Miss Austen, Drawing Room Settee Critic™ Presents

Battlestar Galactica-- Season Four, Episode Two: "Flowers for Centurion"

by Bogus Miss Austen

Intro

 

Well, at least you've stopped claiming there's a plan.

Recap

Yeah, we know, you "have been from the start." Who are you trying to convince here, RDM? And hey, why are space Marines guarding the president such complete pussies? You'd think you'd make it hard for a possible Cylon to come at her with a gun, but no. That's what you get when you use temps from Galactic Empire Staffing.

 

Starbuck & Roslin

SB: I believed you on no evidence and a druggy hallucination, bitch!

El Presidentrix: I didn't blow up and then come back, though, did I?

SB: No, you just chugged Cylon blood, President Báthory. (she should've said that, damn it). I SAW EARTH! TRUST ME!

El Presidentrix: You're pointing a frakking gun at me, skinjob.

SB: My bad *hands over gun* SHOOT ME IF I'M A CYLON!

El Presidentrix: *shoots her* *misses*

Me: Damn.

 

Spoiler Montage

 

Well, hey, naked Racetrack. Can't be all bad, then.

 

Basestar Bounty

Al: Fucking Ziggy!

Fletcher Christian Six: She's trying to tell us something.

Al: Hey, I'm old. That means I'm in charge... Fine, what's she saying?

8-With-Clothes-On: They're in the Colonial fleet.

Al: Who's in the whaa?

Random 2: The Final Five.

Al: *sticks fingers in ears* nyah-nyah-nyah! I can't hear you!

FC6: SOMETHING HAS CHANGED!

Al: Yeah, something's changed. Happens. And when it does-- lobotomies! We're mechanized copies, we don't get to do what we're not supposed to do, even if we do prattle on about evolving all the frakking time! BTW, nice tits, 8s.

FC6, 8wCo, R2: WTF?

Al: I'm old, I'm in charge and I'm a mechanic! QED, motherfrakkers!

FC6: Vote.

Al: Fuck, vote then. Black guy and Aaron'll back me. Stalemate, suck it, Gooshie.

Cylons Anonymous

Tigh: You're late.

Chief: Cally.

Tigh: Fair 'nuff.

Chief: It still hasn't occurred to me that my kid's a blender. Not that I'd say such a thing, what with my not having realized or acknowledged it in any way whatsoever yet.

Tigh: Starbuck's cracked.

Anders: Dude, that's my wife.

Tigh: Shut it, Buccy.

Girl-Billy: We're missing one. Let's find it!

Tigh: How, Girl-Billy?

Chief: Baltar. I conveniently forgot about his possible knowledge of the Final Five throughout half a season, but hey, he was in the temple with the Australian skinjob. Do you think we have to pay royalties to Ridley Scott for saying skinjob this much?

Anders: Tony didn't sue us for "Scar", so probably not.

Chief: Sweet. Skinjob, skinjob, skinjob

Ander: But how are we going to get to Baltar? Drinks?

Tigh: Dude's a manwhore. And he's got a thing for Cylons. Racked up a Six-- that's a given (Me: Awesome.) And looky what we got right here. Hot Cylon tail.

Girl-Billy: Dude. No.

Anders: Who are you kidding?

Girl-Billy: Harrumph.

The Brig, with Starbuck and Papadama

Starbuck: I SAW EARTH!

Papadama: Dude, if you would've just held on while I totally ignored you and didn't give you any reason to believe I was trying to help you out... Frakking wuss.

Starbuck: President's wet nurse.

Papadama: *WHAMMO*

Starbuck: *laughs* *cries* *laughs/cries* I SAW EARTH! WE'RE GOING THE WRONG WAY! (repeat times infinity) *goes bibbledy-wonky and, I like to think, pees herself*

Basestar Bounty

FC6: Tie. IN YOUR FACE!

Al: Yeah, well, you were right.

FC6: Huh?

Al: Something has changed.

FC6: *doesn't like where this is going*

Al: Boomer!

*Boomer enters*

Al: She says I'm right. HAHAHAHA! I WIN!

FC6: But no one goes against their models!

Me: Then why do you vote?

Al: I win! I have trumped the immutable laws of mathematics and made a single 8's vote worth an entire model line! Bow before the might of my brain!

FC6: But it's wrong! "Mechanized copies", your words.

Al: "Something has changed or a variation on that", your words. Don't be a sore loser.

