• YouTube: “CSI Miami - Endless Caruso One Liners” (via Ken Levine)

I think I’m going to put “Won’t Get Fooled Again” on a small tape player that I can keep in my pocket. Then, whenever I say something awesome, I’ll hit play.

Admit it, ladies…

YOU’LL BE DRAWN TO ME.

INEXORABLY.

We’re sitting down, watching CSI: Miami.

(Yes. We do watch it. It’s real purty to watch in high-def.)

The show is proceeding apace: extremely elaborate crime occurs, which is investigated by improbably pretty people, who use supernaturally rococo forensic processes (including absurdly mystical database searches) by which the criminal is brought to justice. (And I have yet again avoided making a drinking game out of Horatio putting on or taking off his sunglasses, because… well… I want to live.)

And it hits me. Reality? It has left the building. This show has shacked up in a rundown motel with James Bondian Fantasy.

That’s when I realised what the masterminds of the CSI franchise need to do next:

CSI: HOLLOWED-OUT VOLCANO

Follow me on this one…

When the Bond movie ends… and everything that is explodable has exploded… and everything that can be melted-to-slag with a solar-powered death-ray has been adequately melted-to-slag with a solar-powered death-ray… and the bodies of countless unitarded minions have finished twitching and oozing… some world-weary local cops and CSIs have to come in and sort through the mess.

I’D WATCH THAT SHOW.

“Yeah… some good samaritan called it in… according to the 911 tape… let’s see…” [flips through notebook] “‘the top of the mountain, it done “assploded”‘… no… they didn’t leave their name…”

“Damn! We need to fingerprint this whole lair? Even the shark pool? They better be ready to dish out on the overtime on this one…”

“My initial examination of the corpse revealed some very interesting bite marks… almost as if the attacker had metal teeth…”

“The tire treads look to be high-end… maybe Jaguar or Aston Martin… but I’m also seeing what looks like exhaust patterns for a missile launcher… we’ll have to see what the mass-spec says…”

“I found some odd trace in the wound… It’s a mixture of tempered steel — from a blade of some kind — and what looks like hat felt…”

“Stomach contents reveal no food, but a large quantity of vodka and vermouth…”

Aaaand… so on.

Admit it. That show would rule.

…

I tried to explain this idea to My Lovely Wife.

She didn’t really react.

I said, “Damn. I’m not explaining this well.”

She said, “Oh… you explained it just fine…”

Last night’s Battlestar Galactica is sitting on our DVR right now.

I wasn’t ALLOWED to watch it last night, since it was on at 11:00 and My Lovely Wife said she would be asleep unless I was watching it in which case her subconscious mind would alert her to the fact that “her Starbuck” was on TV and cause her adrenal medulla to pump adrenaline through her system thereby causing her to wake up suddenly and in all likelihood punch me in the stomach repeatedly.

Or something like that.

Whatever her reasoning, last night’s Battlestar Galactica is sitting on our DVR right now.

UNWATCHED.

So… Internet… I have a small request to make:

Please don’t tell me what happened.

And I mean, NOTHING. Not even coy little hints. Those are the worst.

Hell, even if Edward James Olmos breaks character, looks directly at the camera and says, “Jason Sweeney — a rain of frozen toads will crush you DEAD if you walk on Oxford Street at exactly 11:10 am on January 22, 2007,” JUST LET ME TAKE MY CHANCES. A RAIN OF TOADS IS UNLIKELY AND EDWARD JAMES OLMOS IS NOT A WORLD AUTHORITY ON THEM.

We are watching it when we get home tonight.

After that, feel free to spoilerise the episode for everyone else.

Until then, can you please just share funny pictures of cats or videos of guys getting hit in the groin with iPhones or whatever?

Thanks.

You’re the best.

UPDATE: We’re all good. Spoilerise to your heart’s content.

(Special thanks on the whole not-ruining-the-episode-for-me front HAVE go out to Walking To Do. Rock on, DecemberFlower. You get an eCookie.)