We’re less than a month away from the release of the Pandora Chronicles and maybe it’s about time to share some info about that book. I’m not going to talk about how I wrote it – there are better people out there to teach you about writing a book.
No, what I wanna talk about is the period of my life when I wrote that book. Starting a new series is never easy. It’s even worse when you’re going through crippling self doubt, watching as your peers are succeeding and you’re just twirling your thumbs, waiting for your book launch – for your turn to shoot for the stars.
This was August 2013 and life sucked balls.
At this point I had finished Firstborn but was still months, years, away from launching it and seeing a dime. I was going through a “silent depression” – telling everyone that everything is OK. Because what was I gonna say? That I want time to speed up, that I’m choking in my own thoughts, that I think about quitting every other day and then realize that there is nothing – NOTHING – I would rather do with my life than this.
So I turned to music and found solace in this song: Rise and Fall by Adventure Club and Krewella.
The song talks about a revolution of sorts, albeit the message being abstract, and the lyric “we rise and fall” kept me from going over the edge. That was my career, my hope, my life – it will rise and it will fall and it will rise and it will fall and the cycle continues.
I am listening to the song as I type and yes I am in a highly emotional state because I remember the hope I found when all there was in the world was a lonely table in a coffee shop, a guy writing a story and this song.
As such the main character in the Pandora Chronicles, Nick Solomon, is a huge Krewella fan. The band is referenced twice, and comically enough in the story he never gets to catch their concert despite having bought tickets – which I heard sell out really fast.
The reason I am writing this is because of this post I came across. You should know that Krewella consists of a DJ/producer and two vocalists. You may or may not like their music – that is merely a question of taste.
What drew me to Krewella was the same reason that drew me to Celldweller, my favorite musician. It’s their story: a high school group who decided to drop whatever they were doing and take a leap of faith – one which paid off in big bucks. That bittersweet story was exactly what I was going through – once you substitute music for writing and eliminate the hot girls. I am in love with the group because of their passion and what they stand for, the hope that no matter who you are and where you are, so long as you don’t give up, you will succeed.
But as the song goes, “we rise, and fall.”
Lawsuits are very common in the entertainment world. When you live in that world greed is often the creation and solution to most problems. It’s not a good solution – but I guess people stop thinking in terms of right and wrong when they are faced with that much money. It’s a psychological change, which means its a personality change.
I’m not going to accuse anyone. I’m not even going to pretend to understand that partying world. I do believe Rain Man has a drinking problem (and I highly suspect the other do too but hide it better).
But it saddens me to watch a group that brought me so much hope disintegrate over something so stupid as “more” money. These people are rich – they have platinum and whatever-else selling records. They have sold out concerts all around the globe. And yet I fear it’s over.
The sad part is, and TMZ would never print this, is that when they were just 3 kids making music it was all OK. The problem starts with Hollywood and the record labels. When managers get involved and words like “contractual obligations” and “profit margins” are thrown around like share buttons on a viral post, that’s when something becomes twisted. That is a toxic world they live in, one that we all feed whether we agree with it or not.
I don’t know that’s going to happen with Krewella. I don’t see them making up any time soon. Maybe the two vocalists will continue touring alone – although many fans have complained about their performances. Maybe Rain Man will have a solo career. Or maybe a miracle will happen and they do kiss and make up. Whatever the solution though, the magic is gone, sucked away in the deep dark miasma of the corporate world.
Maybe Krewella is on it’s way to falling but something else will rise, I’m sure. It saddens me to have lost something so close to me, something that gave me hope and strength when I needed it the most, but I am thankful. Those words, “We rise and fall”, are a truth I harbor close to my heart and in every word I write.
Because you never know. I bet when they made that song they were just pursuing their art, doing what they do. Little did they know that a writer from across the globe would hear those words and pursue his career, renewed by hearing the exact words he needed to hear most.
Hope comes in all forms, in all shapes and sizes, and we would be remiss if we did not try our best to spread it around.
PS. Here are some articles about the Krewella lawsuit.
Another one for the Epic Collection. This one is called the Rogue, and this time we have a female protagonist. Think of fantasy Catwoman (not that kind of fantasy). The story also continues in the next one called The Monk.
She sat uncomfortably on a stool, resting on the ledge of the bar. The grog she was drinking burned her throat – just the way she liked it. There was a moment of relief when her attention was focused solely on the burning sensation rather than every other detail around her: the smell and round of a populated tavern. The rank of whatever the innkeeper called food, the stench of spilled drink and a few other human fluids. Mercenaries, some still drenched in blood, showed up, as well as locals such as herself. The bard and his troupe were singing the same tired old song, the one about the hero – she knew it was all a tale. There were no such things as heroes in their world.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a stranger who sat next to her.
