Writer, Original Geek, Legendary Cab Driver and King of This Sandbox. Also, liar, damned liar and complainer about the news. Influences include Babylon Bee and Charlie Hebdo
She didn’t linger. Just took the beer, offered a smile that felt like a receipt, and dropped the line that would haunt the room: “Thanks for the beer.” No promise, no apology—just a closing statement dressed as gratitude. What came next wasn’t her problem. It never was.Continue Reading
They call it triage, but it’s really the Peel Room—where autonomous humanoid robots like Mikako and Takuma are stripped of their silicone skins and routed for refurbishment or scrap. MKW110732 is back because her five-year lease wasn’t renewed. The return receipt reads: “customer’s requested persona overlay glitchy.” Damian logs her, tags her, and wheels her across the shop floor. She greets Mateo in Zapotec. Mateo hears sass. Damian hears snack cakes.Continue Reading
Bear v Man was never just a meme—it was a litmus test. A viral shorthand for algorithmic hysteria, gender panic, and the collapse of nuance. This post unpacks how logic got eaten alive by likes, outrage, and the need to pick a side before breakfast.Continue Reading
Damian boards a submarine to escape arrest—but finds himself self-incarcerated in a debtors’ brig run by Saito-Gumi. What begins as a rescue becomes a reckoning. Surveillance, ritual, and the economics of dignity collide in this speculative arc set east of Richmond.Continue Reading
Protestant theology amputated the body from discipleship. We study, worship, and serve—but embodiment is often ignored or treated as temptation. This essay reclaims Christ in the body: through labor, nourishment, movement, and grace made flesh. No papal dispensation required.Continue Reading
Sacrilege was served hot. Soup—thick with hominy, dried chilis, and joy—bubbled beside the manifesto. Someone brought ketchup. Someone said “meh.” And suddenly, the poopie face hour was in session.Continue Reading
A quiet week on Buckskin Mountain unravels grief, stillness, and strange theology in NUUSA. Continue Reading
I see you, true believer. You’re not just watching the news—you’re worshipping by glowlight. Your home shrine flickers in protest: TV screen bright, candles lit, praying that Voldemort will finally fix your rent. You whisper curses to Orange Foolius like he’s the final boss in a video game you neverContinue Reading
Inger finds refuge at Buckskin Mountain as KPUFR broadcasts subversive news from feline uprisings to emotional glitches in the Citadel. Amid Bluefish dinners and tonal recalibrations, resistance simmers, satire sings, and the gravel still looks like buckskin—even if no one sees it.Continue Reading
The Hive didn’t catch the murder first. Mrs. Callow did—with garden lights, an analog heart, and habits too stubborn to forget. Jace’s blood had already dried across the truck’s dash, and Inger hadn’t heard a thing. By the time Morrow rang her bell, the street had pressure-washed its guilt and gone quiet again. Mikiko made coffee. Morrow asked questions. Inger reached for her binkie in Buckskin and tried to remember why grief felt heavier when silence followed it.Continue Reading