What I Did over July 4th Weekend

Well, as I said, I spent the weekend with family, so I didn't have much time for the blog. Of course, as regular readers know, my family isn't exactly a traditional one. I should probably say that I spent the weekend with some close friends I think of as family.

No, in case you're wondering, Harman and Nattie, my adopted parents, did not come down to visit for July 4th. Utah is, I'm sorry to say, a hotbed of dracophobia where many unjust anti-dragon laws are still on the books; living here has been very hard on Snuffles, but he has no choice since I have a job here and he has to live with me because of that magical blood oath we so foolishly made in our youth. Anyway, Harman and Nattie didn't visit because they don't want to deal with the paperwork they would have to fill out, nor the indignity of Utah's dragon-harness laws. I can't say I blame them.

However, we did get a visit from a good friend of ours who I haven't seen in quite a while. In fact, I don't think I've seen Trisha since before Rocky the Space Mouse took off on his most recent expedition, which was well over a year ago.

Trisha and I are just hangin' out.

Trisha is a Protoceratops. She lives in Wisconsin. She's a particularly good friend of Lucky the Goldfish, though they don't get to see each other very often. Trish and Lucky spent most of the weekend chattering and catching up on "girl talk." Snuffles snapped this photo of Trish and me while we were relaxing in the front hall. This "pose" might look weird to some people, but you have to understand that Trish is cold-blooded and likes mammals' body heat.

Hans and I go walking through his cave.

This is Hans, a bear who lives near our apartment. Snuffles, Lucky, Trisha, and I all went to visit him. Snuffles snapped this photo while Hans and I were chit-chatting. As you can see, Hans doesn't like having his photo taken. Hans was never a close friend of mine, but he knew Rocky the Space Mouse quite well, and Rocky and Lucky have always been close, and of course Trisha is good friends with Lucky, so add it all together and Trish wanted to visit Hans while she was in the area.

Now, though Harman and Nattie didn't visit us, we thought we might be able to visit them: as it turned out, Hans had a Graviton Teleporter left by a group of extraterrestrial religious cultists who get some kind of kick out of "seeding" esoteric technology on primitive planets, which they say appeases the wrath of the Cosmic Trickster God or something like that. Anyway, after several years, Hans had gotten the thing working, and though I don't really get the physics, I'm made to understand that the device enables a person to move from one brane to another by manipulating gravitons: gravitons are massless of course, and can readily move between branes; if you imagine the visible three-dimensional universe as two-dimensional information imposed on the exterior surface of a sphere, and then imagine that this sphere is one of several spheres within a large multidimensional area known as the bulk, which is itself formed of interactions on the surface of a supersphere, and then imagine it were possible to use gravitons to transmit a sort of "code" that rewrites the information on the supersphere's surface in such a way that matter and energy can be moved instantaneously from one place in the bulk to another, you might be grasping how the Graviton Teleporter works, or maybe I messed up the explanation. Either way, to make a long story short, we tried to use the Graviton Teleporter to get to the Fairy Wood to visit Harman and Nattie.

The Fairy Wood.

Turns out the Teleporter isn't too precise, apparently because of something having to do with information entropy. It did take us to the Fairy Wood, but to an area hundreds of miles away from Harman and Nattie's cave. The particular area where we landed is controlled by an unusually industrious and peaceful race of elves, who have carefully cultivated their land so that it's a good deal less wild than most of the Wood.

A waterfall in the Fairy Wood.

So there you go. That's what I did over July 4th weekend. We managed to get the Teleporter to bring us back safe and sound. Trisha headed home, and now we're getting ready to start our week. Here's hoping everyone else had a great weekend, too.

Random Generations

You may perchance have run into the Cyborg Name Decoder, a program on the Internet that will transform your name into an acronym for a cyborg. Mine, for example, is S.N.U.F.F.L.E.S.: Synthetic Network Unit Fabricated for Forbidden Learning and Efficient Sabotage. I can't get the Deej to try this program out because it involves acronyms.

