a dormant subroutine raises his head

[fuckitybye]

Yes, love, I know you shrieked like a fucking sugared-up One Direction fan in a training bra when they announced that lanky Caledonian streak of piss as the next Doctor, and I'm sure that someday you'll get tired of animated gifs of me calling Davros a cunt. Though if you ask me, that just goes to show you what piss-poor wankery passes for fucking imagination on the internet these days—if it really were me, I'd start off asking Daniel Fucking Day-Lewis where his Oscar is and go on from there.

But you got no fucking call to start squeaking like a stepped-on kitten about "playing Malc against a Twelve". Now mind you, I do have some pinhead-sized quantity of admiration for the rope-a-dope thought process that proposed putting me out here to draw out all those kiddies who've made a Twelve journal off the basis of a fucking press photo alone—but look here, sweetheart, you've been doing just fine leaving me the fuck alone for the last couple years. And may I add, you got a lot of fucking nerve when you've not even caught up on my TV show yet! So do us both a favour, yeah? Piss off and use some of that time you've been spending on Tumblr and pay some proper attention to catch up with me, and then maybe—maybe—we'll fucking talk.

...oh, and I see you went and bollocked up the tags on this entry too, yeah? You're a prize, love; a real fucking blue-ribbon village-fair heifer. Christ.