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My original route to Gen " " Con went from Seattle to Dallas to Indianapolis, because the razorwinds that defend my destination - birthéd by Zepherion when man still swung from branches - make direct flights impossible. But my father-in-law sustained an injury that turned his shoulder into beef jerky, which made replacing a water heater a Herculean task. So, I went over to help. This necessitated an alteration to the trip, which now goes from Spokane to Portland, Oregon to Phoenix to Indianapolis. This is all to say that I now live in the sky.

There's no way for me to write this post that doesn't make me incandescently angry.  I'll try again tomorrow.  Here's the strip.

I never crossed paths with the Stop Killing Games petition until somebody tried to make the case that it was bad. That strike me as quite bold, but as this person is currently in the process of being dismantled by the Internet equivalent of wild dogs I won't pile on anymore than is absolutely required. I get very sweaty and shaky whenever these weapons are deployed, I abhor their use, but man. Way to literally die on a hill, I guess.

Lego already had us dialed in, so launching an onslaught like a Soundwave - let alone a Soundwave with a talky bit is the kind of virulent attack that kills the host too soon, necessitating a Lego coffin. It's rude, but also kind of awesome, like The Sex Pistols.