Anyway, I was thinking the other day that someone needs to create a random name generator for translated anime titles. A proper anime title, of course, is a lengthy string of nouns with no obvious relationship, though it is permissable for the first one or two words to be adjectives instead of nouns, preferably meaningless adjectives like super. The last word in the string should be a name, an obscure word, a made-up word, or a word untranslated from Japanese. The generator should be capable of producing gems like Super Dimension Fortress Macross, Science Ninja Team Gatchaman, Armored Trooper Votoms, and Super Dimension Century Orguss. Alternatively, the title can either be or contain an inappropriately compounded word, as in Trigun, Spaceketeers, or Psychoarmor Gobarian. Following this general structure, of course, is how I came up with Team Celibate Vocation Battlesmoke Googlion. I think more titles should look like this.

So, if my name were the acronym for an anime title, I would want it to be Super Null Universe Flower Fighter Lightranger Excalibur Sarcetron, or something similar.

Get Your Cyborg Name

My Rant Against Acronyms

I have mentioned it before, but it bears repeating: I hate acronyms. My soul hateth them with an undying hatred.

Acronyms are by their very nature exclusive; they exclude everyone who doesn't know (or can't remember) what they stand for. There are two groups of people in particular who use acronyms to excess, and they are unfortunately the two groups in which I most often find myself: fanboys and Catholics.

Fanboys are by nature an exclusive group, so their use of acronyms is to some degree justifiable. Nonetheless, when in an Internet discussion forum, I always feel a little out of touch because, while everyone else is glibly tossing around LOTR or ToD, I'm sitting there struggling to remember that those stand for Lord of the Rings and Temple of Doom, respectively. That's why, on this blog, I try always to spell out movie and book titles and then shorten them only in non-acronym sorts of ways. I am, however, guilty of using sf (always lowercase and without periods) as a substitute for science fiction. This acronym is the standard one, appearing as it does in the fanboy magazine Locus. But from now on, I will try to spell it out first whenever I use it, or maybe I just won't use it at all: as Strong Bad would put it, I totally have time to say all the syllables.

Unlike fanboydom, Catholicism is not supposed to be an exclusive group. I realize that theology requires some specialized language that won't be readily accessible to the uninitiated, but do we have to make things worse by using acronyms? All the RCIA and CCD around here is about to drive me nuts.

Particularly irritating, whenever I see a priest's name in print, it is almost always followed by an obscure, indecipherable acronym, as in "Fr. Peter B. Phlogistion, M.O.B." or "Fr. Horatio K. Flaggelate, L.M.A.O." I have asked around, and so far it seems that absolutely nobody has a clue what those stand for. Sometimes, people like to put their degrees after their names, as in M.A. or M.Diddly,* but I have never heard of an F.O.B. degree.

Speaking of which, how many non-Catholics even know that Fr. stands for Father? In C. S. (Clive Staples) Lewis's Screwtape Letters, the only named human character is a certain Fr. Spike,** an Anglican priest. When I first encountered that book as a middle school Baptist boy, I kept reading the name as "Friar Spike." I had no idea what Fr. stood for.

I couldn't even escape the acronyms if I went into schism, since our schismatics like to call themselves SSPX. I have never seen what that stands for*** because everyone who uses it assumes this incredibly obscure acronym is commonly known. They forget that, in any document, the phrase or title represented by an acronym is always to be written out the first time the acronym appears because somebody somewhere has never seen it before. Like me.

Aargh! My distaste for acronyms knows no bounds. Perhaps I should pray to the BVM to help me overcome my anger.

*From now on, I expect everyone who comments on this blog to address me as Mister Douglas Graham Damasus Davidson, M.A. Well, not really, but you can mark this as the historic moment in which I finally revealed my full name. Damasus, incidentally, is my confirmation name and the patron saint of archaeologists. Actually, commenters can call me anything they want as long as it is not the legendary Late For Dinner.

**Would anyone else be intimidated if he went to the confessional and saw the name "Fr. Spike" on the door?

***Supercilious Specialized Punk Xylophone being my best guess.

Our Lenten "Fast" Continues...

