The fire is so delightful except for the monsters but I ship out books somehow valued to join the legions of like-cum-like and wish for a million dollars.

This is just a short meander, without any particular purpose or theme.

Inside: My bum! Various kinds of mowing! New baby! Racism!

...And St. Crawford came unto him, and did say, "Broadcasteth word of thy wares, my son, for we are privileged to live at the root of an information tree whose branches shall one day emcompass all history."

"But how?" cried CheeseburgerBrown, falling to his knees. "I don't even have enough money in my PayPal account to buy the cheapest ad on K5!"

"Use the Scoop, my son. Let go thy conscious self, and act on instinct."

CheeseburgerBrown nodded. "I shall cast my spams unto the Scooposphere, like little turds left floating in a public lavatory. Thank you, St. Crawford!"

St. Crawford smiled beatifically as he ascended on high by wings made of AdSense. "Remember thy keywords," he called as he was swallowed by a veil of cloud. "Save thou, they can."

CheeseburgerBrown waved and then, when he thought nobody was looking, farted.

INSIDE: Ten compelling reasons to start reading Simon of Space right now!

Popsicle's current media pick is The Star Wars Saga (1977 - 2005), though I warn you that her reviews are heavily biased by the fact that she isn't allowed to watch much more than two or three minutes out of each film.

According to my daughter, this is how the story goes:

Once upon a time Luke Skywalker met a funny little man named Yoda, who took his lamp in exchange for leading him around the swamp. Then Luke made a bunch of crap float around, including Yoda, who ultimately falls-down-goes-boom when Luke loses his focus. Then Princess Leia meets an Ewok who sticks his tongue out while he says things like, "Yabbo yabbo yabbo."

Then C-3P0 and R2-D2 turn into lumpy cartoons and jump around supported by just a few badly drawn keyframes, presented by the industrial grade animation sweatshop that brought us the Care Bears.

Then Dobby comes and starts jumping on Harry Potter's bed.

We were standing on the balcony sipping chilled white wine and watching the bats swoop out over our heads to eat bugs out of the sky. Littlestar was holding on to my belt as I leaned out over the yard and tried to fathom the future deck she was describing to me. "Who could we get to build such a deck?" I asked, craning my head out and making her moan about the potential for falling.

"Doesn't Rusty build decks?"

"Rusty? You mean Kuro5hin Rusty?" I asked, taking my seat again and furrowing my brow. "I guess so. I think so. You think we should ask Rusty to build our deck for us?"

"Why not?"

I rubbed my chin thoughtfully and sipped my wine. "That's just so crazy it might work. We'd have to fly his ass up from Maine, though."

"How much could that cost?"

I shrugged. "No clue. But you know, just yesterday a bunch of people were saying on Hulver's Site that if they found themselves in our backyard with a pile of lumber, we'd likely as not have a deck before too long. Free labour."

She nodded. "So maybe we should invite some people over, get Rusty out here, and have a deck-building party."

"That would be nifty," I agreed, two bats making a narrow miss of my head as they wheeled around the balcony. "The power of the Scooposphere expressed in meatspace!"

"Let's do it," said Littlestar.

And though the deck would not be built, it was with this seed that the notion of HuSistock was born.

HuSistock HQ Missive: Day 2

I'm dog tired and there's a bunch of strange cats in my yard.

Live from Gilford, it's HuSistock: Day -4

...Hotta than a monkey's bum.

Would somebody mind getting the lights? Thank youp.

Today we wrent history from the ground. We used winches and motors and sweat. We peeled back the Earth and picked the kipple from its wounds. Now we're nursing the hole with water and sun.