Well, fuck. I think this photo of a horrid doll I found using Magic Google aptly illustrates my feelings. Or, at the very least, it illustrates the feelings of my inner fourteen year old goth girl.

It is so very early for thoughts.

As Peter pointed out in the comment thread of that other Dollhouse post, Joss Whedon's latest television project has met with its untimely--if inevitable--demise. Fortunately, it looks as though Whedon will be able to see the second season to completion, which is at least better than what Firefly got. Maybe next time, Joss. We've all got our fingers crossed.

Of course, Firefly set a precedent when the truncated story was eventually concluded with Serenity, so maybe it isn't too much to hope that Dollhouse might receive similar treatment. The strange little universe Dollhouse is built around might actually be better suited to the shorter form, too, since the intrigue of the esoteric conceit would only have to be sustained over two hours instead of thirty. But then we'd lose the Dollhouse-as-a-metaphor-for-the-television-medium parallel and oh God now I'm rambling again.

Twice burned by the same netowork, I think we all know what Whedon's next move should be. Why, why oh God why, Joss, have you never done anything for HBO?