Re: Karl Urban -- blond or brunette?
Yup. It WAS the spores that made him willingly drink a mint julep.
In the new timeline, things have been set right. It went like this...
There was once a happy young med student, who even though it was a cliche, would go every year to the Derby. To the Infield, which had a long and glorious tradition of horse watching inebriation. There he would gather with friends around a livecast of the race, because there was no way you can see the actual race from the Infield. But it was fun. And he was with friends.
And then he met her. That social climbing twit from Louisville. Got married, and never made it to the Infield again. Because no doctor's wife would be caught dead out there, with the Bud Classic kegs. Ohhhh Noooo. It's a box seat (until she can schmooze her way into the clubhouse). And a Really. Big. Really. Stupid. Hat. (with feathers)
No more Jack from the fake cola can. No more fun. Just sitting with all the twits who buy overpriced bourbon (mixed with sugar with imported mint stuck in it) in a genuine, souvenir 2255 mint julep cup. And she's too stupid to know that for upscale horse watching- you go to Keeneland.
He may have lost his shirt, his practice, and his pride during the divorce (god only knows what she was banging-he probably had skybox seats at Falcon's games), but there was one bright spot. He'd never, ever, have to drink a Mint Julep again.
Yup. It WAS the spores that made him willingly drink a mint julep.

In the new timeline, things have been set right. It went like this...
There was once a happy young med student, who even though it was a cliche, would go every year to the Derby. To the Infield, which had a long and glorious tradition of horse watching inebriation. There he would gather with friends around a livecast of the race, because there was no way you can see the actual race from the Infield. But it was fun. And he was with friends.
And then he met her. That social climbing twit from Louisville. Got married, and never made it to the Infield again. Because no doctor's wife would be caught dead out there, with the Bud Classic kegs. Ohhhh Noooo. It's a box seat (until she can schmooze her way into the clubhouse). And a Really. Big. Really. Stupid. Hat. (with feathers)
No more Jack from the fake cola can. No more fun. Just sitting with all the twits who buy overpriced bourbon (mixed with sugar with imported mint stuck in it) in a genuine, souvenir 2255 mint julep cup. And she's too stupid to know that for upscale horse watching- you go to Keeneland.
He may have lost his shirt, his practice, and his pride during the divorce (god only knows what she was banging-he probably had skybox seats at Falcon's games), but there was one bright spot. He'd never, ever, have to drink a Mint Julep again.