According to my latest issue of Intermountain Catholic, our local Catholic newspaper, Pope Benedict XVI says that, this year, Catholics should "fast from words and images."

Clearly, His Holiness reads The Sci Fi Catholic.

Meme: A Week, a Month, a Year, Half Your Life

I just got tagged for a meme by Niall Mor of It's All Straw. Basically, according to the rules at The Scratching Post, I'm supposed to pick places I'd like to live for a week, a month, a year, and half my life, and explain why. Okay, here we go:

A Week

For a week, I'd like to visit one of those futuristic metropoli. Maybe the city in Isaac Asimov's Caves of Steel, or perhaps the future Atlanta in Michael Bishop's Catacomb Years. Perhaps I'd see the sights of the city in Metropolis or Osamu Tezuka's Metropolis or perhaps even Blade Runner, which I understand is the best place to see attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion...uh oh, going into trance again....

Ach! Ach! "Tenser," said the Tensor...okay, I'm back. Whew. I always go into a trance when I hear you-know-what. Anyway, why would I go to a metropolis? Obviously, for the hustle and bustle of the big city, for the interesting people, for the robots, and for the Marxist uprisings--could anything be more exciting? One thing is certain, though: I'd like to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there.

Besides, they serve great food in the big city. It's called Soylent Green, and...you say it's what?

A Month


I would spend a month in The Land Before Time. I know what you're thinking--you're thinking my choice sucks, but I'd enjoy a month adventuring with cute dinosaurs with funny voices and if you're honest with yourself, so would you. Besides, if there's some kind of crossover or something, I understand I have a chance of meeting Racquel Welch in a fur bikini.

A Year


For a year, I want to visit The Valley from Bone by Jeff Smith. In fact, I'd like to visit for just about exactly one year. I'd hike through the western desert and arrive in late fall. After hanging with some talking animals during the winter, maybe in early spring I'd meet a beautiful young farm girl....

Half My Life


Middle Earth from The Lord of the Rings. Everybody wants to live there. Duh. And I understand they just got a new king who's going to make the roads safer.

Wait a minute, was I supposed to pick real places? Argh, who makes these rules? I'm calling Snake Plissken in here to take care of this. Your rules are really starting to annoy me....

For this meme, I tag the living daylights out of Orthometer, The B-Movie Catechism, and, let's see...Claw of the Conciliator.

Phat Tuesday!

"I have come to kick butt and to chew pancakes...and I'm all outta pancakes."

--Snuffles the Dragon, overheard on Fat Tuesday

As I write this, Super Fat Tuesday (contracted to "Phat Tuesday") is drawing to a close. This unofficial holiday is also known as Carnival, which roughly translates as, "Hasta la vista...meat."

Or, in our world, "Hasta la vista...fiction." As you know, I'm taking Lent as an opportunity to kick my fiction addiction (ooh, that rhymes) and read some nonfiction that has kept sliding down my list from where it belongs because new comic books keep showing up in the mail.

But Phat Tuesday, the day before Lent begins, is an opportunity to get rid of all that spare whatever-you're-giving-up by finishing it off, so Snuffles and I have both been hard at work finishing off our spare fiction. He's over there plowing through volumes of manga at twice his usual rate, and I of course am looking at the seventh color volume of Bone, Ghost Circles. Though I won't be able to review it until after Lent, I can tell you now that Steve Hamaker's color keeps getting better. This is one volume that, probably more than any other in the series, has cried out to be colored, and at last that cry has been answered with stunning virtuosity. I'll tell you about it when the Read-a-Thon is over (stunning virtuosity, incidentally, is one of those things we book reviewers keep in reserve for those times when we can't think of anything meaningful to say, but the color really is good!).

No holiday is more (unofficially) self-indulgent than Phat Tuesday, and no form of fiction is more officially self-indulgent than fan fiction. I've spoken of fan fiction previously on this blog. Many authors dislike fan fiction, and the site Fanfiction.net even maintains a list of writers and publishers who have asked that their work not appear in fan fiction stories (don't ask me how I know that). Even Strong Bad hates fan fiction. But personally, I think fan fiction is the greatest compliment to an artist's work; it proves that he has built something so wonderful, it invigorates imaginations in a way that demands responsive creative output.

