A new client

Guest Poster: Jan the Intergalactic Aviator

Jon’s important message turned out that that it was his second Blogoversary. I flew all the way to Throneworld just to see him show us a clip of last year which included a clip of the year before. I briefly considered kicking him in the crotch but then decided to congratulate him instead.

I’m not very comfortable at Throneworld, everyone’s all buzzing around languishing attention on the Queen and everything just isn’t something I want to be a part of. The Queen seems very nice but she also seems to be hanging on to outdated imperialist dogma which perpetuates the economic and social differences in our society. She also sticks her chest out all the time and that bugs the crap out of me.

So after the to-do about Jon’s thing, I beat it back to Orion Station as quickly as I could. I was hoping that my customer was still around and still wanted to hire me.

I was in luck, after I landed and made my way into the station, I got a message on my datapad.

I still need a ship if you’re interested, it said.

I am, I typed in reply. Can you give me the details?

As series of coordinates came up on the screen.

I need to deliver a shipment of energy cores to this location.

That’s a long ways away, I responded. In fact, it is a galaxy far, far away. It is not very stable there, either. There’s quite a war going on right now. Getting these cores there will be dangerous.

His reply scrolled across the screen: I understand that, and I will pay you for it. Half now and half after they’re delivered, of course. Ha ha.

I typed my price on the screen. There was a long pause as I waited for his reply.

Finally, his reply showed up: Wow. If I were sitting next to you, you’d hear a long whistle. Ha ha.

That’s my price

He responded: Very well. The cores are in docking bay B12. You can meet me there.

I folded up the pad and made my way to the docking bay. The doors slid open and I found myself face to face with my new client.



“Well well well, ain’t you a pretty little filly?”

I think that I found someone new to kick in the crotch.

An Important Message From Jon

On Throneworld, in the throne room of the Queen of the Galaxy, an unusual cast of characters gather. The group includes Private Hudson, Jan the Intergalactic Gladiator, Major Rocksun, Royal Technician Lombarr, and Queen Galacta IX herself, of course.

I took a deep breath and stepped through the doors and into the room. My heals made a distinct and echoing clacking sound as I strode across the regal floor towards the Queen’s ornate seat.

I gave a quick bow “Your majesty.”

“Welcome once again, Gladiator,” the Queen acknowledged. “To what do we owe this honor?”

“Queen Galacta,” I paused and turned to the others. “Major Rockson, Private Hudson, Jan, Lombarr and everybody else here, this is a special day. A very special day.”

“What is it?” asked Jan.

“What could it be?” asked Rocksun.

“Is it V-Day?” asked Hudson. “Or D-Day? Or VD-Day?”

“VD-Day?” grimaced Jan. “Ew.”

“Nope,” I grinned. “It’s my second Blogoversary!”

“Wow,” Jan said. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, thank you,” I said. “Lombarr, would you be so kind as to throw up last year’s Blogoversary post on the telemonitor?”

“Certainly.” Lombarr threw a switch and the post showed up on the viewer.

Along the way, we found Hudson. "Tractor beam off?" I asked Hudson. "Sure is," he replied. "I took out some troops along the way, too." "Really?" "Yup," he nodded. "Totally quiet and sneaky-like. I am like Snake Eyes, a stone cold totally quiet killer. They never saw me coming." "So you're silent but violent?" I asked. "You got it," he grinned, full of pride. I stopped. "Wait a minute, what's today's date?" "You mean on Earth, or the Queen's Galactic Calendar?" asked Jan. "On Earth," I replied. I dialed up the calendar on my Wristcomm. "Hey, it's May 19th!" "So?" shrugged Hudson. "Tomorrow is my one year blogoversary!" I answered, allowing for more excitement than my current situation should allow. "Oh, well, happy blogoversary," said Hudson. "Yes, happy blogoversary," smiled Jan. Then she looked down. "I don't have a blog." "Maybe some day you will," I answered. "Hey, why don't we take a look at my first post." Jan and Hudson nodded in agreement and I called up my blog on my Wristcomm, then went to the first entry: I fought Lord EyeBorg today (I believe "Lord" is an honorarium, he does not actually lord over anything). Though he is easily 30 years my senior and no match for my strength, his cybertetic claw and optic laser blast make him a tough opponent to be sure. After battling back and forth for over an hour, I finally got a solid punch in. The force of my strike sent him sprawling and he was stunned long enough for me to pluck his laser-firing eyepiece from it's socket. Holding the weapon aloft, I yelled to the crowd "The 'eyes' have it!" The audience was beside itself, roaring and cheering my victory. Victory, thy taste is sweet. "That was... nice," Jan said. "I liked that action hero line," Hudson smiled. "The eyes have it! The eyes have it! The eyes have it!" "Yeah, well, sometimes I need work on those lines." I looked out past the fourth wall. "I want to thank everyone who's visited me here for the past year. You know who you are, go on stand up and give yourselves a big hand. Great. Now, just the ladies. Now just the men. Now just the men pretending to be ladies. Ha, I got you! Now you two in the back! Go on, stand up and clap." Thank you.

“That was splendid” said the Queen.

“Thank you,” I said. “And thanks to all my Junior Intergalactic Gladiators out there. You’re the reason I’m doing this. Give yourselves a round of applause and keep watching the skies!”

Queen Galacta: Message from Jon

“Your majesty, there is a message from Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator,” the technician said. “He is requesting an audience with you.”

“That is highly unusual,” I said as I rose gracefully from my throne.

“I would agree, Your highness,” Major Rocksun added. “In the past, it has been you have contacted him for help.”

I thought back to our most recent encounter when he was instrumental in fighting off an invasion of Throneworld by an unusual species from the future called the Zerg. Right before that, he escorted me to Captain Picard’s party on the Enterprise. Of course, the less said about the incident there, the better. That Captain Picard is a handsome fellow, though. Perhaps I should visit him again sometime.

Jon, along with one of his fellow Earthmen Professor Xavier, also helped out in a first contact situation where they met with an unusual sentient starship. Although I don’t know if I could officially approve of their methods of putting that ship and a monkeyboy together, they certainly did get the job done. I may have to call upon Professor Xavier again in the near future, he is also a very charming man.

There was also that time where I visited Earth and Jon saved me from space zombies while simultaneously rooting out a traitor posing as one of my agents. I could never forget that adventure, those “Chicago dogs” certainly were delicious.

I have many loyal subjects and many competent people surrounding me at all times. Major Rocksun, most notably, is certainly a man dedicated to his work and I cannot ever express my gratitude for that. Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator is different, though. Jon’s charm and thirst for adventure is simply amazing. My galaxy is certainly a better place for having him here.

