I don’t even know what fish biscuits are. They sound like something a dog might eat, yet after viewing last Wednesday’s episode of “Lost”, suddenly I yearn to devour them in volumes. As Sawyer told Kate, or Freckles as he calls her, “You taste like strawberries”, and she flirtatiously retorted, “You taste like fish biscuits”… I fell deeper in love. I have become a Sawyer fan of a scary magnitude. I get deep pangs in my chest whenever he graces the screen. Why can’t he be real, I ask myself as I hold myself back from licking my television monitor. Lately it has been a Sawyer lover’s sadomasochistic wet dream – Sawyer in a cage, Sawyer pushing a wheel barrel beneath the scorching sun, Sawyer hungrily grabbing Kate and shoving his tongue down that lucky cutie’s throat. He’s the sexiest caged beast alive. And it isn’t just his body. It’s his deadpan sarcasm, his raw protectiveness, and his inability to take shit from anyone who dares dish it to him.
As he gazes at Kate with that dirty twinkle in his eye, I slowly die inside. As if I haven’t already lost hope of finding my perfect man – there he dangles in front of me, all fictional and swaggering and lusting after someone else before my very eyes. He is a TV land mirage, that oasis a dehydrated lost desert soul manifests as he treks across miles of endless sand. He’s one tall drink of water, and damnit, I’m thirsty.
[Originally posted on MySpace October 13, 2006]