But it recently occurred to me that no form of fan-fiction could be more indulgent than self-referencing fan fiction. Now that this blog actually has a moderately respectable readership, and now that we are in the midst of a self-indulgent holiday, I have decided to produce, in honor of Phat Tuesday, some examples of what Sci Fi Catholic fan fiction might look like if someone out there were actually producing Sci Fi Catholic fan fiction. So grab your plastic beads, put on those pants with the butt cut out, and gather 'round for some serious self-indulgence.

First, we have that form of fan fiction tht attempts to be as true as possible to the original material. SF Cath fan fic of this nature would look something like this:

Around 10:00 on a Monday night, D. G. D. lay in the middle of his living room floor with a cheap paperback open across his face.

"Hey, Snuffles," he muttered in an alcohol-slurred voice, "get me 'nother beer, huh?"

"You're pathetic and stupid and I hate you," Snuffles said from across the room where he had his snout buried in yet another volume of Cardcaptor Sakura.

"Man, this is lame," D. G. D. said. "Maybe instead of getting drunk and reading sci-fi every night, I should get a woman or something."

"Yeah," Snuffles agreed, "but before you can do that, you have to get something else first."

"What?" D. G. D. asked. "Axe Body Spray? Already got some."

"No," Snuffles answered, "it's called a life. You should seriously think about getting one."

See? The characters and situations are true to life. This is a conversation these two could really have...um, because we actually had this very conversation last night.

Another type of fan fiction is the sort written by fourteen-year-old girls, who are fond of taking underdeveloped or ambiguous relationships in their favorite fiction and blowing them up into sappy, cliché-laden romances. Observe:

D. G. D. sat down next to Lucky the Goldfish's bowl. "Lucky," he said in that deep, charming voice, "it's time we talked...really talked."

"You mean...?" Lucky gasped, her fish-sized heart missing a few beats.

D. G. D. lay a hand tragically against his forehead. "I know I've been neglecting you," he said, "but I can't deny my true feelings anymore. I can't deny my passion for you. I don't want to be like that lame-o Darren who so totally dumped the author of this fan fic just so he could go out with Melissa, who he only likes because she's a cheerleader, not to mention a little slut."

"That Darren is, like, a total jerk-wad," Lucky agreed.

"But I don't want to be a jerk-wad anymore," D. G. D. said manfully. "Even though you've been cursed to be a goldfish, I know what kind of person you really are. I can see the beautiful princess you once were and can be again, unlike Darren, who can't see the beauty of this fan fic's author just because she has glasses, braces, and acne."

"Oh, like, wow!" Lucky gasped, her golfish heart skipping for joy.

Lucky's curse made him so sad, D. G. D. cried two pure, perfect, beautiful, manly tears, which fell into Lucky's bowl. Because of the purity of D. G. D.'s love for her, the magic tears transformed Lucky back into a princess. She rose with joy out of her bowl, restored to human form, and melted into D. G. D.'s arms.

Then they, like, totally made out.

And they say fan fiction has no literary merit. Take a close look at that last piece and you might notice what appears to be a second narrative running under the main narrative! It's, like, genius!

But that brings us around to sappy romance's twisted uncle, or maybe twisted younger brother--you guessed it, the fan fiction known as...slash.

"I can't help it," Snuffles the Dragon said with a fierce gaze in his draconic eyes. "When you came home from the field in that all-leather outfit, it seriously turned me on."

"Oh, really?" D. G. D. said, lifting one eyebrow and--

Whoa! Hold the phone! I'm cutting that one off early; it was, like, totally grossing me out.

So there you have it. Sci Fi Catholic fan fiction. And here's from all of us--me, Snuffles, Lucky, Frederick, Phenny, and even Rocky--hoping you have one really super Phat Tuesday!

