on a wine-soaked strobe-lit Asiatic hall of mirrors {and a dash of loneliness}

[savagestime.livejournal.com]

[The Master is turning a small metal orb in his hands]

Centuries of dedication to the fine art of technical mechanics, and I turn it to this. How altruistic can I get?

[He tosses the orb into the air, where it sets up a four-dimensional projection of these words in flashing, 3D neon lights:

Ten-thousand-year-old immortal seeks dominating politician for ice cream binges, pioneering new societies, and snuggling. Must know some amount of science, enjoy genocide, and be tolerant of multiple personality disorder. Megalomania a plus. Magic-users need not apply.

Please send any inquiries via plane post box to Omega, The Engineer of Rassilon. Submissions without pictures will receive no reply.

This particular bout of literally mocking his own ancestor done with, the Master grabs a big, comfy chair to sit in and starts on his bag of popcorn]

[The poster of this entry takes no responsibility for Omega being Rather Cross any respondents.]