Awww, that's sweet. I wanna do a DVD commentary!

"And here's where I get killed."

My parents will be so proud.

I think Tim should have you and Kristen in to record DVD commentary on some episode of something he does. The Kristen and Allyson (or is it "Allyson and Kristen") Show needs to be recorded for posterity.

From your keyboard to Tim's brain.

Hey, Strega got to do one!

My mom thought it was very cool that Tim killed you, Allyson!

Well, not cool in that..I mean...you know.

Hey, Strega got to do one!

Hey, she did?! Where? When?

Oooh. NY Times Review.

[link]

While investigating the location of a murder, Danny asks her, "Is it an S&M club?" Melody retorts: "No, it's a support group for very clumsy people."

Previous GF pilot YSI, still has some downloads left in it: [link]

New link, if you still haven't acquired it: [link]

Allyson, her hair was close to the right color though, wasn't it?

Allyson, her hair was close to the right color though, wasn't it?

At some point in my life it probably was. I'll have to take a look again.

Did Strega do an Angel, Allyson? I haven't listened to the commentaries on all my A:ts DVDs.

From your keyboard to Tim's brain.

Cindy enters Tim's head, Stopping to get her bearings, she owns that although she expected it to be dark, this is ridiculous. She decides it wasn't just the Angel DP, in need of a lightbulb.

She squeezes the firm, nearly empty Bic in her right fist. No sooner does she realize there is no way the Bic has sufficient propane to get her in and out of here safely, then she trips over something. It is hard, and long. No. Not that, you perverts. Still on the ground, she decides to light a Marlboro Light, rather than curse the darkness. Besides, it's not like anyone around here is going to notice a little more smoke.

She sucks on it furiously, to produce a big heater sort of head. Holding it down near the obstacle, she realizes it was a tree root that tripped her up. She feels for the trunk, and starts to crawl around it, counter-clockwise.

Faint light fights to permeate the near tangible darkness, from the other side of the tree. Still, even with that, and the cigarette's glow, her "visionity" has yet to return.

If you wanna play it that way.

"Visionity," I said. Now let me get on with this.

Cindy's right hand lands on something squishy and it's as sticky as all get out. She's afraid to investigate too closely, but it smells distinctly like her kids do when she kisses them right after breakfast. This could mean its a pancake, smothered in Maple syrup. Deciding it is better not to know for sure, she scrapes the goo off her hand, and onto the tree trunk. She continues to circumnavigate the tree, which is larger than she first thought, in hopes of gaining access to The Inside of Minear's brain.

Just as she decides to try walking again, she discovers a fallen branch across her path. Intending to use her laptop and WiFi ...

*science and technology jazz hands jazz hands*

... to send a message directly to Tim's brain, she'd smuggled it in, in an old diaper bag. Fishing around the bottom of the bag, she finds a long-forgotten receiving blanket and winds it around the end of the branch. Fortunately, the Bic has enough juice to spark up her MacGyvered torch. Finally around the tree, she realizes her ingenuity was for nothing, and she needn't have lugged the laptop, either. There's a computer, with what looks like a DSL connection, sitting on an old, battered credenza. "Sheesh. He's got everything in here! But how do you hook up DSL to a tree?"

She jiggles the mouse enough to get the screen saver to fade. The open window has chud.com/forums/showthread.php?t=74754 in the address line. She sees a post made in Tim's name, but the user information underneath reads, "has been cancelled." She wonders what's up with that, but doesn't have time speculation. Besides, the CHUD board frightens her even more than being on The Inside of Minear's head.

CHUD is too dark anyhow, so she types in "buffistas.org." Coupled with her torch, its light background provides ample illumination. She takes a good look around, spies an old style desk lamp, and flicks it on. "Finally, useful light."

There's a skeleton in the corner, entangled in what looks like a root mass. There are the remains of an empty wooden crate that almost rings a bell. There's a homemade fightin' axe. And there's a box full of paper, on the file cabinet, to the left of the desk. It looks like there's printing on it, and she's tempted to snoop, but she knows that wouldn't be ethical. Besides, this is a time sensitive mission, so she tells herself, "Get in; do the job; get out."

It's no use. She is weak. This could be a novel he's been secretly working on. It could be Moon. It could be a stash of shooting scripts for Angel, Firefly, Wonderfalls, or even The Inside. When she gives into her baser nature and gives the top page a skim, (continued...)