Blog: Crummy Church Signs

I have recently been laughing to the point of tears (because it is both uproariously funny and quite sad) over the blog Crummy Church Signs. Joel, proprietor of this unique blog, takes submitted photographs of weird writings on church signs and adds wry commentary.

It's an observable fact that when you try to take a religion or a moral precept and distill it into a bumper sticker and try to make it clever, bad things often result. A church sign isn't much longer than a bumper sticker, so when it contains anything other than the schedule of services, Sunday schools, and Bible studies, and maybe a Bible verse, it can be wince-inducing. Church signs just aren't a good place for polemics or cutesy proverbs.

At least one sign posted on Crummy Church Signs was controversial enough to become a news item, and you can see it here. It reads, "Lying in bed shouting oh God does not constitute going to church."

It's easy to see how that sign could offend people. Look at the way it misuses the word constitute! Other than that, I see nothing objectionable; obviously, the sign is referring to Psalm 149.5, "Let the saints be joyful in glory: let them sing aloud upon their beds." The sign is just reminding us that the saints should get up and go to church afterwards.

Joel isn't Catholic (though The Ironic Catholic is a frequent contributor of sign photos), but he likes comic books, so I feel justified in anointing him a Sci Fi Christian (I've been working with my bishop to design an appropriate ritual for that, but so far he is cold to the idea).

Joel is doing something I've seen a lot of Catholics do, something that makes me cringe even as it makes me laugh--taking photographs of some absurd Christian practice, posting it on the Internet, and criticizing it. Traditionalists are fond of doing this with liturgical abuses or ugly icons. Sometimes, this kind of thing may be necessary to get people's attention, to point out real problems, and to get the problems solved. Other times, however, it crosses the line into mere mockery. Whether Crummy Church Signs crosses that line or not is something I'll let you decide.* Mockery or not, it sure is funny.

*The same churches seem to show up over and over again at Crummy Church Signs. Would somebody please contact these churches and tell them they're inadvertently offering chuckles to hundreds on the Internet?

The Mass...in Sci Fi

Ever wonder what a Sci Fi Catholic Mass might look like? Well, our friend at The B-Movie Catechism has produced images that might give you an idea....

How Can an Archaeologist Resist This?

I just ran into an old post from American Papist that might make me a Traditionalist.

Star Wars: A New Pope

Considering what we do here, I would be remiss if I didn't show you this video of a Star Wars/papal Mass mash-up. Is it irreverent? Probably. Is it funny? Well, yeah.

Hat tip: SF Signal

Merry First of Advent

Advent season is finally here. I now give you permission to play Christmas music, drink cocoa, and decorate your grocery store for the holidays. Oh, I see you already started those things. In October. Good job.

Anyway, while you're all celebrating the beginning of our anticipation of the arrival of Christ, I'm snowed in at a motel where I have been staying while in the field. Not only am I stuck here for probably another six days, but I forgot to bring my Cabin Fever Prevention Kit, which, in case you're wondering, consists of a Bible, a rosary, and a whole lot of comic books. If only Jack had those things, The Shining would never have happened. And if only I had those things....

Actually, that situation could never happen in my case anyway. Jack sold his soul for a drink, but I'm in a motel with a bunch of archaeologists, so I can easily get a drink through less drastic measures.

However, if you're in the market for a soul and happen to have a Bible, a rosary, and a sizable comic book collection, we might be able to haggle.

Keep Mass in Christmas.

Scandal Rocks The Sci Fi Catholic

Critics ask: Can the blog survive?

Public outcry reached fever pitch after I introduced a new blogger, Lucky the Goldfish (we got, like, two comments, which I think is a record). One outraged reader has even threatened to kill me for "gross misconduct," "utter lack of chivalry," "inconsiderateness and appalling behavior," and "acting in a manner unbefitting a blogger." I feel justified in replying as follows: these comments do not reflect reality; they are a distortion and an exaggeration and betray ignorance of the facts; and finally, I can take you anytime, buddy, so name the place.