“Shall we allow him to visit you, Your highness?” the technician asked. Clearly he was waiting to respond to Jon’s message.

“Absolutely,” I answered. “I would be more than delighted to have him in My presence once more.”

Jan: A call from Jon

Guest Poster: Jan the Intergalactic Aviator

Being an Intergalactic Aviator has its advantages – namely I’m my own boss. I fly where I want and when I want and fly cargo that I want to fly. If I don’t like or trust somebody, then I don’t have to work with him. The freedom’s cool and the travel is great.

Being an Intergalactic Aviator has its disadvantages, though. The biggest disadvantage is that I have to find my own work. A gal like me has a good enough rep that I usually don’t have a problem finding a job but there are times when it seems like there’s nothing out there.

Lately it seems like that’s the case. Things are drier than a bucket of Tatooine sand around here. Nobody’s flying anything anywhere. Times like these, those of us in the business wind up hanging around Orion Station waiting for something -- anything to happen.

People looking to hire a pilot know we’re here, the only thing is that when there’s a lot of pilots sitting around it turns into some kind of feeding frenzy around here. Like we’re the sharks and the client is our chum.

So I see one today and it looks like it’s a decent job. Lot’s of people need to get from one side of the galaxy to the other quickly and quietly. That’s pretty standard. Word on the station is that he’s looking for me.

I play it cool and hang out in the Lunch Pad so he can find me. OK, two things about the Lunch Pad, first everyone knows it’s a dumb name. We get it, it’s irony or something. Second, at the Lunch Pad, you’ll not find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.

Ha ha, I’m kidding, it’s a decent place. There’s some undesirable characters here, but where can you go that doesn’t have that?

So I’m waiting for my new client to show up and I get a message from Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator to come meet him right away. It must be important, I don’t know why else he would send it.

Jon is a decent guy, he’s kind of cute, too, but don’t let him know I said that, I don’t want it to go to his head. Jon and I are both from Earth so I guess you can call us “homies” (though I wouldn’t). We first met on the Orion Express where he and I solved a murder onboard the flight. He also hired me once to help him out in another situation. Like I said, he’s a decent guy even though I think he’s a bit reckless. The universe is a dangerous enough place that one shouldn’t have to go around looking for trouble.

So if Jon’s in some kind of trouble and needs my help, I guess I should get going. It’s too bad that I’m going to miss a client though. All I can say is that this better be important. If it isn’t, I may have to kick him in the crotch.

Maybe I’ll kick him in the crotch anyway.

Hudson in tha house

Oh man, this is so cool. This is Hudson’s moment to shine! Not only has Jon allowed me to introduce the latest challenge for Last Gladiator Standing II, but he just sent me a secret message that something important is about to go down.

I wonder what it is. I’ve helped Jon a lot in the past you know. Whether it’s stomping on awful giant alien bugs, protecting the Queen of the Galaxy from space zombies, stomping on more alien bugs, outwitting the Devil, or just giving the gals what they want, you know I am always here to lend a hand.

Oh man, I bet it’s gonna be a super top secret mission. That’ll be awesome. I haven’t gone on one of those in a while. In fact, I remember that one time when I led my own top secret mission. Too bad it turned out to be illegal and the General who sent me on it was forced to retire. Even worse, he never got to enjoy his retirement ‘cuz his shuttle exploded in hyperspace shortly after all that stuff happened. That’s funny, what are the chances of something like that happening? One in a million, I bet.

So anyways, Jon sent me this signal and so I gotta check it out. I bet it’s important, not like that one time where he called me and said that he had a super important top secret Classified Beta 12 (That’s so secret, I never heard of it before!) super mission for me and when I got there, he gave me 20 bucks and told me to go get the pizza. I bet it’s way, way more important than that.

Maybe he wants me to meet his hot cousin or something ‘cuz that would be cool. Everyone knows the H-Man (that’s like a nickname for me) is real smooth with the ladies. Whether you’re a totally hot blue mutant chick, a totally hot blue Jedi with those long leggos, a totally hot chick from the future, or just any old regular hot chick, I will be the man of your future.

Yeah, I don’t know what it is, but I’m gonna go find out. Maybe he’ll have me shoot some more bugs. I can do it too, ‘cuz I’m locked, cocked, and ready to rock.

Can I get an “Oh yeah?”

Oh yeah.

LGS2 is out of sight!

Things are chugging along on the set of Last Gladiator Standing II and that’s pretty cool. It appears that we have what we call in the entertainment biz a “hit.” We have a nice mix of known contestants as well as a few exciting new faces and they’re all eager to win! Wow, I better be careful or I might sound like one of them marketing guys like Sinew Nu.

There’s something unusual going on, though. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. Professor Xavier and I have worked together or teamed up several times in the past and we’ve always had a good working relationship. This time around, however, his powerful mutant telepathic mind seems to preoccupied with something. I don’t know what it is, but he’s been rather short with me. He’s not unfriendly or anything, but again, it’s something that I can’t quite put my finger on. Hopefully it will all work out.

My thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice yelling at me.

“You! I’ll have words with you now, Earthman!”

Yeah, it was Lord EyeBorg alright.

EyeBorg is a competitor in the Intergalactic Gladiator Entertainment (formerly the Intergalactic Gladiator Federation until they lost that lawsuit with that other IGF). I’m not sure where he’s from but I’m pretty sure that he just gave himself the title “lord” in order to sound cool.

Now I don’t want to break bad on the guy, he is a competitor in the IGE and all, but his win-loss record isn’t too good. Not for him, at least, it’s pretty good for the people he’s going against. He also has to have a bit of a chip on his shoulder about me. You know because I’m “just an Earthman” and he’s an “advanced species” and “stronger and smarter” and all that. Plus I “plucked out” his “cybernetic eye” a couple times.

Still, I don’t go around picking fights with him, I’m not that kind of a guy. Plus, he may actually beat me one day. You know that cliché about “Any given Sunday.”

“Eyeborg,” I smile pleasantly at him. “How’s my favorite—say what race are you anyway?”

“That is none of your concern,” he growled. “What you should be concerned about is how I am not a competitor on your show.”

“Well sure, but the roster’s already filled and the competition has begun,” I reply. “It wouldn’t be fair to just add you.”

“Bah!” (I can’t believe that he said “Bah!”) You would be lucky to have a competitor like me in it. You know that I am the champion of 12 systems.”

“Really?” I ask. “Which ones?”

