Splashdown.
Every man is the captain of his soul, sure. But what about every robot? And every root vegetable? I mean, how many captains can this unseaworthy scow handle, eh? Cheeez. Ahoy, mateys! Yes, it's your old friends in the calamitous band Big Green shouting out to you from the high seas, somewhere east (or perhaps west) of the abandoned Cheney Hammer Mill in sunny upstate New York. As you may have surmised, we.... um, excuse me... Hey Matt - ask one of the Lincolns to put his finger up in the air and get a check of our wind direction. No, no - not THAT finger! Mother of pearl.... As I was beginning to say, you have probably surmised that we made it through re-entry okay. A bit touch and go, though it helps to remember that we have had much, much more experience with the terrifying phenomenon of re-entry than practically any rock band in business. (Except perhaps Captured by Robots - they've got us beat, for sure.) Yes, the strange craft we borrowed from Gizmandiar lacked compre...