First, I know many of your are disappointed to learn I am currently cohabiting with a female. However, I will point out that the female is now, and has been as long as I have known her, a goldfish. Anyone who finds this inappropriate is backwards-thinking and out of touch with the situation of today. Besides that, Frederick the Unicorn is chaperoning, and he is seriously the Chaperon from Hell. Nothing gets by this guy.

Second, I feel it is time to restate my so-called "origin story," comic book-fashion. As I told you in the first place even though I never told you before, my life has gone something like this. My mother was impregnated by an incubus. Because the superstitious villagers believed me to be a "devil baby" and wanted to kill me, she hid me in a basket in the Enchanted Forest in the hope that the good fairies would find me and raise me as one of their own. Instead, a couple of dragons happened by. They would have devoured me immediately had they not recently feasted on roast knight, so instead they decided to take me home and make me the pet of their adopted son, Snuffles.

Snuffles was in reality a superintelligent nebula from a parallel universe, but he had transformed into a dragon in order to visit our universe and had become trapped in that form, adopted by this dragon couple who had no children. Upon receiving me as his new pet, he made it a regular habit to pinch, poke, hit, and otherwise vex me for his own amusement. I grew up with this constant abuse.

I grew up believing myself to be the only human in the world, knowing nothing of human society or the existence of others like myself. When I was about thirteen, however, my fairy godmother, who had blessed me in my basket in the woods before the dragons found me, appeared and told me it was time to take a long and arduous journey, and that I would soon meet a companion who would help me on the way. This companion came when I was drinking at a brook: a beautiful white unicorn marched out of the trees and announced himself as Frederick. We two set off on a series of disconnected rambling quests, during which I slowly reintegrated into human society, though not before Snuffles showed up and insisted on going with us because he and I had been pair-bonded by a blood oath some years back, rendering us unable to part company for more than a few days at a time without experiencing severe stomach cramps.

Throughout our long journey, during which I grew into a man, Frederick the Unicorn told me that I had the burden of a great destiny upon me, and that I would accomplish wondrous things if only I heeded the call of fate. I felt my destiny upon my shoulders as a heavy burden throughout our adventures. Eventually, our travels brought us to a fair where a carnie was offering goldfish to anyone who could throw three rings around a stick. I managed the heroic deed and won the goldfish, which I learned could speak. It told me that it was in reality a beautiful princess cursed by a jealous wizard and that she had the power to grant me one wish.

Frederick looked straight into my eyes and whispered, "Your moment has come."

I had to agree. Nobody had ever offered me a wish before. I thought about it and realized there was nothing I really wanted. But it was a hot day and I could use some refreshment, so I requested an orange dreamsicle.

Frederick wept, apparently for joy. And from that moment forward, the feeling of destiny dropped from my shoulders, leading me to believe I had done the right thing, even though my formerly directed life has sort of wandered aimlessly since that time.

So, that's the story. You will see I have done nothing wrong, nothing of which I'm ashamed.

Kissing Science Fiction Style

Some time back, Claw of the Conciliator put up a post alerting us to two other blog posts discussing various philosophers' and various theologians' views on kissing. It suddenly struck me to ask, what have various science fiction writers said about kissing? In honor of these other posts on the subject of kissing, I now offer a brief list. Feel free to suggest additions.

The Isaac Asimov Kiss: A thousand-year period of darkness is coming, during which kissing will be impossible.

The Arthur C. Clarke Kiss: You can kiss in hard vacuum if you're quick about it.

The Robert A. Heinlein Kiss: If you grok Martian, you can kiss anyone you want...and you should spend four years in the military.

The Hal Clement Kiss: An essay on the physics of kissing will follow the story.

The C. S. Lewis Kiss: "I cannot bear the least suggestion, no matter how sportive, of kissing between different species or even between children."

The J. R. R. Tolkien Kiss: As there is no room in the novel, the kissing has been relegated to an appendix.

The H. P. Lovecraft Kiss: "I have seen all that the universe has to hold of horror, and now even the kisses of pretty girls will ever afterwards be poison to me."

