Over here.

Back it up a bit. Bit more. Bit more. Good, good, that's it. Now make it smaller... much smaller. No, not that way. I mean by material transmogrification. No, I did not make that up. Just 'cuz you don't know how...


Bickering, bickering. Seems like that's all we ever do these days. That and sleep. No more oldies, though - we're off that particular plantation, thanks to the somewhat blurry-minded ingenuity of one sFshzenKlyrn, the creature from Zenon and Big Green's perennial sit-in guitarist. How did we get him to use his enormous etheric brain? Elementary use of flapjacks - quite simple, really. Read last week's blog entry. Finished with it? Take your time. How about now? Jeezus, you read slow! Too much Internet, young lady - it's rotting your brain! Got it now? Good, good. That's right - I threatened, and then I delivered on the threat. Our sFshzenKlyrn got a tall stack of buckwheat flapjacks just after I posted. Am I a liar? Huh?


What happened next? Well, I'm gon' tell yuh. All hell broke loose, that's what. Old sFshzenKlyrn reared up like an angry elephant, his eyes (or rather, protuberances that might be mistaken for eyes) flaring like torches, his voice a deafening lash of white sound, his pseudopods pounding the tarmac until it splintered like early winter's ice on a marsh pond. Then something unusual happened (truth is, that's what sFshzenKlyrn always does when he gets good grub - irks the shit out of the neighbors back home). Our Zenite friend floated off towards the remains of our space craft and began making himself useful. Quite unusual. Of course, he had to displace Marvin (my personal robot assistant), who had been mounting a quixotic effort to repair the ship by himself. (Trouble is, Marvin doesn't have super powers. I should leave him outdoors in lighting storms more often. What doesn't kill you gives you super powers.)


Strong word of advice - never let a Zenite guitarist work unattended, especially when he's speeding along on flapjacks. We thought we'd take an hour or so to stroll into town and, I don't know, watch the denizens of Cancri 55.3 go about their lives. We became particularly engrossed in a display of lava lamps in a shop window, and by the time we returned, sFshzenKlyrn had grown to the size of a large-ish house... or a small-ish office building. Predictable side-effect of the flapjacks, of course. Trouble was, he had been so focused on his work that he had actually busted through the ceiling bulkhead of the spacecraft, having ballooned to forty times his normal size. Still working though. Oh sure, he wrecked our ship again, but you gotta' admit - he's a professional. (And as you know, professionals come in all shapes and sizes.)


Okay, but listen... that isn't even the weirdest thing that happened to us this week. Just this past Tuesday, Lincoln and anti-Lincoln somehow got themselves on the Jack Parr show. Very popular in this corner of the universe, along with other sixties pop culture items. Gotta ask how they managed it... when they get back from the Monterey Pops Festival...

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