It's called 'the brakes,' dipshit

OK, so here you can see what it looks like when a moron drives a spaceship into the atmosphere. If our angle had been any steeper, I wouldn't be writing this now. Thanks much to the Edmonton police for this visual evidence of why I will keep smacking a certain pilot on the forehead.

Crazy to the Nth degree

Accidentally discovered that one of our implants when in someone who has a heart attack and then is heavily sedated can sometimes short, creating random behavior to a degree no one would be happy to observe. Sorry to the implantee and all the friends and relatives now going through hell.

Breaking the silence

All right, all right, sorry it has been over a week since I've posted, but come on, I've only seen everything I've worked for the past several years almost entirely wiped out. Maybe I'm a little depressed. You get depressed, your dogs and cats depressed, you don't think an alien can get depressed? If we were a human organization, we'd be bracing for layoffs about now. But we're not. On the other hand, we have airlocks.

You'd be better off

C'mon. There seem to be two ways you guys find this blog. One is the rare person who is surfing the random tweets of everyone on Twitter. The other is someone Googling something about "alien sex," "fucking aliens" or, as happened this week, "sick alien sex." When we're sick, our sex is no better than your is when you have a bad cold. Which is to say, we still do it.