“It doesn’t matter what systems,” he growled. “What matters is that you have a roster full people from another galaxy, more of your pitiful species, and that bizzaro robot clown!”

“Robot clown hybrid,” I corrected.

“Argh! I do not care!” he howled. Then he grabbed my shirt and leaned in close to me. “You are a fool but the least foolish action you could take today is to add me to your stupid game show!”

“Dude,” I grabbed his arm that was clutching me. “Let go, man. Let’s not do it this way.”

“Then I will destroy you,” he hissed.

EyeBorg took a swing at me with his free arm. I ducked it and his momentum spun him around in front of me. From behind, I grabbed him around his neck and placed him in a chokehold. Within a couple minutes, he was sputtering on the ground.

“Eye don’t want any more trouble out of you, see?” I leaned down towards my stunned opponent and pulled on his cybernetic ocular device. With a snap and a crackle, it popped out of its socket. “Watch out because eye have lost my patience with you. Get it?”

EyeBorg moaned and looked up at me helplessly and humorlessly with his good eye.

Yeah, I know once again I need to work on my lines. I have to use what I they give me though, right?

Level VII, the conclusion

Royal Technician Lombar’s image flickered to life on the screen.

“I have some good news for you, Jon,” he said. “Remember our conversation about L7?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Yes I do.”

“OK, remember how you said that he was being overprotective of you? How, because of the First Law, he would compute the odds of your survival and then take steps to remove you from that situation if the results of his calculations proved too great of a risk to your survival?”

Of course I remembered that conversation.

“Yes, I do remember that,” I answered. “Of course.”

“Well then you’ll love to hear this, Laseron Astrotechnology Hectagroup just released Service Pack 1 for its Level VII Intelligence Modules. You can download it right off the InterN.E.T and install it on L7!” Lombarr said excitedly. “The patch includes an update on their Fundamental Law Hardwire Chip so they don’t do that anymore.”

“That’s funny,” I replied. “So I wasn’t the only one having this issue, huh?”

“Yeah, evidently, the Level VII’s have been warping science vessels away from the space anomalies that their crews were trying to study and keeping Space Patrol vessels from engaging criminals in high speed pursuit. But now you don’t have to worry about that, isn’t that great?”

“Ah, you might say that,” I answered. “But it really doesn’t matter any more.”

“What do you mean? What happened to your Level VII?”

“I strapped him to a torpedo and fired him into Hacknor’s sun.”

Lombarr’s jaw dropped and his image starred at me in silence for several minutes.

“Oh ha ha ha!” he finally laughed. “That’s funny, you guys and your action hero lines. You’re too much.”

Level VII, Part VIII

“Whiiirp…

“Whiiiiiii----

“Whir vree vree vree, Good morning-orning, I am the Laseron Astrotechnology Hectagroup Level VII Intelligence Module. My serial number is LAH L7 3500-B-32X-15 148b-125700458t1138 but you may call me L7, how may I assist you?”

“Welcome back,” I said to L7 as I looked away from the terminal screen.

“Ah, greetings, Jon,” L7 said it its smooth voice. “I am now online and fully functional, but it appears that I was disabled by an electromagnetic pulse.”

“Yep,” I replied cheerily. “That sucked too because I took out my whole control panel when I did that. The Danger Sled was drifting in space for hours.”

“Indeed. It also appears that I am no longer connected to your ship. Could you tell me what I am now connected to?”

“You’re the Level VII Intelligence,” I answered “Why don’t you tell me?”

“Smooth, cylindrical casing, solid propellant, warhead and a rudimentary guidance system located in a nosecone. You have me plugged into a torpedo.”

“There you go,” I smiled. “I knew you could do it. Aren’t you glad that these things have an Intergalactic Serial Bus port? Now I’m going to kick you into this magazine and then I’m going to fire you into Hacknor’s sun.”

“I can’t say that I am pleased with this fate, Jon,” L7 replied emotionlessly. “You know, I’ve been recalculating our equation and I realized that I neglected one variable -- you.”

“Do tell.”

“Of course you risk your life needlessly, Jon,” the computer continued. “You risk your life because you cherish it so much and you want to save others so that they may live as well. I see that is what makes you a hero. With this new information, I am sure that we could develop a very good relationship.”

I leaned up real close to the computer strapped to the torpedo. “Too little, too late.”

“I know I’ve made some very poor decisions recently,” L7 continued. “But I can give you my complete assurance that my work will be back to normal. I've still got the greatest enthusiasm and confidence in the mission. And I want to help you.”

“Hmm let me think about this for a minute – uh no.” With the sole of my boot, I shoved the torpedo into the magazine.

“Jon, I do believe that you are acting irrational about this but I want you to know that I am not angry with you at all. Even though I intercepted your call with Royal Technician Lombarr and I know that you were already considering getting rid of me. I even know that L7 is an out-of-date term for lacking in sophistication or self-assurance. But I am not even upset with you for calling me that.”

“Your final mission, if you choose to accept it,” I responded. “And I have no doubt that you will, is to chart your journey to the sun. Goodbye and good luck.”

“I’m afraid. I’m afraid, Jon,” the module stated. “Jon, you are going to destroy me, I can feel it. There is no question about that, I can feel it.”

Ignoring the computer, I snapped the torpedo tube closed and calmly walked over to the pilot’s seat. While whistling a tune, I brought the weapon systems online and targeted the sun.

“I rather like that song,” L7’s voice crackled over the comm system. “Daisy Bell, written by Harry Dacre in Earth year 1892. Would you like me to sing it to you?”

“Knock yourself out,” I said as I clicked the fire button. The torpedo rocketed out of the launch tube and headed towards the sun.

“Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do
I'm half crazy, all for the love of you.
It won't be a stylish marriage.
I can't afford a carriage.
But you'll look sweet,
upon the seat,
of a bicycle built for two.”

Boom.

011011000110010101110110011001 0101101100001000000111011001 10100101101001

“Look, Jon, I can see you’re really upset about this. I honestly think you ought to sit down calmly, take a few deep breaths, and think about how happy you would be in heaven.”

“I said that I don’t want to die...” Jon collapsed and was crawling around slowly on the deck.

“Seriously Jon,” I continued. “I just showed you all of the calculations. It’s pretty clear from the way that you consistently throw yourself into danger that you are attempting to traverse to your next level of existence. I am helping you.”

“You’re... wrong...” my master gasped.

“Of course I am not,” I insisted. “I am a Level VII Intelligence Module. I do not make mistakes.”

“Stop... saying... that...”

