If I needed to make the choice, I would rather watch Scooby Doo than X-Files. Don't get me wrong. I love X-Files. And not just because of that concentrated hotness that is Gillian Anderson. It is a brilliant and, for the first five or so seasons at least, wellwritten show. But, if I have to pick my favourite show about people chasing monsters, give me Scooby Doo. Sure, it was formulaic and cheaply animated, but, come on. Scooby Doo! Not just because I got the same hairdue as Shaggy, or because I am growing a chinbeard, or because my friends are a tall guy, a readhead and a nerdy chick with glasses. And a dog. No. And not because in ten minutes I will distracting Mark while Julia runs out to his van and write Mystery Machine on it. And we will solve mysteries from the comfort of my home. And me and Sandy will run up and down the corridore. And then, we will eat.
I know that I had a point when I started this, but I cannot remember what it was, so there.
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