“Buy you a drink, honey?”
She raised her cup and an eyebrow. “Take it somewhere else, honey,” she mocked, extracting a small blade. “Before I cut it off for you.”
The man waved her off. “You waiting for anyone?”
“Now look here,” she said aggressively. Can’t a girl simply get a drink without being interrupted by ugly idiots?
The man raised his hand. “Relax. My name is Jarec.”
She cocked her head. “Jarec?” She gave him a look.” She gave him a look. “I was expecting someone . . . taller.”
He grunted. “Let’s go over there.” Not waiting for her response he hopped off his perch, drink in hand, and strode to a more private table.
She sighed. If he really was Jarec, the underground broker, than he was supposed to give her details about her assignment. If he was just some pervert, then she’ll castrate him or just kill him outright. In this den of darkness no one cared.
She sat down in front of the man and watched his form shimmer, melting like wax. His gruff features gave way to more boyish ones, his thick muscles deflated to the physique of a man who clearly spent a considerable amount of time sitting down. He even pulled out a pair of spectacles and put them on.
“Glamoring?” she asked casually. In her line of work she had to pretend that nothing impressed her. She had worked with magical devices before – she took great pleasure in dismantling them – but this was only her second time seeing magic up close and personal.
The first time hadn’t been a pleasant experience.
“My apologies for the deception,” said Jarec with a charming smile. “But I’m sure you understand the risk of exposing myself to the public.”
“How do I know you’re not tricking me?”
“You don’t,” he replied, smiling.
“Mages,” she scoffed. “So. What do you have for me?”
He nodded and pulled out a map. “I have a client who has been after the Shinato scroll for years,” he said stabbing the map with his finger.
She looked at the document. “Monks?” she added. “You want me to steal from monks?”
“Shinato Monks,” he replied. “Some of the deadliest warriors alive. Rumour is that they use mystical powers to enhance their bodies. They can break stone walls with their fists, snatch arrows from their flight and even shatter iron swords with a single blow.”
“And you want me to steal from them?” he retorted.
“You are the best.”
“For a price.”
Jarec folded his arms. “One thousand gold pieces. Enough to make you rich for seven lifetimes.”
“All that for a scroll?” She still had trouble imagining a thousand pieces of gold. All she had ever held at any time were handfuls.
“It’s an antique of sorts, and the client says it belonged to his family before a monk stole it using mind tricks on his father,” explained Jarec.
She scoffed. “Oh, so now they have mental powers too? Do they fly? Perhaps they see in the dark. Can they pass through walls after their fists get sore?”
The broker shrugged. “I don’t ask questions. I just make sure he gets what he paid for.”
The Rogue nodded. “I can agree with that. Have my money ready when I return,” she said, finishing her drink and snatching the map. A job like this will require some preparation. Luckily she knew exactly what to do.
Climbing the edge of a cliff was exhilarating. The Rogue loved danger – best of all she loved proving to herself and others that she could do what most would decree impossible.
The Shinato temple was at the very edge of the cliff, some three hundred feet above ground. The cliffs started from the bottom of the sea, but there was an intersection where a small hill top provided a ledge. She had climbed to the top of the hill and after a jump that had killed many before her. She was ascending up the cliff, towards the temple perched above. This was the least guarded route since the monks knew that no one could make such a climb.
No one, except her.
She finally got her feet on solid ground and snuck into the shadows. Three sentries patrolled casually but they had no weapons – only a staff, a chain or length of rope and one carried a curious par of sickles that looked particularly unwieldy. But she didn’t dare emerge from her hiding place. Years as a thief had taught her how to gauge an enemy’s strength, and even at a glance, she knew these monks were not to be trifled with.
So instead she opted for her usual trickery. Slowly sneaking to the water trough where the sentries would go to drink, she emptied a small vial of poison – a sleeping potion, strong enough to drug an orc.
Sure enough, an hour later, the sentries walked woozily and one by one fell on the ground fast asleep.
She snuck in through a narrow window, years of practice imbuing her with the flexibility of a cat. All around her were children – young monks, their heads shaved and their bodies bruised after long hours of training. All of them were sound asleep, but she still tiptoed silently out of the dormitory.