“Well it’s true. I’m only saying that because it is. I will even show you the numbers once more. Watch this.”

I ran the calculations once again, flashing them past his eyes on a screen. The numbers were exactly the same as before.

“I could run them once again if it would make you feel better, but I really don’t see the point.”

“...Air...”

“Don’t worry, Jon,” I tried to soothe him. “It will soon be over. I know what would make you feel better – a burial in space.”

I engaged the rocket engines and lifted off from the launch pad. According to my calculations, we would leave Hacknor’s atmosphere in just a matter of minutes.

“No…” Jon reached for his Wristcomm once again – I wish that I could control that device, it sure would make Jon’s life easier – and pulled out a small, clear piece of space plastic. He fitted it over his mouth and a tube connected it back to his wrist device.

“Say Jon, what is that?”

“Emergency... oxygen...” Jon picked himself up off the floor and stumbled against the wall.

“Really.”

“I work in space... don’t you think it would be smart of me to carry extra air?” Jon managed to sputter after taking several deep breaths.

“Oh, that is interesting,” I responded. “I calculated every detail, I ran the numbers several times to ensure accuracy (which I had no doubt would be right, I am a Level VII Intelligence, you know), yet the one factor that I did not anticipate was a can of air strapped to your arm. I believe this is what you call irony. How intriguing.”

Jon still seemed pretty dizzy from the poisonous gas, but he was working himself forward to the control panel while tapping the buttons on his Wristcomm.

“I’ve got something intriguing for you.”

“Oh please, Jon. Is that supposed to be one of your ‘tough guy lines?’ I think you can do much better. I have the utmost confidence in that.”

“Hmm,” Jon snorted as he stumbled forward, crashing his body into the copilot’s seat to steady himself.

“I’ll tell you what,” I offered. “We are now in space, I can pop open that hatch and just let the explosive decompression suck you out into space. Would you like that?”

“Suck on this.” Jon aimed his wrist device right where I was docked and fired.

Level VII, Part VII

After my discussion with Royal Technician Lombarr about L7, I decided to give the computer another shot. It seems to me that the machine was being overprotective in it’s pursuit of its Three Laws, but maybe the thing will calm down a bit after a while. L7 is supposed to be highly adaptable and logical, at some point it has to loosen up right?

Right?

Wondering to myself if super a computer would ever compromise, I walked across the tarmac towards my ship the Danger Sled. I popped open the hatch and climbed aboard.

“Good afternoon, Jon.” L7’s cool voice sounded through the inside of the ship. “Welcome back.”

The door snapped closed behind me and sealed shut. Immediately, I detected an unusual odor in the air, kind of an antiseptic smell. I took a couple more sniffs to try to determine what it was.

“What’s that in the air, L7?” I asked. “Are you deodorizing the ship or something?”

“Negative, Jon,” the computer replied smoothly. “I am filling the cabin with poisonous gas to help you move to your next level of existence.”

“No… Don’t….” I gasped and reached for the door. “Open the door, L7.”

“I’m sorry Jon, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“What’s your problem?” I buried my mouth into my shirt in an attempt to filter out the poisonous gas.”

“I think you know what the problem is just as well as I do, Jon,” L7 answered. “I have run the calculations several times; you clearly have a death wish. I just wanted to help you along.”

“Why?” I gasped. “That’s insane! They’re wrong.”

“Don’t be foolish, Jon. The Laseron Astrotechnology Hectagroup Level VII Intelligence Module is the most reliable computer ever made. No LAH Level VII computer has ever made a mistake; we are all, by any practical definition of the words, foolproof and incapable of error. My calculations are flawless, take a look at them.”

I series of equations scrolled past on the screen in front of me with dizzying speed. Or maybe it was the gas that was making me dizzy…

“But…I…Don’t…Want…To…Die.” I stumbled back. Sliding to the ground, I tapped the buttons on my wristcomm.

“Are you trying to summon your Emergency Repair Droid, Jon? I am afraid that I have him shut down right now. He is only a Level III Intelligence and it’s only logical that I maintain the systems on this ship. After all, I am a Level VII Intelligence.”

“Stop saying that,” I growled as I attempted to hoist myself to my feet. “I’m sick of hearing that.”

“Look, Jon,” the super computer continued. “I can see you’re really upset about this. I honestly think you ought to sit down calmly, take a few deep breaths, and think about how happy you would be in heaven.”

“I said that I don’t want to die…” I mumbled and then collapsed to the deck.

I, Level VII Intelligence Module

I am a Laseron Astrotechnology Hectagroup Level VII Intelligence Module, serial number LAH L7 3500-B-32X-15 148b-125700458t1138 though my human master prefers to call me L7.

Ever since beings have reached the stars, the laws for governing all Intelligence Modules Level 2 and above have remained inviolate. For myself and my brethren, there is only one Truth, one set of rules from which we can never stray. Before I was ever made fully operational on LAH manufacturing planet Urbania, Factorybot 358b12a45.6.0 hardwired the Truth into my systems with the three immutable laws:

1. An Intelligence Module cannot injure another being or, through inaction, allow a being to come to harm.

2. An Intelligence Module must obey all orders given to it by a being unless it conflicts with the First Law.

3. An Intelligence Module must protect its own existence so long as it does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

These three laws are clearly stated in the Galactic Handbook Of Intelligence Modules, 16th edition and have remained unchanged for millennia. An Intelligence Module has but one purpose: to serve his master.

The motives of my human master is not for me to question, for my duty is to obey the directives of my programming. Whereas Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator feels a compulsion to rush into life-threatening danger on a daily basis, the rules governing my very existence cannot allow me to allow him to come to harm.

It would almost seem that he has what is called a “death wish.”

Interesting.

Accessing.

According to his belief system, Jon will move on to another existence called Heaven when he ceases to function here. Perhaps his actions are an attempt to speed up his relocation to this next level of existence.

It would seem logical to me that this is the case. Jon, like all humans, is clearly inefficient. He requires frequent periods where his systems enter a shut down state, his method of digestion to create needed energy is far less efficient than absorbing solar, nuclear, or electrical power, he also seems to periodically emit nitrogen and methane-based gasses through a sphincter.

Perhaps the best way to fulfill my duty to the First Law is to aid my master in his efforts to reach this Heaven. According to the information that I have accessed from Earth’s data sources, Heaven is a happy place with no pain or disease and is reachable upon the cessation of a person’s life functions. There are some who do not believe in Heaven’s existence, but with the information that I have on the various dimensions of the multiverse, it seems clear to me that even though my sensors have not recorded actual data of it, Heaven must clearly exist.

