Probably not exactly matching your meaning, but in a round about way, Dune, post Machine Crusade –

It’s maybe not as evident without reading the series–which definitely isn’t a negative comment! I’ve enjoyed (almost) every bit of the truly shocking amount of Dune I’ve put myself through since the very early '90s, haha.

I’m, uh, mildly obsessive as well as critical of the SF I stand by, (just for myself personally!–everyone should like whatever they like!) but Frank Herbert, entirely, still remains in my top 2 favorite authors. You may enjoy all the books as a whole, if you’re looking for something less about ‘the machine’ itself, but how humans diverge from it and without it, but it’s…a lot, lol. And…well, I won’t spoil things. I just remembered it might negate my entire point. Oh, no. (ʘ‿ʘ)

Anyway! Regardless!

If you do ever get into full-ass Dune–and I’d recommend this “tip” to literally anyone–I’d definitely suggest audio books for the early works of Brian Herbert and Kevin J Anderson. They took a bit to get into their groove from informational to actually entertaining. The lore is honestly fantastic, beautifully done, but physically reading their earlier Dune stuff can be textbook without diagram tedious. Love 'em both for the work, but shiiiiiiiiite.

Hahahaha, I can hear her saying this, hungover, too.

Hooray! I think! Cause that is correct.

When my focal seizures weren’t as well managed, one of the closest descriptions I could give is it often feels like experiencing various Windows error noises. Like, all varieties of them, from '93-XP, fit the bill. Occasionally, it’s dragging the multiplying, cascading window that won’t respond, across a teeny screen of barely available conciousness. Meds make me feel pretty dumb, and some errors still get through, but I don’t dunk, donk, dink, or bonk so much!

Super cute and fuzzy wuzzy until it’s jumping spider season, and they’re in the house, and jesus goddammit jumping spiders, I just cleaned up this shit, can you not web up the entire kitchen every fucking morning? Tiny ass Cirque du Soleil across the light fixtures, every damned day! Cute little shits.

Shit, dude. My iron was at 2 after my last blood test. They keep pumping me full of star stuff–pow, straight in the veins–and I just keep burning through it. Why, stars, why! Why does thou forsake me! I am very tired, stars.

I usually skip this one, because the themes are pretty uncomfortable if you relate to them, but mostly I just can’t unsee Grady Fletcher, the world’s most gullible CPA, and it’s a weird mix of a bit gross and being unable to take his performance seriously. Where’s Aunt Jess to save the day?

…“P l A y N i G h T b I r D !”…

*Dick Berman

Always Dick Berman. That rickwad

“It’s not like Dan to take his own life!” …Lol, as opposed to, what?

A technically correct, but awkwardly contextualized line that competes with:

Dukat to Winn: “I’ve never seen you look so radiant!” …Never? Never, ever? Buddy, you’ve known her for like, a week…

In addition: Please, only check out TNG “Masks” s7 Ep.17. if - -

You’re fully prepared to laugh at the absurdity of where TNG has gotten to by the tail end of season 7, and/or, you want a surrealist nightmare of the Enterprise set being turned into a 1980s rich person’s indoor pool aesthetic of stepped tile, fake plants and Terra-cotta, the whole cast getting a little tired of the writers not quite conveying the motif they set out for, and Brent Spiner just showing off what a magnificent silly bastard he really is.

Okay… maybe I need to watch Masks, again.

I had long hair during the TNG days, and somewhere in my childhood home, there’s a bathroom drawer or cabinet full of the same kind they used for Geordi’s visor, and similarly painful plastic headbands. I know there’s also a Polaroid or two somewhere of me and a cousin holding them up to our faces, running around saving the Enterprise that was the basement. If I’d only known to bring them around me throughout life, for that nostalgia hit…

Memes you can hear…

Only Honk.

Or

“There are no genders. Only Honk.”

Make a new website, and/or make a new HonkBusters.

Alternatively: “Where we’re going, we won’t need genders to honk…”

Oh, holy hell, I just uncontrollably giggled at that for so long, my chest hurts. I sent it to my only group of friends, and it looks even better in smaller thumbnail form. Good gracious.

I’ve also yet to be hit with a piss jar! Hooray! Some interesting jars, from the years when I was still tempted to open them, was a shreik that shattered just about everything fragile in a 50 foot radius, including my ear drums (still dealing with that tinnitus), and another jar spilled out some sort of abomination spider-crabs, which ate all our food and vomited it right back up quicker than our reaction time, whilst chanting something about hating their mother. I’d kill for some lemons, though, the stores have been out of stock of decent citrus.

I’ve really enjoyed having our bad feelings singularity. I’ve been mercilessly unhappy for so long, it fits right in with our style, and having it stare back makes me feel less alone, without the intrusion of another person. It’s ominous hum is great for sleeping, too, automatic blackhole noise machine!

I suggest burying them in the ground! That’s what we did with all the jars that kept hitting me, when we ran out of room in the house - it didn’t help me being hit in the face with newly appearing jars, but we haven’t had to do any lawn care in ages, on account of the backyard collapsing into an ominously humming black abyss. Plus, now we have somewhere to cleanly toss them, rather than precarious stacks to the guest room ceiling!

After growing up mostly in the Colorado mountains, and even later in the more suburban areas, but still near enough to the mountains, lynx and cougar calls are strange and loud as shit. They scared the jeebs out of child-me in the dark nothing. Cool as hell, though, once you know what they are. Loud ass kitties, echoing for miles.

Everytime I see this, I can’t help but giggle a little at that magnificent lump, just florpin’ on by, awkward as hell. I love our moon, so much.

I wonder how many of us instantly wrote bee-versions of the lyrics?

The saxophone solo is definitely now done by bees.