Long Story; Short Pier.

God, hes left as on aur oun.

Turing machine.

Gravity.

Atlas.

Paging Michael Graham.

Yo. You with your oh-for-fuck’s-sake-not-this-bullshit-again about how liberals are humorless and how it’s obvious in that “Where’s the WMD?” bit all the nabobs laughed at that the President’s just joshing about something he madly, truly believes so could you liberals just lighten up, please. Your ass just got handed to you.

(“Please,” Bush whimpers, his lips pursed in mock desperation, “don’t kill me.”)

  Textile help

White apron.

Counterforce.

Walter Rodney.

Dragonlance.

Name-plates.

Email | Bluesky | Mastodon | RSS

the Necronomicon

Mars, or, Misunderstanding

Chapter Twenty-Nine: “Mass”

Archive | Comradery | Patreon

  • To do
  • Another memo I didn't get
textpattern