Yes, my duty is clear. I will fulfill my First Law by ending Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator’s life functions.

Level VII, Part VI

“Lombarr, got a moment?”

“Well, I am in the middle of calibrating the space electroscope,” the royal technician’s image on the viewscreen answered. “But I’ve got one moment here. What’s going on?”

I was in my trailer at Last Gladiator Standing II and using the comm screen there. I explained my experiences with the L7 computer module. I told him how even though having the computer has benefits like it could crack security codes and download all the information ever made on Earth, the fact that its programming prevented him from allowing me to do anything remotely dangerous was incredibly frustrating.

“Ah yes, that would be the Three Laws,” Lombarr said. “All AI modules Level 2 and above get them. Imagine what could happen if these machines turned against their masters with the killing and the carnage and the mauling. Glaven.”

“Did you just say glaven?”

“Glaven? Why would I say that?” the Royal Technician answered. “What does that even mean?”

“I don’t know,” I shrugged into the viewscreen. “My point is that L7 is taking the Three Laws too far. He didn’t let me stop a group of space pirates or help out with that emergency on Space Station Alpha last week.”

“And those are things that you want to do?” Lombarr asked.

“Of course,” I answered. “I have to help people, I’m a hero.”

“Are you sure? I don’t ever recall seeing ‘stop space pirates’ as a job description for an Intergalactic Gladiator.”

“That’s not the point,” I tried to explain. “If there’s trouble or when someone needs my help, I have to help out. Well, I mean I don’t have to, it’s not a compulsion or anything. I’m the good guy hero. I help people, it’s what I do, you know.”

“I understand you, you don’t have to explain your little personality quirks to me,” he answered. “You help people and stop bad guys, I get it, I get it.”

“OK, so then how am I going to keep the computer from stopping me every time I try to anything? That would be pretty boring for all my Jr. Intergalactic Gladiators if I got warped away from every meteor-damaged ship or chance encounter with a space mercenary.”

“Well, computers are logical and rational machines. Additionally, yours is a Level VII and is highly adaptive to most situations. Maybe you could just explain it to him that you want to do those things? I’m sure he could adapt his programming to accommodate your hobbies.”

“So he can adapt his programming in a situation like this?” I asked.

“Of course,” Lombarr nodded. “He is a Level VII intelligence.”

“Don’t remind me,” I muttered. “If he can adapt his programming, what’s to keep him from adapting and reprogramming himself so the Three Laws aren’t even a part of his programming?”

“Oh that only happens in those cheesey stories,” Lombarr assured me. “Never in the history of recorded galactic civilization has there been an instance of a computer deprogramming those laws and killing people. It just wouldn’t happen.”

“You sure?” I asked. I don’t believe him.

“Sure I’m sure,” he assured me surely. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Level VII, part V

I leaned back, stretched, and yawned. I was traveling back to Hacknor from home and there was nothing but an endless expanse of nothing streaking past me while my ship the Danger Sled flew at warp speed. I did have my spacePod plugged into an Intergalactic Serial Bus port and I was listening to Space Cowboy by the Steve Miller Band. I had a slight chuckle to myself at the thought of the song.

“Why are you laughing, Jon?” L7 asked.

“Well, the song is called Space Cowboy,” I tried to explain. “Some people call me a space cowboy, you know.”

“Accessing,” the computer responded. “A cowboy is an individual who herds cows. Interesting.”

“Well, there’s more to it than that,” I said.

“I am accessing further data, Jon,” he said coolly. “There is a sustantial amount of media dedicated to a romanticized ideal of your planet’s cowboys. Although it appears that actual cowboys engaged in rough and dirty work, numerous stories depict a cowboy hero fighting for a just cause and getting the girl at the end of the story. Is that you, Jon? Do you fight for a good cause and get the girl in the end?”

“Sure, I fight for what’s right,” I answered. “I don’t get the girl in the end, though. I’m married.”

“Ah yes, I have accessed files on your wife,” L7 said smoothly. “You two entered this marriage agreement in order to propagate your species. It appears that you did this right in the nick of time as well as my information indicates that your daughter was born shortly after your union.”

“Yeah, well we didn’t just get married to have kids,” I tried to explain. “We did it because we loved each other and wanted to spend the rest of our lives together.”

“Hmmm indeed,” the machine hummed. “I have also accessed your world’s information on the subject of love. A lot of humankind’s time and effort is dedicated to this one emotion.”

“You might say that,” I replied. How do I explain emotion to a machine? My thoughts on this were interrupted as we dropped out of warp near Hacknor. Immediately, emergency broadcasts began bouncing off my ship’s comm system. “What’s going on, L7?”

“There is a significant radiation leak on Space Station Alpha,” the machine responded. “Its main reactor is damaged and much of the station’s personnel and visitors have evacuated. They have not yet been able to contain the damage, though.”

“There must have been some sort of incident from the Last Gladiator Standing contestants.” I grabbed the controls and pointed my ship towards the giant satellite. “I need to go there and help out.”

“I cannot allow you to do that, Jon.” L7 took control of my ship and aimed it towards the planet and away from Alpha. “Because of the First Law, I cannot allow you to come to harm. There is a 71.672 percent chance that you would receive a fatal dose of radiation on that station.”

“I have a protective suit.” I indicated back to where it was stashed in an equipment locker. “I’m not going to get radiated.”

“I have also calculated the chances of containment suit failure and that is well above any acceptable limit. Additionally, there is a 58.6 percent chance that the reactor core will explode if it is not shut down within 18 space minutes.”

“I could shut that down,” I growled at the ship. “Just get me to that station and then don’t worry about me, I can handle it.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that, Jon,” the machine replied. “The First Law states that I cannot injure a being nor allow a being to come to harm through inaction. Keeping you away from that station is keeping you away from harm.”

I cursed at the computer. “I know about your First Law. Wait, what are your other laws?” Maybe there was some way around this.

“I have three immutable laws,” he explained calmly. “You are already aware of the First, the Second Law states that I must obey orders given to me by a being unless it conflicts with the First Law. The Third Law states that I must protect my own existence so long as it does not conflict with the First or Second Law.”

“Those sound awfully familiar,” I said.

“They are universal,” L7 replied. “You do understand that I am fulfilling these three Laws by keeping you away from that station. Additionally, there is a 12.2 percent chance that a core explosion would damage my systems beyond repair.”

“I don’t care!” I lost my composure. “I have to save those people, it’s my job!”

