody your lyrics - yes, even Dream Machine - and I will *shave your head*.
If you don't...
...in my head...
No. No young boys fanfic. No reuniting-type fanfic. No working-together-after-all-these-years fanfic.
NO. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.
Captain Haddock to you. GAH.