FC6: *is a sore loser*

 

Lee's Going Away Party

 

Me: Sweet, Racetrack stripping!

Me: Hey, wait, they like Lee again?

Me: WTFrak? Did Lee take his sweater off Simon Cowell's corpse? Who knew American Idol was broadcast from Pyxis?

Me: Die, Helo. DIE!

Is There Room for One More?

 

Me: Mmm, algae.

Jesus McAscot: *checks out Girl-Billy* *is in the mood for curry* You've been spying on me, Girl-Billy.

Girl-Billy: Nuh-uh. Miracle, that's pretty cool.

Jesus McAscot: Spy.

Girl-Billy: *gives up* Yep.

Jesus McAscot: There's a shocker.

Girl-Billy: I mean, look at these people. Well, really, just girls.

Jesus McAscot: Spy.

Girl-Billy: Seriously, no.

Jesus McAscot: Spy.

Rico Suave, Baltar's Head Baltar: Frak, dude, lighten up. Can't you see she's trying to get in your pants? Also, she knows shit. Feel her out.

Jesus McAscot: *looks at freshly revealed Girl-Billy cleavage* Feel her what?

Girl-Billy: Huh?

Jesus McAscot: Not talking to you.

Girl-Billy: Um....

Rico Suave: Dude, forget about me. Girl-Billy or creepy masturbation fantasy. Pick one.

Jesus McAscot: Yeah, I am talking to you.

Girl-Billy: Yeah, I'm gonna go... No, I'm not. Weird shit's happening. You were put on trial and found not guilty, which is weird not because you got off, but because you were put on trial, what with being pardoned and all. Starbuck blew up but didn't, I mean, frakking weird, right? I bet your schlong has the answers.

Rico Suave: Ten dollars says she's right.

Jesus McAscot: Yeah, it's weird. It's like Bob Dylan-- sorry, God-- has chosen me to... Um, frak, like... sing his song?

Girl-Billy: Song?

Jesus McAscot: If you say so *prattles on about orchestra rehearsal*

Girl-Billy: *quivers* *melts* *leaves*

Jesus McAscot: *to Rico Suave* WTFrak? You're me, big deal. Unless. Not me? You're more of a dick, anyway. And that's saying something. You're Six.

Rico Suave: Am not.

Jesus McAscot: You're right, that'd be retarded. Even for Angeli.

Rico Suave: Let's talk about Girl-Billy. You want her, eh?

Jesus McAscot: Yeah. Um. She's, um... sexy lady.

Rico Suave: Ah, that's my boy. She's special. You feel it. Well. Little Head Baltar feels it.

Jesus McAscot: Yeah, baby.

President and Mr. Roslin's House

El Presidentrix: Boozehound.

Papadama: Lee's party.

El Presidentrix: *snort* What do we do now? Put her on trial? Find Romo Lampkin?

Me: Yes, please.

Papadama: I don't know. I'm pretty much phoning it in. Where's that kickass CIC phone...?

El Presidentrix: Trap.

Papadama: *noncommital grunt*

El Presidentrix: Sit the frak down. Sit.

Papadama: *woof* *sits* What if I go against my character and decide that because it's Starbuck, the fact that she's come back from the dead doesn't scream Cylon?

El Presidentrix: So what? A miracle? Go on Admiral Atheist. Say it.

Me: "Admiral Atheist" *snort*

Papadama: You shot at her. Missed.

El Presidentrix: I'm doing chemo, fraktard, I can barely stand.

Papadama: Um. Still.

El Presidentrix: I'd shoot her again. All, "SHOOT ME!" Must be a Cylon, she didn't care if I killed her.

Papadama: Confirmation bias much?

El Presidentrix: Hey! ME, ME, ME! I was dying, everyone else died, then I didn't die long enough so we could find earth. Now I'm dying. What about me?!

Papadama: Hey, no one's dying here. It's not like our population's dwindling by the day, we're near starvation, tearing ourselves apart from within and your cancer's eating you alive. Everything is hunky-dory. Hunky. Dory.

El Presidentrix: Deal with it! You'd rather Kara be a toaster and have her go all Boomer on your ass than have her blow herself up again!

Papadama: Get out of my head! *gets up in huff* *chugs* *refill* You're afraid you'll suck and die like the rest of us. *leaves*

Me: Low blow, dude, even if she is pretty much batshit at this point.

