heroes, heroes... every single fucking one of them is a hero

after thorough, repeated, sticky viewings of what are now known as the the 'spajjy vids,' i am convinced that dear old gear skip is not being used as a fuckbot. this makes me happy... because had i self-abused to a vid exploiting my missing damaged friend, i might have felt awkward. instead, i feel satisfied and well-rested... huzzah! the search, however, must continue... after this nap.

finding skip, by means of (fluid) elimination

as you know, my little robot friend skip, whom i love dearly and would never, ever, evereverneverever wish anything bad to happen to, has had something bad happen to him. this is a problem... for one, i have a lot more fucking work to do around hangar 23... for two, flapjack doesn't stop crying... for three, i miss him and for four, nobody steals from me and gets away with it...

chivalry is not dead, so much as subjugated by a laser-truncheon

soooo...... where have i been for these last months? have i been on an exciting adventure? have i made lots of new and interesting friends, found myself, found love, found skip, found a brain for flapjack and found happiness?

fuck you for even asking.

i've been in the brig for like a billion days. skip is still gone, flapjack still a retard, love elusive, self annoying, friends pointless and adventures temporal. i have, however, found that the das orbit's finest are in fact the finest cocksuckers in the galaxy.

who's been banging my robot?

strange things are afoot, indeed, on the station. yesterday morning, during the first few hours on shift in hangar 23, i'm getting along... doing my thing... taking a nap, as no one is visiting right now. then i realize... fuck me... where is skip? what's happened to skip? somethings happened to skip... what did i do with skip?

hey flapjack, here's how i say thank you

a while ago, i helped flapjack out of a financial jam that the poor bastard had gotten himself into. now, flapjack may be retarded, but he isn't without social graces. being the son of a shipping magnate, certain cultural niceties have been programmed into him: literally.

the revolution will not be emographed

one of life's pleasures is to piss away your money gambling in the hopes that you can get some more money, which you can then piss away gambling... this pleasure is only compounded if you are gambling with someone else's money... this is exactly what me, flappy, skip and mal-aka were doing at the robo-derby this weekend, when some unexpected events transpired... we got into a fight.

just shut the fuck up and kill yourself already

guess what galactopus boys and girls... are you ready to get a little history lesson today? exciting? well?  why? is it because i'm too hungover to remember what i did yesterday and this is the only thought that zips through my head? is it?
yes... it fucking is... stop scrolling so loudly...today we'll learn about why robots kill themselves!

splashing around the fluids of human kindness

my cup overflows with various fluids of human kindness. but sometimes, that cup gets tipped, or knocked, or jostled, or woken up in the middle of my fucking sleep cycle and it becomes time for me to take some of those fluids and start splashing them all over the place.