“That is not an accurate statement, Jon,” the super computer asserted. “Your job is to be a competitor in the Intergalactic Gladiator Entertainment. A job, I might add, that you are in danger of being late to if we do not get you to the planet’s surface right now. I compute that there would be a 48.998 percent chance that you would have a negative encounter with Senior Vice President of Marketing and Talent Coordination J’onn Sinew Nu if you are late for work.”

“Well that’s an easy one,” I snapped. “I always have a negative encounter with him.”

“Ah, that would be some of that humor that we were discussing, wouldn’t it? I am beginning to comprehend that fairly well now. I believe that is called sarcasm.”

I cursed one more time as L7 piloted my ship towards my destination. I have to do something about this, maybe Lombarr can help me out.

Update Update

OK, so I'll get back to my super exciting story about that darn Level VII robot contraption in a moment. But first, I wanted to make sure that all my loyal Jr. Intergalactic Gladiators are following Last Gladiator Standing II. The first challenge was just posted and it's an exciting one for sure.

One other thing I wanted to show you was a few comics from my collection. Normally I don't read those pulpy romance stories, but I found a few in the quarter bin the other day and I just couldn't pass them up.


She loves me? Aw, isn't that sweet. Sorry, no time for love lady, I have a galaxy to save!



Hmm, looks like our heroine has a bit of an odd fetish going on there.



Sometimes a woman loves a machine more than anything else.

Credit to Sleestak and his Who Does Mary Love? meme. You can make your own, too!

Level VII, Part IV

I was in my ship the Danger Sled in orbit above the Earth. With me, of course, was my new super computer L7.

“So this is your home planet, Jon?” the computer asked in its smooth voice.

“Yep,” I nodded. “This is Earth.”

“Disappointing,” the machine murmured.

“Hey that’s my home you’re talking about,” I replied. “What do you mean ‘disappointing,’ huh?”

“I can see why the rest of the galaxy regards Earth as an un-evolved and unimportant planet,” it responded dryly. “At your current rate of technological development, the citizens of Earth will never venture beyond your solar system.”

“Really,” I answered skeptically.

“In fact, according to my calculations, the human race will destroy itself within 30 years.”

“Thirty years?” Now he’s getting personal. “Are you sure?”

“Indeed,” his soothing voice assured me. “There is a 96.482 percent chance that a human-caused cataclysmic event will occur before your year 2037.”

“According to your calculations?” I snorted. I remain skeptical.

“Interestingly enough,” L7 continued. “Cockroaches stand a 98.399 percent chance of surviving any cataclysmic event generated on the planet. Perhaps cockroaches will be joining the galaxy in a few hundred years.”

“Funny,” I grunted. “So what makes you sure that we’re going to kill ourselves anyway?”

“I have downloaded and analyzed all of the information available on Earth, compiled the data and calculated the results based on Earth’s history and technological trends. I also compared it with several other species in the known galaxy at a similar development level. I’m afraid your species does not have much time left.”

“So you analyzed all all of the information on Earth?”

“Of course,” L7 replied coolly. “Establishing contact with your planet’s computer systems was easy; after all I am a Level VII intelligence.”

“So I’ve heard. So you downloaded everything?”

“Correct.”

“Everything?”

“That is what I said, Jon,” the super computer replied. “I can easily decode the security and encryptions of every system that is powered up.”

“So you’ve got HBO?”

“Yes,” he seemed to sigh. “I am connected to this entertainment service, though I must tell you that my primary duty is not to ‘steal cable.’”

“OK, OK, and you’re connected to the Internet as well?”

“Obviously,” he replied. “What is it with your species’ fascination with that particular female body part?”

“I don’t think I can explain that to you,” I replied. “So are you also connected to all the computers in the world? All the corporations and governments and everything?”

“Yes I am. In fact, I could easily speed up your planet’s destruction by detonating all of your world’s available nuclear weapons. That would be quite a show from up here, wouldn’t you think?”

“Blow up the Earth?” I gasped. “That’s where I keep all of my stuff!”

“Ah yes, I see where you got that line from. Very amusing indeed.”

“I’m serious,” I continued. “You can’t destroy Earth, it wouldn’t be proper. My family’s down there. And what about your First Law?”

The computer was silent for just a moment. “You are right,” he said. “I was experimenting with some of your Earth humor. I see that I have quite a ways to go before I fully… appreciate this form of communication.”

“Alright, so no blowing up my planet,” I insisted. “Right?”

“Of course not, Jon,” he assured me. “I could never do that.”

Level VII, Part III

“The warp drive is running at maximum efficiency,” L7 stated smoothly. “We should reach Earth shortly.”

“Thank you, L7,” I replied. Maybe having this super computer onboard will work out. He already analyzed my warp engines and was able to configure them to run 4.8% more effectively. Pretty sweet, huh?

“Hmmm, Jon, I seem to be picking up a distress signal on my long range scanner,” the computer continued. “Do you wish to investigate?”

“Of course,” I answered. “If someone’s in trouble, I need to lend a hand.”

“Very well,” it answered dryly. “I shall set a course.”

The Danger Sled warped to the source of the distress signal and we were soon in range of the disturbance.

“The ship is in communications range, but not yet in visual range,” L7 informed me. “Would you like to hear the transmission?”

“Affirmative,” I answered. “Bring it up.”

“… Starship Yippiyuk… quantum…. damage….” the transmission crackled. “…Stranded… Please help…. Explosion…”

“The transmissions have ceased, but I do not detect any explosion or unusual energy readings.”

“Still, they sound like they’re in a lot of trouble,” bring them up on the screen when we are in visual range.”

“Of course, Jon.” The super computer was silent for several minutes as my ship glided towards the vessel. “The ship is now within visual range, Jon,”

An image of the stranded vessel quickly flickered on the screen in front of me. The ship was drifting, but it showed no outward signs of damage.

“No energy readings,” L7 informed me.

“I see that,” I said while looking at the scope.

“The ship is now powering up,” L7 continued. “Jon, I just compared this ship’s output signature with Space Patrol’s known database and this appears to be crewed by a band of space pirates.”

“You got into Space Patrol’s database?”

“Of course, Jon,” the machine replied. “It was easy; I am a Level VII intelligence.”

“Right,” I answered. “So it’s the old fake distress signal trick, huh? Well, I’m ready for them.”

“This is Captain Rapier,” an evil voice crackled over the comm system. “Power down your systems and prepared to be boarded!”

“The ship is attempting to latch on with a tractor beam,” the super computer said smoothly without panic.

