Spaceship Omega: Dance In The Sticky Furred Madness.

What’s going on, Omegalytes? It’s later in the day on a frosty Friday evening, and I figured I would drop a line. Check in. Press pause. Throw up a high-five or so. I’m in my pajamas, Turkey Day is approaching. You know! That day. The day where we’re so fucking thankful for everything we consume like a bunch of renegade assholes as opposed to something like fasting and helping out someone in need. Hey, I’m just pointing it out. I’ll be bloat-gutted by sundown. Stuffed with flesh and gravy and smiles.

…Where was I?

Oh yeah! Life’s been a bit of the Banana Boat this week, and subsequently updates dropped off for a bit the past few days. At first I swore like a mad man that I’d catch up to them but then…well, I didn’t. But I definitely burped my penis and read some funny books. Be happy, because I made myself happy. Whenever such a drought occurs I figure it’s worth posting something like “Golly gee whiz, I sure am sorry!” It isn’t a lie either. Despite trying to slough off all my Catholic upbringing in into a vaporizing plasmid of agnosticism and philosophy, it lingers.

It hunts.

It desires!

I try to converse with everyone who drops comments, but sometimes I’m checking the site via updates on my iPhone on campus while taking a shit! Welcome to the future! So if you tried to engage, and I was all static, apologies. I’m here now though!

What’s the good word? What’s happenin‘, man? Woman? Transgendered Martian? (The annoying academic in me is asking why I paired transgendered and Martian, and to which I scream “I’m sorry it’s my subconscious, I hate myself enough for all of us!)