We ought to have known, of course, sensing, as we did, a disturbance in the Force. Still, we didn’t fully understand the state of things until we heard Miss XaXa’s dulcet but Vincent-Price-ominous tones (or is it C. Aubrey Smith filtered through Texas bonhomie?) warning us, “The possums are getting restless.”
Possums, possums, possums, you ought to know by now that we live only to saunter onto the reality-tv savanna in order to bring down the sick and the lame for you to feast on. Given our less than wholesome psyche, it makes us happy in a way that few things can, and it displeases us to no end to have to disappoint you.
But as we all know, possums, no one, not even us, can afford to take gainful employment for granted In These Troubled Times. We have been travelling for work all week in regions where the pink-particled beam of Bravo’s signal doth not penetrate, and have consequently not yet seen this week’s episode. But we are set to return to the realm of the Bravo-accoutered cable box this weekend, and will watch the episode forthwith and bring you its bloodied carcass. It’s a promise, possums, from our heartless hearts.
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