El Presidentrix: *pulls loose hair because chemo in the time of FTL still can't fix hair loss*

The Brig, with Starbuck and Lee

Lee: I'm gonna be a senator 'cause Zarek hearts me! I know, Zarek's a douche. But apparently, I can't say no to anything.

Starbuck: Except me.

Lee: Yeah. And for Dee. WTFrak is that about? I mean, you're insane, but at least there's a personality there. *something about how being a senator's like blowing up and ranting about earth*

*pregnant silence*

Starbuck: SSWA.

Lee: Um, sure.

Starbuck: Well. Bye.

Lee: Bye.

Starbuck: Hey, wait, I want to eat your face first.

*Hot Break-Up Kiss*

Lee's Going Away Party Redux

Me: Yeah, yeah. Lots of good memories in the briefing room or whatever it's called.

Me: Oh, look, they're all saluting the guy they hate for freeing Baltar. Oh, well.

Me: Wow, Dee's hugging him. Even framed his insignia. Man is she whipped. But I guess it's over now. Finally. Thank the Gods.

Lee: Looks like you got the house.

Me: And what with you being a lawyer now and all, that's an embarrassing thing to say. Should've sued her right out of the Fleet.

Roslin: *ignores him because he's a frakking frakker who should frak off and die, like frakking everybody else. ME!!!*

Meanwhile, back on the Basestar Bounty

Me: Mmm, lobotomized Raider brains. It's a delicacy among the Cylons, you know.

FC6: Stop.

Al: Um, no? You think I'm the traitor?! I'm rubber, you're glue!

FC6: Stop.

Al: No. We had a vote.

FC6: *in "or else" voice* For the last time, stop.

Al: *in "are you retarded?" voice with exaggerated head shaking* NO.

FC6: Come in.

*Centurions enter*

Al: Centurions can't vote, dumbass.

FC6: No. But they can kill! Mwa-ha-ha!

*but first, a commerical and Jesus McAscot's God-Backed Sexual Escapade of the Week*

Jesus McAscot's Harem

*Girl-Billy and Jesus McAscot frak*

*Girl-Billy cries*

Jesus McAscot: Am I hurting you?

Girl-Billy: Nope, it's just what I do.

Jesus McAscot: That's not freaky at all. You have an abundance of feeling.

Girl-Billy: Never thought of it like that.

Jesus McAscot: You're not trying to sleep with yourself.

Girl-Billy: Hey, how about them Cylons?

Jesus McAscot: Yeah, they rock. They're just like people, only with hotter women lacking any sense of the taboo.

Girl-Billy: Yeah?

Jesus McAscot: Yeah. Frakking God, dude. God. Blah-blah. God this, God that. One God, you understand. How hot is God?

Girl-Billy: Dude, so hot.

*resume frakking*

Basestar Bounty

Al: Haha. Heh. Good one, guys.

*awkward silence*

Al: *to Centurions* Leave.

*Centurions don't leave*

Al: I said LEAVE!

*Centurions don't leave*

Al: WTFrak?

FC6: *holds up something shiny* *technobabbles* Ha. Free will for Centurions.

Me: Yeah, that won't bite you in the ass at all. Cylon planning: Making the United States Congress look like North Korean mass games since 2004.

Al: You can't do that without a vote.

FC6: Frak democracy.

Al: Well. Shit.

FC6: Yuh-huh. And we told them what you did to the Raiders. Let's see how they react.

Centurions: *blammity-blam* *blam blam* *blamblamblam* *blam*

Al: Gurk.

Black Dude: Grak.

Aaron: Guk.

The Brig, With Batshit Starbuck

*fleet has jumped*

Starbuck: NOOOOO!!!! GO BACK!!! EARTH!!!111!!!

*Helo enters*

Helo: Come on.

Me: To the airlock?

Helo: I'm Helo. WTFrak do you think?

Me: Right. Damn.

Hangar

Starbuck: EARTH!!! YOU'RE WRONG, PAPADAMA!!

Papadama: Maybe. That's why I'm going to hedge my bets. Look, a sewer ship. All yours.

Helo: Yeah, we're going to say we're scouting for food, because everybody knows Roto-Rooter has the best fruit.

Papadama: I heart you. Now go find Earth.

*hug*

Me: *vomits* *takes insulin* *creates Michael Angeli Sim to slowly starve to death and then burn*