All the Funky and none of the Fun
Aug. 28th, 2014 11:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jack_babalonIt's Day 1,460 of the Ten Thousand Ambush Year and I've got good news and I've got bad news. The good news is at long last I have finally learned the secret to taking responsibility for my own happiness. The bad news is the secret involved the construction of a satellite headquarters that hovers in geosynchronous orbit some 20,023 feet above Terminus upon which I now find myself shipwrecked.
Of course some may argue that this is precisely why one doesn't purchase a teleportation chamber at the local Best Buy in the first place. Fair enough. Some may point out the folly of hiring illegal migrant android day-laborers whose mastery of the English language consists solely of the word - "Destroy!" - to construct one's satellite headquarters. An observation, in hindsight I'm quite inclined to agree with. Finally, to the resounding chorus of those who would caution against hitting on the girlfriend of the mad scientist you've paid before she installs the "George Foreman Grill & Transmatter Relocation Matrix" into your suborbital efficiency apartment, I can only say - "Now you tell me."
So here I am facing those Major Tom Blues with all the funky and none of the fun.
But fear not dear reader, for the mad scientist while certainly bereft of any hint of sanity was not wanting for a shred of mercy. She made sure I had plenty of cigarettes, green and Wi-Fi to keep me occupied. That and her girlfriend, while politely disgusted at my offer to grab a drink sometime or engage her in anything beyond rudimentary conversation, did leave me an escape pod.
Unfortunately it's from IKEA. Meaning the instructions are written in a series of hieroglyphs that outline how to escape from an IKEA prison factory that ironically (or at ast foolishly if I'm using the word 'ironically' wrong) manufactures escape pods.
Which, you know, is going to take at least a full Labor Day Weekend along with an 1/8th of Jack Kirby grade kush to figure out.
So there you have it, dear reader... why, I won't be at Dragon*Con this year I'm afraid.
And no... no, no, no, no, no, no, ... it's certainly not because I'm actually in fact stranded somewhere between broke and heartbroken. In fact let us all agree it is why I can't be there for your upcoming shows or parties or performances. Why I spend my time writing postcards in Innsmouth instead of registering online updates.
No worries. From where I'm sitting, high up here where no one can reach me for at least awhile, Planet Earth don't look so blue after all.
Oh... and by the way... a Happy 150th Anniversary to the Burning of Terminus. Have a drink for me down there all you Cosplayers and "Klingons living in your mama's basement".
Of course some may argue that this is precisely why one doesn't purchase a teleportation chamber at the local Best Buy in the first place. Fair enough. Some may point out the folly of hiring illegal migrant android day-laborers whose mastery of the English language consists solely of the word - "Destroy!" - to construct one's satellite headquarters. An observation, in hindsight I'm quite inclined to agree with. Finally, to the resounding chorus of those who would caution against hitting on the girlfriend of the mad scientist you've paid before she installs the "George Foreman Grill & Transmatter Relocation Matrix" into your suborbital efficiency apartment, I can only say - "Now you tell me."
So here I am facing those Major Tom Blues with all the funky and none of the fun.
But fear not dear reader, for the mad scientist while certainly bereft of any hint of sanity was not wanting for a shred of mercy. She made sure I had plenty of cigarettes, green and Wi-Fi to keep me occupied. That and her girlfriend, while politely disgusted at my offer to grab a drink sometime or engage her in anything beyond rudimentary conversation, did leave me an escape pod.
Unfortunately it's from IKEA. Meaning the instructions are written in a series of hieroglyphs that outline how to escape from an IKEA prison factory that ironically (or at ast foolishly if I'm using the word 'ironically' wrong) manufactures escape pods.
Which, you know, is going to take at least a full Labor Day Weekend along with an 1/8th of Jack Kirby grade kush to figure out.
So there you have it, dear reader... why, I won't be at Dragon*Con this year I'm afraid.
And no... no, no, no, no, no, no, ... it's certainly not because I'm actually in fact stranded somewhere between broke and heartbroken. In fact let us all agree it is why I can't be there for your upcoming shows or parties or performances. Why I spend my time writing postcards in Innsmouth instead of registering online updates.
No worries. From where I'm sitting, high up here where no one can reach me for at least awhile, Planet Earth don't look so blue after all.
Oh... and by the way... a Happy 150th Anniversary to the Burning of Terminus. Have a drink for me down there all you Cosplayers and "Klingons living in your mama's basement".