About a month ago, Michael Bay took a pretty good stab at retrospectively ruining my childhood. He almost succeeded. After a brief convalesence at a top secret location where my head was scrubbed inside and out with bleach, I felt that I was ready to step back into the world again. That I was cleansed, and no more harm could come to me, or to the flimsy structures shoring up my mind. I was so very, very wrong:
Know this, cosplayers, you will be first up against the wall when the revolution comes.
Update:I've just realised that is a branch of Waterstones the manshecreature is standing in. There's a possibility it's in this very town. I'm going down as soon as I'm mobile again to check the layout. Heads will roll.