Indeed, just the other day I was servicing my maniod when his morge starting smoking and sparking because I was being too, er... Anyway, let's overlook how it happened. The point is, the morge was all burnt out and stuff. "What in Cliod's moon," I execrated aloud, and then, grumbling, got the space tools to fix the dumb thing. Maybe someday the scientists will make unburntoutable morges. In the meantime, I'll just have to be more, uh, gentle.
As for the rest of this, I'm wondering if Pete Blackbird had been selling me a lot of the wacky tabacky during the time I wrote these pages. How else to explain: "having know idea" "imform" "whata you know!" etc.
It's an inspiring image, though: me, eleven years old, puffing on a spliff while scribbling away at my star fantasy in my basement bedroom, totally high to the max and having know idea about anything. Wha... Is that mom screaming for me at the top of the stairs...? *cough* *cough* shit, gotta put this out... Where did I put my Visine? My pants? Aw hell... Coming, Mom!...
Meanwhile, enjoying a contact high, our hero is soaring through space. George arrives, as the chapter title thrillingly promises, and just happens to land on the Star-das Empire. Hmm. Let's thumb to the front of the book where we have our helpful maps.
"Fuck it." *sucks on fat doob* *cough!* *stumbles out of spaceship, ignoring the prissy warnings of his maniod* "Aw yeah... Here we are! Star-das Empire or planet or whatever! Whoo!" *trips over monro-illic and falls face first into gun areas* "OUCH! FUCK!"