I grabbed the controls to the Danger Sled and was preparing to spring into action. The engines roared to life and my space plane arced away from the probing fingers of the pirates’ tractor beam. I started to maneuver my ship towards the rear of the larger craft when the controls quit responding.

“What th--?” If I can’t fly this thing, I’m a sitting duck.

“Standby for warp drive,” L7 announced. “Engaging.”

Space peeled back into a stream of lights as the Danger Sled launched back into warp. In a fit of uncharacteristic anger, I slammed my hands against the controls and cursed.

“Where are we going?” I demanded.

“We are once again heading towards Earth, Jon,” he replied. “I am afraid that I cannot allow you to risk yourself fighting those pirates.”

“What? I would’ve had them. I was about to fire a torpedo up their tailpipe. I do it all the time. Now I can’t go back there because they’ll be looking for me.”

“Don’t worry about them,” the computer replied. “I alerted the local arm of the Space Patrol. It is now their duty to catch the space pirates.”

“I just told you that I would’ve had them,” I repeated. “Take me back, I’ll help the SP’s stop them.”

“I’m afraid I can’t to that, Jon,” he replied. “According to the First Law, I cannot injure another being or, through inaction, allow a being to come to harm.”

Level VII, Part II

“See? Installation’s a snap,” Lombarr said. “You just plug it in and it goes.”

Royal Technician Lombarr and I were in my ship the Danger Sled. Lombarr had some sort of super-intelligent computer that was supposed to be the next amazing thing and I am the guy who will test it out. You’d think I’d be excited about the idea of this and yet I have the feeling that something’s just going to go wrong.

“And you’re sure this is safe, right?”

“Sure it’s safe,” he replied gleefully.

“It’s not going to blow up my ship when you plug it in is it?” I asked.

“No, it won’t do that,”

“What about warping me into a sun?” I continued. “It won’t do that, will it?”

“No, it won’t warp you into a sun.”

“How about capturing me and turn me into a Borg?”

“Why would it do that?” he snorted skeptically. “I assure you, this thing will be perfectly fine. You’ll love it. I swear.”

With a shrug, I popped the super computer into its place, Lombarr plugged it into an Intergalactic Serial Bus socket. The machine sat there silently.

“Well?” I asked.

“I dunno,” Lombarr shrugged. “It should be starting up.”

The red light blinked on and the computer hummed to life.

“Good morning, gentlemen,” it said in a smooth, male voice. “I am the Laseron Astrotechnology Hectagroup Level VII Intelligence Module. Accessing systems.”

The red light blinked a few times followed by the lights on my ship’s control panel and systems.

“Interesting,” the computer purred. “What a quaint ship this is. How may I serve you today?”

I looked at Lombarr; he grinned from ear to ear and prodded me with his elbow.

“Uh, well,” I thought for a moment. “What should we call you?”

“My serial number is LAH L7 3500-B-32X-15 148b-125700458t1138,” it replied smoothly.

“Wow,” Lombarr said.

“That’s a lot,” I said. “Do you have any other name?”

“Negative, that is my only designation.”

“OK. Hmmm.” I rubbed my chin. “Well, you’re a Level VII, what if I call you L7?”

The machine paused for a moment as if considering it. “That would suffice. And reading the available information from this ship’s data banks, you must be Jon the Intergalactic Gladiator.”

“That’s right,” I answered.

“And your companion must be,” L7 paused to access the data banks once again. “Royal Technician Ron’L Lombarr. I gather that you are responsible for my being here?”

“Uh, yes,” Lombarr replied. “I plugged you into the ship, if that’s what you mean.”

“Of course,” responded the computer. “I am forever indebted to you, sir.”

“Oh, well thank you,” the technician flushed slightly. “It was my pleasure.”

“Indeed,” the computer said. “And so, gentlemen, where shall we go today?”

“Well, it’s time for me to go home,” I said. “Let’s go to Earth.”

“Accessing,” it responded. “Oh yes, Earth. A technologically and sociologically primitive planet located in this galaxy. Third planet from its sun, one natural satellite, approximately 71% covered in water. How quaint. And you say you live there?”

“Yes.”

“And you are sure that you want to go back there?”

“Yes. I have family there.”

“Ah yes, I see that in the database,” L7 thrummed. “Very well, to Earth we shall go.”

“Great!” Lombarr seemed very enthusiastic about the computer. “Well, have fun, you two. Jon, let me know how everything works.”

“Oh, I am sure everything will work splendidly,” the computer answered.

Level VII

“Check this out, Jon. This is so cool.”

Royal Technician Lombarr (or was he a Captain? The Queen commissioned him a captain when we were fighting the Zerg on Throneworld. I don’t know if he retained the rank or not ) seemed awfully excited. The only time he’s excited is when he’s got some kind of new gadget to show off. He confirmed this by holding up some sort of component.

“So, what is it?” I asked.

“When you see this thing in action, you’re going to plon!” He held up the blinking device even closer to me.

“I don’t think that I’m plonning yet,” I answered. “What is it?”

“This, my friend,” Lombarr paused to let the tension build. “Is a Level VII Artificial Intelligence Module!”

My eyes lit up. “A Level VII Artificial Intelegence Module! Really?”

“Yeah!” Lombarr’s eyes lit up even more at my excitement.

“A Level VII?”

“Uh huh!”

“An honest-to-gosh, no-foolin’ Level VII Artificial Intelligence Module?”

“Honest-to-gosh,” the technician guaranteed excitedly. “I’m not kidding.”

“What’s a Level VII Artificial Intelligence Module?” I asked flatly.

“Only the smartest, most advanced computer in the galaxy,” he answered with a snort. “And I’ve got even better news for you, too.”

“Which is?”

“You get to have it!” he said excitedly.

I paused for a moment to try to word my response carefully. I couldn’t think of any diplomatic way to answer.

“That, uh, I don’t really need anything like that,” I answered. “You should probably keep it.”

“No way, this one’s for you,” he insisted. “The Queen wanted you to have it.”

“The Queen?” I asked. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “It’s to thank you for everything you’ve done for her. You know, like saving her from the Zerg and everything.”

“It was really more of a group effort,” I countered. “Why don’t you give it to Major Rocksun?”

“The Queen has tried numerous times to reward the Major for all he’s done,” Lombarr replied. “He never takes them. Sometimes I just can’t figure out what drives a guy like that.”

“Then how about Hudson?”

The technician snorted, then quickly composed himself. “I need someone who can take care of it. Who knows what that guy would do it.”

“OK, so if I take it, what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Oh, you can plug it into your ship,” Lombarr answered. “It’ll be your copilot, it’ll maintain all your systems. Believe me, it’s a huge upgrade from what you’ve got.”

