How skiapods went from shading themselves with their feet to building an arsenal for Dodoville’s greatest superhero, the Purple Onion
Space marine science fiction is why I ride elevators. But only down. Only express.
Or: How A Witch Revealed to Me The Fabric of the Cosmos
Not so much reluctant as squeamish.
You feel the smoking nostrils on your back every step of the way.
I get that dreamy look in my eye that says Oh my God, never touch me.
Like even the crappy boring stuff.
Those goddamn bugs keep whacking us and sucking our brains out.
You need to understand the giant space insect before you can understand yourself.
Marginally more than absolutely nothing.