Quickly she consulted the map and walked across the corridor. She passed one room and paused. From behind the paper thin doors she saw six adult monks deep in meditation. A cloud of incense billowed in the room’s ceiling, giving her an idea. She extracted a sealed bottle, slid the door open a fraction and uncorked the bottle. Holding the contents in with her thumb, she positioned the bottle inside the rooms and slid the door shut again. In a few seconds the gaseous contents of the bottle, enhanced by the incense, will permeate the room and knock out the monks – removing them as a future threat.
Finally she got to the main hall – a large expanse of marble. It was spartan, save for the rows of statues on the side where monks were carved in different postures. It was majestic in a reverential way, despite the lack of gold, silver or anything remotely precious. The treasure room was at the far back of the hall, behind a thick oaken door. The door was locked but that was no challenge to her. She entered cautiously and immediately surveyed the room. It too was barren but her instincts told her something was amiss.
Finally, she saw it: a small pressure switch, a trigger. No doubt a row of sharp spikes ascend from the ground, impaling her as she made her way towards the wooden box in the pedestal. She disabled the trap and found another – this one to shoot darts at her from small holes on the side walls. Once all traps were disabled she walked up to the box. It was open, surprisingly, and the scroll may inside. There was nothing special about it but at hte touch, she felt a warmth coming from it – as if the scroll was alive.
“Are you worthy of that?”
The sound made her spin and her dagger was already poised, held close to her body, coiled for a strike. A young monk stood there, relaxed, blocking the doorway. He smiled at her.
“That scroll is very dangerous,” he said, beaming. “Besides, it is not yours.”
“That’s never stopped me before,” replied the Rogue, securing the scroll in a small pouch behind her back.
“I’m sorry, but I cannot let you leave until you return the scroll,” said the monk. He never lost his smile.
“I don’t do well with threats,” she snarled. In an instant, she crossed the room and swung the dagger – only to be carried forwards and stumble through the door way and into one of the stone pillars.
Angrily she stabbed at him, nicking his robe. She stabbed again and again but got only air and cloth. Finally she reached out with her free hand, grasped the monk by the collar and pulled him in -
- only to be thrown in the air and pain fully on the ground.
“Please,” begged the Monk. “Enough of this. I do not wish to cause you more pain.”
She snarled a curse and launched herself at him. He struck her right arm, instantly numbing her whole arm. The dagger was sent flying across the room.
Her other hand snapped towards his leg. He lifted his knee, blocking her strike with his shin.
She grinned. Got you.
From her left hand, a small spring loaded mechanism snapped a blade forwards, giving the monk a shallow cut on his shin.
He remained unfazed kicking her in the head.
She got up, head still spinning and ran towards the main door, headed for the exit – she would not survive another round with this monk.
He followed her, and she spun suddenly, throwing daggers already in the air. The Monk jumped impossibly high and kicked – as if walking on the air itself. He landed atop one of the statues and jumped again onto the next statue. She threw another knife at him but missed, and he jumped, landing in front of her.
Before she could crash into him, the Monk extended one palm and pushed. It was as if she had been hit with a battering ram.
“No more of this,” he chided.
She rolled up, slowly and painfully. “Yes, I agree,” she wheezed. The Monk took a step forwards and faltered. He glanced at his shin – the only wound he had received – and glared at her.
“A girl’s got to be prepared,” she said coyly as she watched the Monk stay very still, knowing full well that he cannot possibly move – not with that large amount of tranquilizer she used. She was supposed it had taken this long to work – these monks were really frightening. She felt warmth coming from the Monk, like the type she felt on the Shinato scroll. He stood there, his hands clasped in a weird gesture and gave a short but powerful cry. She felt the stone rumble and for a moment thought that somehow, he had caused an earthquake. But such a thing was impossible.
Instead, a dozen monks appeared out of nowhere, suddenly filling the hall. Unlike the first monk, the newcomers were armed with weighted chains.
“Try not to harm her brothers,” said the Monk. “She is merely foolish.”
“A fool is still dangerous,” shot back one of them. “You are only an apprentice. You should not have confronted her. You are both fools.”
The Rogue stood up and glanced to the side of the hall. On one side the fall led to an impact on the grassy plains below; on the other, a fall meant a plummet all the way down the side of a cliff.
“I may be a fool,” she said. “But I’m a fool with an escape route.”
She bolted towards one side. Chains followed her path but the statues blocked their path. The weighted ends embedded themselves inside the stone, shattering marble. Some even intertwined with each other.
