And on the night of February 27, 1933, under circumstances that are still not entirely clear*, your heart caught fire.

*Welcome back, Wikipedia!

So, I love astronomy. Love space. Love the bright side of sci-fi/future stuff. Kind of bummed that I’ll never be chilling in Jupiter’s orbit.

Though not so bummed, because the idea of looking out a window and just getting a face full of Jupiter fills me with a deep sort of pants-shitting terror.

Love space. Scared of big space things. Or maybe the notion of falling through nothing, toward a monstrous gravity beast whose sheer life-destroying, gargantuan malice would make our own planet’s casual indifference seem like a loving caress?

Shooting Sophia in the face is so much better than breaking the legs of a chicken and throwing Sophia that for breakfast. That was unpleasant.

I love this kid. And I love Portal. And I love how he is somehow immune from the deep, crushing sense of existential terror that I associate with the games.

And the sadness. The heart-melting, eye-wetting sadness of it.

I hope Eddie dates a furrie and Marilyn tries to explain to the family that she’s not just being open-minded about his werewolfiness, and it turns into a parable about how you shouldn’t fetishize people who are different just because their thick fur and sharp claws might seem “exotic” to you.