I would like to remind everyone that Eleventh Hour airs again tonight at 10/9 Central, for what might well be the last time! Come witness the end of a teeny-tiny era!

I wrote up the pilot here, so you can catch up on all the dense plotting and layered characterization before tonight. Don’t be overwhelmed by the science! TV can be educational, it’s all right. (Remember, DNA is like a personal barcode, just like the milk you buy at the grocery store.)

The preview for this week contains no fewer than four lines from the Procedural Repistory:

- “Something’s put the fear of God in this place.”
- “People fear what they don’t understand.”
- “I sure hope you and your partner can get to the bottom of this.”
- “Someone around here is killing off the weak.”

That preview is less than 30 seconds long. They are not pulling any punches with this show, you guys. They were four seconds away from a woman shouting “Look out!” followed by the sound of a gunshot over a black screen.

(I don’t know why I’m so gleeful over a show that’s so spectacularly bad. Just pretend that it’s my four year old kid, and they cast him in Alice in Wonderland as the Silent Tree, and I’m clapping for him even though he can’t even stand up in his costume. I’m clapping for this show because it’s my balance-impaired toddler, and by god, someone has to clap for the poor bugger.)

Last night’s KGB was great! Several short pieces were presented, a format I loved – it really showcased the range of things Weird Tales has been publishing recently. (ETA: Man, it’s nice when you can say that and it means “any time in the last decade”, since they’ve been around since, you know, 1780.)

The bar, however, was PACKED. I stood in my usual clautrophobic-friendly position in the vestibule, and then the VESTIBULE got packed. I ended up sitting on the stairs and trying to ignore the theatre people on the 3rd floor, who were practicing True Blood levels of Southern accents. Good luck relahin’ on the kaahndness of strayungurs, ladies!

A quick dinner, and then it was off to the Dessert Truck, a tradition Liz Gorinsky started by pointing out how awesome the Dessert Truck is. To this I say, “Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou.”

They’ve brought out their seasonal autumn desserts, namely their pumpkin custard and their baked apples and puff pastry. Those both had fruit in them, though, which means they were not a dessert, but rather nutrition in disguise. I AM ON TO YOU, DESSERT TRUCK.

I made a beeline for the molten chocolate cake.

Photo by Eugenio Garcia-Palacios

They are not joking about the molten part, you guys. It was halfway between a cake and a pudding, and between the olive oil and the dark chocolate, it wasn’t even sweet. It was like being punched in the face with a box of Dutch cocoa powder. Twice.

The cake also had salted pistachios on the top, which means that as soon as you finish the cake (and by “finish” I mean “desperately hand it over to someone when you feel your arteries turning into a molten-chocolate transportation device”) you are desperately thirsty. Unfortunately the chocolate in your veins is already hardening! You can’t move! Oh, cruel world!