Let There Be Lux

If you call me anything other than “His Glorious Majesty, Conqueror of the Known Realms, Future Overlord of All Realms, Ruler of the Spaces Between and Beyond, Chosen of the Unknown and Unknowable Numens of the Infinite Black, Dreamer of All Dreams, Finder of All Lost Things, Scourge of the Gutless and the Insipid, the First and Only of His Name: The Eternal Galactic Overlord Lux Null,” you are deadnaming me.

And I will not stand for it.

It’s Her

Agreed. Damn you, Saoirse Ronan, why must you be such a blight upon my existence. First, you have the gall to have a difficult-to-pronounce name just to spite me and my girlfriend. And then I know it was you who is digging up my garden. I just know it. You sneak in there at night in a raccoon suit. It doesn’t even fit right.

I’m certain you’re laying hexes and sending me coded message of pure maleficence in every TV interview. That’s why I watch every single one to make sure. There is no evil to which witch Saoirse will not stoop. Something must be done!

Resolved

Goals for the next year:

1) Teach donkeys to yodel.

2) Start an intentional community based on worshipping muffins.

3) Bring back carburetors. Mandate all cars have them. I don’t know why, I just like carburerators.

4) Drill for oil on the Moon. Just for funsies.

5) Convert all Waffle Houses to boxing gyms. They can still serve food. Very little will have to change.