WINNER! Unpronounceable Receives Philip K. Dick Award Special Citation for Excellence

I would brag if I cared what other people think of me. Okay, so I'm bragging. The story of yours truly, how I came to another planet and turned it into the perfect world for you-know-who, making sure the rest of humanity has to stay far away if I say so. Sure, you want to come here. Well you can't. Not unless you have lots of cash and then only for a short vacation.

Nice Is Overrated

We won so no more of your  libtard, snowflake, nanny state rules. 

Civilization was not built by nice people. The problem is civilization gets so comfy after it settles in that people can afford to be nice for no good reason. Soon they don't know how to fight anymore when somebody don't play fair (unless they grew up someplace like New Jersey where "nice" is a dirty word). This is why civilizations have also been destroyed by not nice people, and the nice people can't figure out how to save it. Or themselves.

Sadly, your low-lifes are the only ones left in the otherwise civilized world who really know what to do when a conniving mobster suddenly rises to being a serious contender for conquest. They of course get a bank account in Cypress and start offering to do the laundry, only with money instead of underwear, for the goons who are snacking on the gummy bear goodies that civilization produces.

Civilization should have an emergency cutoff for nice like hospitals do for oxygen. Mostly humans need it but too much makes you breathe so easy you figure you can have a cigarette with no consequences. Your lungs might be able to handle the smoke, but not the explosion and fireball caused by you thinking a tiny match is no danger. Ka-boom.


That is your first-world countries today. They are dodos heading for extinction because they don't want anybody to talk to them about the science of oxygen rich air. They have a right to a cigarette if they want. No nanny state! And so some idiot, or a whole buncha idiots on elections day light a match and taste the sweet nicotine high of self-indulgent righteousness. And when the fireball comes? They'll say it was somebody else's fault for not telling them.

Finalist in 2017 Dick Awards (as in Philip K. - get your mind outta the gutter)

That's me on the far right. Go buy the book to see what the fuss is all about. Heck, buy them all. Just buy mine first.

Oh, so now that I'm far away on another planet, people start being nice to me. Spend money buying my book. Nominate it for awards. Lure me into thinking I might actually win by making it a finalist. I suppose I should say thanks for the nomination, not that you have the taste to actually hand over the award to a girl with a mouth classified as a weapon of mass destruction.

I suppose I should say the nomination is honor enough for me. That would be classy. Fortunately, that was another quality my DNA is allergic to.

If you want to see who else is up for the Philip K. Dick Award, check it out here. The prizes get handed out in April at Norwescon in Seattle. I'm not gonna hold my breath about winning, and certainly not leaving this unpronounceable paradise for the swamp that is the US of A at the present time.

At least this prize, the Philip K. Dick Award, has a name that a girl would enjoy being able to brag about: I'm this year's Dick winner.

Never Truth

“Politics is never about the truth. Who would vote for it? Elections is all about pandering to your tiresome, your put-upon by, and your overweight pretending that their poundage is not at all their fault. To do that, they cannot let a smidgen of truth infect their pure, unadulterated mendacity. No, no. The minute truth gets a toe-hold, soon all sorts of reality-based responsibility creeps in and your creeps won’t be able to keep the delusion going that they are the good guys. The problem with the rest of you is that you’re not miserable enough to need a morally bankrupt liar to hide the ugly reality of your hopeless condition from you. Yet.”

Resolutions for the 2017 New Year That You Don't Have to Keep

It's the New Year on Planet Earth, which from space you can tell by that little drunken wobble as the parade of midnights travels from east to west.

Typically, this is when even life's winners feel like they have to improve on their perfections by making resolutions that they will not be able to keep for more than a week and thus be faced, however briefly, with the depressing fact that they are no better than anybody else and possibly much much worse. Therefore, in the spirit of interplanetary goodwill, which I am only able to feel for you because of humanity living light years away from my corner of the heavens, I will provide you with a set of resolutions that will be good for you whether you keep them or break them. I got one for body, heart, and mind.

Resolved: not to eat until I explode.

The win-win: No matter how much you eat, you aren't breaking your resolution unless you actually do manage to eat until you explode, in which case you will make it into all kinds of record books and scientific studies, guaranteeing the immortality of fame to an otherwise nonentity.

 Resolved: perform one act of kindness for someone every day.

The win-win: If you do something nice for another person, you get to feel superior. If you don't do something nice for anybody else, think of how kind that is to yourself to not have to put yourself to the trouble of figuring out how to help somebody and then actually doing it. You are someone, so you count just as much as the rest of the losers.

Resolved: to read a book whenever I feel tired.

The win-win: Reading is something everybody agrees is virtuous, certainly more virtuous than napping, and it gives you an excuse to put your feet up and to ignore other people who try to talk to you. If you fail and fall asleep instead, well then you get your nap after all.

Trump, Hillary, and the Lies That Bind

This is the season for politics in the US of A and I am enjoying the spluttering outrage of your fact-based contingent in the electorate once again. Of course Donald Trump can get away with saying Hillary started your Birther conspiracy theory – because she didn't. Me, I'm not the thinker in this family. To understand, and so's I don't have to bother, here's my ma's cousin Claire explaining it in 2012.


It makes sense that the news don't cover the "truth" neither. Who would watch? When Hillary claims Trump is a Birther, you yawn. Even if you love her and hate him – admit it – you yawn. Because elections is all about your tiresome, your put-upon by, and your overweight pretending that their misery is not at all their fault. To do that, they cannot let a smidgen of truth infect the pure, unadulterated mendacity. No, no. The minute truth gets a toe-hold, soon all sorts of reality-based responsibility creeps in and your creeps won't be able to keep the delusion going that they are the good guys. The problem with the rest of you is that you're not miserable enough to need a morally bankrupt liar to hide the ugly reality of your hopeless condition from you. Yet.

The Four Disagreements

I just read the Four Agreements. Mental Muzak. The human mind is designed to delude you about yourself but you'll be so busy feeling smug in your delusion that you'll whistle while civilization burns. Not that I don't  think civilization isn't a waste of millennia, but you prob'ly think it's awesome. Anyway, here's my antidote ghost-penned by my supposed authoress.