Not that anyone cares. But just in case *someone, somewhere *is wondering, in an idle sort of way, while perusing a sequential threads thread: “Wait, who is this ****ing ***hole with 8K posts?”…
I was Martian Bigfoot. Ugh. Screw that guy. I am now [Hitchhiker’s Guide Reference]. I feel much better now. When did I last post? About a year ago? I had to go on a trip to Mordor, to fetch my pants. I now have pants, which is a massive improvement. Maybe I can even go on dates now.
How are things around here? It looks like the monkeys are running the zoo. Avatars? Really? I actually like the vibe under the current management. It feels like the teacher left the room, and now everyone is sitting around having drinks. Well, whoever is left, I guess. It’s a bit post-apocalyptic, but in a chill sort of way. The party is probably over, in a certain sense, but, you know, there are those guests who still refuse to leave. There’s still some beer left. Someone brought pizza. And in the morning, we’ll clean the place up. Who knows what might happen? Most likely, everyone will wander off when the sun comes up. But there is still a feeling of possibility.
That’s here. Although I might be projecting. I just walked in, so what do I know? As for me, I’m on fire. I have pants! Do you guys even know what is possible when you have pants? You can leave the house, roam the universe, maybe experience some romance. Get kidnapped by the Uzbek mafia. Meet some friendly goats. It’s awesome!
As for the neighbor, she shacked up with a different neighbor while I was in Mordor. True story. But never mind that. I’m looking for a new apartment now. New beginnings.
He’s actually got pants now. He still needs to get used to the new challenge of tracking the location of both pants and a towel. We can work up to him wearing the pants regularly. Jumping straight to proper wear might doom the whole process.
Don’t Panic, if you don’t get all the way through the last milestone can I suggest “Pants Head” for your next name change?
Can we go with “Pants-On-Head”? That was my tribal name, when I was living with native savages in East Sussex. And yes, it would be a very good second choice.
I know, right? I calculated the probability of it, but I won’t bore you with the details of that. You can guess the rest. The strange part is that I first picked the name for very personal reasons. Well, that, and as a homage to my beloved Legio III Don’t Panic, which heroically snatched victory from the jaws of defeat after being ambushed on Corsica. That was during one of my very early playthroughs of Rome II: Total War. I have since learned not to run around with my dick out (another reason to have pants). Only later did I realize the obvious reference, and I was like: “Of course! That’s why this phrase has been on my mind!” I hadn’t read the Guide for yonks. I am a proper fan, though, always has been, and I have recently been revisiting it with great pleasure. Turns out, it’s one of those things that you first encounter in your youth, and love despite not really understanding, but which makes a hell of a lot more sense in your late thirties or thereabouts. Much like boobs.
Wait, where was I? I got distracted by boobs. Oh, right: As references go, it’s probably a bit too obvious, to put it mildly. But screw that, I quite like it. I’m thinking of getting it tattooed.
Why? You never write, you never call. Bother me? See, you have this backwards. Was I invited to your sister’s wedding? To your sister’s birthday? Your sister’s funeral? The bring-your-own-beer, meet-DB’s-departed-sister seance? I didn’t think so. When I was dumped by Sings-While-Drunk, the nice girl I met in East Sussex, were you there? Well, maybe you were. That buff looking guy she ran off with looked a lot like you. Actually, I’ve been wondering about that. But never mind. Water under the bridge. So, yeah. I’ll think about it. Let’s have a beer and talk.
