Yes, Denizens - I know it's Cafe Press. Yes, I know that they're a liberal-owned company. Yes, I'm aware that the quality of their garments may not be quite as good as ThoseShirts.com.
But unlike ThoseShirts.com, Cafe Press ACTUALLY ANSWERS THE EMAIL I SEND THEM!!!!
Got clue, ThoseShirts???
Local time where you're at. ("Where you're at"?)
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Warning: Emails are fodder for the blog. IOW, if you want your email kept private, you must tell me in the email.
Otherwise, it's mine to do with as I please, and if I want to use it on the blog, I'm perfectly free to do so.
You have now been warned.
Thanks for the Iron Man stuff, Dad!
Thank you, Algore.
(snicker)
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[SCENE: On the bridge of ISS Poseidon, the Realm's new Federation-class prototype. Admiral Darth Venomous is still mired away in Facebook Hell™, and the bridge is empty, save for a couple of technicians named (ironically enough) Berkeley & Zhamno.
Zhamno is fiddling around with the Ops controls. Berkeley is egging him on.]
BERKELEY: Yeah, yeah! Do it! C’mon!
[Zhamno touches one last control. On the viewscreen, the picture changes.]
ZHAMNO: Schweet!
[At that moment, the turbolift doors fly open, revealing Supreme General Rayegun, who isn't the happiest of campers right at that moment.]
RAYEGUN: What in the name of Fek’lhr are you two doing?!?!
BERKELEY, ZHAMNO: GENERAL, SIR!!! Uh…uh…(ulp!)
RAYEGUN: Never mind that. Quit playing with the effing tractor beam and prep this bridge! We launch in fifteen minutes!
BERKELEY: Uh…sir?
RAYEGUN: We’ve located the Admiral. We’re going to assist Mrs. Venomous in rescue operations.
ZHAMNO: But…but, sir…what about your ship?
RAYEGUN: The Generalette took it. Something called a “girls’ night out”. Don’t ask, just move!!!
BERKELEY, ZHAMNO: Yes, sir, aye aye, sir!!! {They scurry as Rayegun exits.]
—
Prayers & well wishes for the quake area.
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