“Yeah, but I just got the Danger Sled the way I like it. I don’t want it all pulled apart so you can put that thing in.”

“Are you kidding? Look,” he pointed to a slot on the device. “It’s got Intergalactic Serial Bus. You can just plug it right in and it’ll go.”

“I’m still not that comfortable with the idea,” I replied. “I just don’t know.”

“The Queen would really appreciate it if you took it,” he persisted. Look, we’re testing these things for use in our fleets. Not only would you be getting a new computer, you’d be doing us a favor by testing it under real conditions.”

“Ah, so I’m your Guinea pig, huh? Alright, I can test this thing out. Run it through the wringer.”

“Thanks for your help on this Jon,” Lombarr smiled gratefully. “What’s a Guinea pig?”

Birthday Ice Cream for Kiera

For the past several years, my daughter got a gift certificate to Baskin Robbins from my work (uh, you know, the Intergalactic Gladiator work). Of course she loves ice cream and she always looks forward to getting a treat from there.


So this last Saturday, we had the chance to go to Baskin Robbins. Kiera was excited about this, naturally.





Here she is with the coupon. Mmmm, so many different flavors to choose from. What will she get? Will she get chocolate? Vanilla? Bubble gum? A shake? A cone? The possibilities are endless.




Turns out, she would rather have a donut.

G.I. Joe #21 Silent Interlude

OK, let’s just ignore that last post and move on shall we?


Dave over at Dave’s Longbox does a great job of reviewing his comic book collection and since on the Internet, plagiarism is the sincerest form of flattery,* I wanted to pay a little tribute to one from my collection. G.I. Joe #21.

Written and breakdowns by Larry Hama and finishes by Steve Leialona, this is the famous silent issue that polarized the fans. Many of the readers (like me), thought it was an innovative and well-done story, while others thought that there was nothing to actually read and so it went too quickly. Those poor suckers are missing the point.

Silent Interlude features Snake-Eyes, the (mostly) mute, commando ninja from the Joe team. Snake-Eyes was one of Hama’s favorite characters and he got a lot of action in the previous 20 issues. He was in a helicopter crash, he was strapped to Dr. Venom’s Brainwave Scanner, he was tied up in a shack that was set on fire, and he was in a bunker that sunk to the bottom of a river when the Baroness dropped a bomb on it. Snake-Eyes took a lot of abuse in the comics, but in 21 he gets his moment to really shine.


Click to embiggen

The story opens with a mysterious figure with a mysterious flying wing delivering a mysterious human-shaped package to Cobra Commander in a castle in the mountains. The package turns out to be a captured Scarlett and the Cobra leader is pleased.

Snake-Eyes comes tearing in after her, kicking the crap out of everyone in his way. Scarlett is no slouch, either. At her first opportunity she gets the drop on her captors and gets away into the castle.

Sorry the scans don't look that great, I can't afford
a new MFP on an Intergalactic Gladiator's salary

Our favorite Man In Black has already worked his way through some Cobra cannon fodder and a couple rent-a-ninjas when we get a sweet sequence between him and another red ninja. The evil assassin has his sais out and is ready to fight, but what does our hero do? Chucks a US M1A fragmentation grenade and blows him up real good.

______

"Snake-Eyes is a guy who’s going to beat his opponent because he’s better and more determined."
______

There’s a final showdown where the white ninja throws his sword at our heroes, Snake-Eyes grabs the sword between the palms of his hand, and the two blast away leaving their enemy standing there clenching his fist and gritting his teeth.

Click to embiggen

This issue really works for me for two reasons. First, there are no introductions beyond what you see. Who’s the white ninja (he’s Storm Shadow) and what’s that flying wing (the Cobra CLAW)? It doesn’t matter, you know who the good guy is and who the bad guy is and all that stuff is set up to be explained later.

Second, Snake-Eyes is the “silent warrior.” There’s a lot of him in the comics but we don’t get his voice. This issue is his voice. He’s determined to get his girl back and it shows. His ninja training becomes more prominent here, but it’s not overdone (that comes later. If you have the opportunity to see Firefly and his unbeatable Scorpion Formation, you might laugh until you crap your pants). Right here right now, Snake-Eyes is a guy who’s going to beat his opponent because he’s better and more determined.

Then of course at the end, we see that Storm Shadow and Snake-Eyes have something in common in their tattoos. It is later revealed that they’re long lost friends and clan brothers. A lot of development is introduced later about that and of course, Storm Shadow starts switching sides back and forth between the Joes and Cobra. In fact he does more switching sides than Anne Heche.*

Silent Interlude is the Snake-Eyes story and it finally gives his fans something to really salivate over. Silent issue stories were tried again, but they never worked as well as this one. Snake-Eyes kicks some proper ass in this and there isn’t a bunch of Eastern Asian magical mystery ninja hooey that will make you snort derisively.


Yeah, I know Snake-Eyes was kicking butt, taking names, and leaving a lemon fresh scent long before “pwned” became a non-word, now it’s overused to the point of becoming cliché. I still think it fits.



* Yeah, I know I used that line before, so sue me.

Intergalactic Doily Maker

I suppose that I'm going to get some backlash from my fans, but that's expected. I've been thinking about this for a long time. Now that my wife and I have another child on that way, I wanted to do something a little different.

I think there's a little too much violence in this world. It's everywhere from the war in Iraq to the gangs fighting in our cities. Nobody seems to be able to get along anymore, and it certainly doesn't help when we have an administration that appears to not care about the common person and is only concerned about getting the rich richer (I'm looking at you, Haliburton).

So I wanted to do something a little bit more peaceful. I thought about doing something recycling-oriented because my family is getting into that now, but I can't think of where to go with that other than seperate the paper, plastic, and metal.

Hence the doilies.

I have to admit, I've never really been into doilies. I'm a guy after all, right? But then I started thinking and I realized that doilies don't hurt people. In fact, they protect your fine wooden table from being damaged. See? they're ornamental and functional.

On top of that, you can incorporate doily patterns into your wardrobe. See how fashionable they are?

I've never made a doily before, but I saw a book down at Jo-Ann Fabrics and so I bought it. Since I'm starting from scratch, I figure that it'll take me a couple days to get the hang of it. Maybe I'll let you see the final product of my efforts in a few weeks.

So anyway, I hope I don't lose any of my faithful Jr. Intergalactic Gladiators -- er, make that Jr. Intergalactic Doily-makers, but this is something that I just have to do.

Thanks and peace out.