"Look, see?" McKay said, gesticulating wildly at the screen. "It's—" and yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, he saw it, and the sly, pink-shirted bastard had faked his own virtual death.
I keep thinking of pseuicide and then lose precious, precious oxygen.
Rodney forced McKay away from the keyboard with a full-body, lateral shove, and yes, something new was running in Atlantis, visible despite John's clever but amateurish attempt to conceal himself, which was the equivalent of hiding behind a slowly-moving and not at all realistic shrub on a stick.
And I do not know why, but I get the imagery and just--yeah. Stupid air.
You may now carry on. Or introduce yourself to Passive-Aggressive Notes and give up having a life. Cause that is worse than crack. Worse than crack.