The Charles Stross Kiss: I'm so sick of your %^&*# backwards social conventions! Just %^&*# kiss her!

The F. Paul Wilson Kiss: A gratuitous and graphic kissing scene will be inserted into the middle of the novel to maintain the reader's interest.

The Christopher Paolini Kiss: More-or-less a combination of the Anne McCaffrey Kiss, the J. R. R. Tolkien Kiss, and the George Lucas Kiss.

The Jeff Smith Kiss: Hand-holding, hugging, and group nude bathing are acceptable, but no kissing!

Christian Metaphor from SF at Claw of the Conciliator

Elliot at Claw of the Conciliator has a humorous post on mythological imagery in fantasy and science fiction in tandem with Christian themes:

Seeker: So, what do Good Friday and Easter mean, anyways?

Jane Christian: It's like Gandalf fighting the Balrog, sacrificing his life to save his friends, going down into the depths of Hell to defeat evil, at the cost of his own life. And then coming back, even greater than before, to lead his friends on to victory!

John Christian: That simply isn't Lewisian enough. I prefer to think of it in terms of Aslan's death on the Stone Table - the penalty for Edmund's crime had to be paid, but in order to spare him, Aslan took that penalty upon himself. And in so doing, he subverted, or superverted, the old law of the Deep Magic... [more...]

Great Things About Easter

The best thing about Easter is of course the Resurrection. And the second-best thing is the vigil Mass with the new converts. And third best is special time with family and friends. Fourth is probably the ham dinner.

But the fifth best thing is undoubtedly the Marshmallow Peep®. I mean, seriously, these have got to be the grossest candy ever invented, but I still can't get enough. It's not every candy that has an official fan club, after all.

I like the way they sit so serenely in the Easter basket, nestled against each other in a show of goodwill, joining hands with The Hollow Chocolate Bunnies of the Apocalypse to guard their precious nest of jelly beans and Cadbury Creme Eggs. Then, I lovingly pluck one Peep® from his brethren and hold him in my hands. With cruel teeth, I tear his head from his body: As if this violence weren't enough, I proceed to devour the rest of him whole, leaving nothing for his comrades to mourn. From my hands I wipe the yellow granules that formerly formed his outer flesh; they fall like yellow rain, a new golden shower signifying death and mourning rather than life and birth. Buahahahaha.

Anyhow, according to this year's Peeps® Celebrity Survey, which is either a survey of or about celebrities, or maybe a survey of Peeps® celebrities, or something, George Bush is the man in America most in need of a Peep®. The Peep® would most likely come to life as either Will Ferrell or Jessica Simpson. Personally, I think the Peep® would come to life as something similar to the Stay Pufft Marshmallow Man and proceed to destroy New York, but nobody asked me.

I don't know what any of that means, and I'll bet the people who wrote and took the survey don't either, but there you go. But look at this: You know a candy is gross when the second favorite way to eat it is not to eat it at all.

Okay, that's not much of a post. But get this: In the near future, if he'll still have me, I'll be teaming up with one of my fellow Catholic sf-crazy bloggers to talk about Christian sf and maybe start an argument or even a fist fight. Then, because Peter really wants it, I will begin that promised series on Bone. Plus, as always, we've got book and movie reviews coming.

Notice to Everyone Who's E-Mailing Me

Dear Sirs,

Are you honestly telling me that you don't already have a system in place to deal with large sums of money left by deceased clients without next of kin? It sounds to me like the First Bank of Nigeria is an incompetent institution. I am sorry, but I simply cannot give you my bank account number. Who knows? You might lose or misplace it or, worse, give it to some unscrupulous individual who would empty my account. Then, instead of becoming an instant millionare without any effort on my part, as you have promised, I would be broke. At least you couldn't touch my Roth IRA or my bonds, but losing my savings account would be bad enough.

I am sorry to say I must decline your tempting offer. Thank you for understanding. Now stop e-mailing me, and that goes for your little e-mail address-harvesting robot, too.

Sincerely,

D. G. D. Davidson, esq.
Sci Fi Catholic