In deciding whether or not a single sentence constitutes a proper blog post, I realise that as long as it consists of a) at least one hyperbolic word, b) an utterly improbable (yet hilarious-to-the-author) stage direction, and c) enough verbiage to require either the vocal training of a Wagnerian opera star or at least four breaths and a pee break to be said aloud, then we’re all good.

[Sound of devious mole rats sneaking up behind you for the sheer tangential joy of messing with your head.]

If I can post to Twitter at least once a day, I can post here a little more frequently than once EVERY TEN DAYS.

I can’t promise that everything will be of the “stunning quality”* that you have all come to expect from Space Monkey Pants, but I’ll do my gosh-darned best.

And I have a very big project looming on the horizon.

I have approximately three months of comments to answer.

I’ll need a serious pick-me-up to get me through that.

Do they make crystal-meth-chip cookies?

…

* Please — reserve your sarcasm. I used quotation marks.

Yeah. I’ve discovered Twitter. I’ve even managed to tack it into the rear end of Space Monkey Pants like Eeyore’s tail.

So… while I’m still locked in the death-grip of this NEVERFREAKINGENDINGTIMECRUNCH… I will, at least, be able to put something up here for your viewing pleasure.

The true minutia of my life.

I can feel you tremble with anticipation.

…

PS: If you feel so inclined, you can also follow my twittish activities on my Twitter page. Same great taste. Just as many bananas.

Yup. It’s that time of year again.

IT’S DELURKING WEEK!

YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAW!!!

You! The quiet one that eats something that always smells like pickled beets. You. In the back. Yes… I’m talking to you. Is there anyone around you that smells like beets? No. There isn’t, is there? This is when you speak up.

And you. The one with the funny ear. (I’m sorry if I’m insensitive, but hey, we were all thinking it.) Quit mumbling to yourself and speak up.

And you too, sir. I see you over there. I don’t want to know what you are wiping under your chair. NO! DON’T. TELL. ME. Whatever it is, I just don’t wanna know. All I’m asking is that you speak up… about anything else.

Everybody! This is when you say “HI!”. Tell me what you like on the site. What you hate. What you would like to see more of. See less of. This is when I start taking freaking requests. WHATEVER.

You just gotta put fingers to keys.

And remember…

Take a break, people. Space Monkey Pants shall be dormant for the next 4 days.

Space Monkey Pants has an exam on Thursday. And Space Monkey Pants’ brain is about to explode.

Best wishes would be appreciated.

As would gifts.

Gifts of cookies.

Cookies of smartness.