Put out.

Hmmm... thought I shut that thing down. Lincoln - have you been using this computer again? How 'bout you, Anti-Lincoln? Big Zamboola? Right. Must've been the other ones. Man god damn.


Oh, hi. Lucky thing you're reading this, really. Some of our Big Green travel associates have been monopolizing our one reliable connection to the "Internets", as Stephen Colbert calls it, for their own evil purposes. No, I don't mean Marvin (my personal robot assistant) has been cavorting with his fellows in Captured By Robots, or that the man-sized tuber is plotting with his co-religionists in some kind of anti-animal jihad (I believe the are Unitarians, but don't quote me on that). Nay, I refer to their recent obsession with so-called "social networking" sites - your MySpaces, your FaceBooks, your Linkedins (though one might have thought that the Lincolns would be all over that last one.... it is for the more mature amongst us, after all....)


So... how, you may ask, can these strange tag-alongs feed their new-found obsession whilst we are bobbing aimlessly in space on a rented interstellar craft? Well, I'm gon' tell yuh. This here cream puff of a space ship we borrowed has got one hell of a wireless connection. I mean, this sucker can connect from a distance of 3.5 light years, without losing any bandwidth. Crikey - I can watch that freaking guy screaming about Britney Spears all the way from Aldebron! Okay, so you're probably thinking, "Hey, fucker, there's only one Web-connected terminal on board... why can't you keep them off of it?" (Not thinking that? All right then. What was I thinking?) The truth is, I can't really tell these guys anything. Now they only communicate through virtual groups and friend lists and other strange methods for avoiding conversation. (Did I say that?)


That's not the only thing holding me back. I mean, you have to do something with your time during these long treks across the trackless wastes of outer space. Tubey and Marvin soak up the hours in front of a computer screen. Matt fills in tablets with imaginary bird sightings (he conducted his own personal Christmas Bird Count en route to Proxima Centauri, where there's nary a pigeon to be counted). John builds model volcanoes and juggles the disembodied heads of ventriloquist dummies (gotta have a hobby). Big Zamboola practices his gravity phenomena, while the Lincolns catch up on their history (140+ years of catching up to do, and posi-Lincoln is only up to the progressive era). Me, I've got my distractions, most of which involve sleeping. I've been known to yawn a bit in my free time, and I'm a semi-professional dreamer. Not much on snoring, but I dabble.


Matt thinks I should put my foot down. Not with respect to the on-board Web surfing, you understand... he just wants me to get my feet off the furniture. I've got an answer for him, but he's going to have to look at my Facebook page. (Gawd... not me too!)

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