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Right probably should get on finishing those first three- Ahem, I mean, plans plans keikaku everything as scheduled, followed by a forced chess metaphor.

As somebody who once slept for thirty or so hours straight once (naturally heavy sleeper + pain meds, always fun), I can say with some certainty that your problem is that you problem woke up in the middle of a sleep cycle. Generally you want to time your waking so that it comes at the beginning...

Depends on the drink we're served with. If we have to burn, then you have to drink Foster's while we cook.

Are you planning to turn us all into bogans, one by one?

Alright, the fifteenth? That gives me four days to faff about, three days to panic, one day for personal business, and then three days to kick myself into gear and write these chucklenuts into existence. Best get on it now, then.

In the continued spirit of sharing, and due to my lack of finished characters, I have decided to share a little sneak preview of a little side project I've picked up.

Space racism? Potential sub-commander sub-plots? Mysterious benefactors? Muy bien, Zombie, this is a very intriguing commander you have for us.

About one in 365-366, though as time grows large the odds approach one in one.

Suffering is making a fictional calendar and then converting it to our calendar.

Nah, it's their IP, technically we're the ones violating copyright on their work. Even in the unlikely event that they ripped off our ideas, we wouldn't have a legal leg to stand on in this matter.

Woo-hoo! Space terrorists freedom fighters! All I can hope for is some appropriately grimdark gameplay options to send my beating heart into overdrive.

And that's all for Albert. Four different drafts this thing has gone through, ranging from 'depths of despair' to 'WHY DID I THINK THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA!?' to 'Jane takes over the UK', finally ended up deciding that the karaoke ending was for the best.

"Epilogue: Arcadia (Part 2)" Liverpool Women’s Hospital, Liverpool England, United Kingdom 9:56 AM; November 5th, 2019 Shit shit shit shit shit! I’ve seen literally decades of combat, fought off monstrosities from the depths of space, I even shot the closest thing to a god I’ve ever seen, why...

“Epilogue: Arcadia” Noriaki’s Karaoke Bar & Grill, Liverpool England, United Kingdom 10:31 PM; January 27, 2019 Albert Foulke “Now everyone can see~!” I belted out into the microphone, leaning my head back in the thrill of the moment. “Secret secret, I’ve got a secret,” the karaoke machine...

Eh, quick splash of Vegemite on the back of the neck keeps them away, from what I've heard.

Don't forget the dropbears!

And with no further ado, I bring my contribution to this menagerie of races, the Seikronyr. (Or, as I like to call them, the Tripod Cyber-Frogs.)

Seikronyr STR: 2-4 INT: 7-8 DEX: 5-7 PER: 7-9 CON: 1-3 WIL: 1-2 Psionic Potential: 0-2 Psionic Range: Blue, ESP Only Average Height: 2.13m Average Weight: 84 kilograms Average Lifespan: 54 years Bio: The Seikronyr are a tripedal race of amphibians formerly from the planet Kepler-298d, known...

Pants are an illusion and so is death.