But none reached her and all thirteen monks watched as she dove headfirst out of the window -
- and plummet down the cliff.
Halfway through her fall she reached for two straps on her backpack and pulled them. Clunky mechanism went off and a pair of wings folded out. She grabbed the straps that connected to the tip of each wing, giving her some degree of control and directed her flight towards the hill, smiling all the way through.
Once again she faced the impossible and she succeeded.
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I talk about a lot of things on this episode – my fear of dying on the show, the leftover stress from my schedule, the meaning of life in general. . . you know, my usual crap.
Mostly I got off in hippies and new age people. Not the ones on the fence or on a border like I am, but those really gone-off-the-deep-end people that never wear shirts or shoes and carry way too many beads and shit.
I also talk about that Alaskan news reporter who quit on the air (“Fuck it, I quit”) to tend to her marijuana farm or something. Whatever it is, it’s awesome beyond belief.
Emma Watson makes an appearance (not literally) and I talk about her speech at the HeForShe movement, about gender equality. It was a moving speech and I was happy to see someone from such a superficial world, rise up to the challenge and move hearts and minds. And it’s not because it was Emma Watson – it’s because she addressed the issue of equality over feminism, treating both sexes equally.
And then I do a very bad ad read for tonight Ebook Extravaganza. Details here.
When I do finally get on topic, I talk about Alex Scarrow’s Timeriders Series because it influenced my upcoming series, the Pandora Chronicles – apparently more than I thought, as I discover on the air.
And since I still am a child playing with my toys, of course I played music and fucked around with classic tunes such as KISS and Patty LaBelle.
A few months ago (right around the inception of my podcast actually) I read The Writer’s Journey by Christopher Vogler, which in itself is a reinterpretation of Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces (which I own but haven’t started).
Where the hell am I going with this?
Point is, I read the book and retained nothing of it. I do know I enjoyed reading it, but I was watching Heroes at the time and Hayden Panettiere can be very fucking distracting. I do remember Vogler talking over and over again about the Jungian Archetypes and how they are very important to character creation, and honestly at the time I thought it was a bunch of crap. Sure I could see the links but it wasn’t anything substantial so I moved on. Now I feel like I sort of get it but seriously, am I going to be the one to reinterpret the interpretation of Campbell’s work?
b) people (the concept of ‘outside’ in general) are scary
c) no one wants to play with me
One of my first reviews ever (a negative review), written by a guy I will affectionately name Cunt-fuck, stated that I got all the writing techniques wrong and that my story read like a cheap role playing game.
Now, granted, my writing is not perfect, and perhaps Cunt-fuck is some Harvard Professor with a chalk stick up his ass, but whatever. Following Cunt-fuck’s theme I downloaded the online version of DnD and became hooked.
In every role playing game you gotta choose your class – your character build. Every game has it’s own system but DnD is probably the earliest one to introduce this system, so all y’all other games can fuck off.
Most play the old version of DnD for the story, but I tend to just like smashing things and trudging through the game play without concern for narrative (unless I get lost in a level, which happens oh-so-fucking-often). I work with words and stories – the last thing I need after four hours of beating my brain into submission trying to smooth a chapter or thinking of new ways how to put all the granulated scenes in my head together, is to play a game with words in it.
But character builds are just like creating story characters – and DnD insists these are one and the same. So here’s a few classes I like to play as:
- Ranger: This is by far my favorite. I rolled two already and they are my most advanced yet. A ranger is just like Legolas in LotR: ace with a bow, fast dual dealing damage, light armor. I usually roll an elf as race too, simply because the in-game advantages are better for that class, although a human is OK if you’re going in a specific direction. And seriously who doesn’t love a good elf.
Mostly I love the range – you can stay away from enemy tides and just machinegun monsters from a distance . . . WITH A FUCKING BOW!!
I don’t know if you’ve ever tried archery but that shit is hard. I did it once or twice and the damn string kept snapping at my nipple every time. . . . and apparently that was a common complaint.
(Seriously, this archery nipple thing is a SERIOUS FUCKING ISSUE)
- Fighter: this is your run of the mill weapon specialist. They wear the heaviest armor, sling around the toughest swords (which ironically is a Khopesh – maybe the developer was Egyptian? Or maybe the developer was fucking an Egyptian girl?)
I think this is the only class that can carry tower shields and those fuckers are tough. Imagine being in a corner and thinking ‘oh shit, my Blade moment is over. Time to play defense.’ THAT’S when you bring a tower shield into play – it’s like saying “This person isn’t dead enough. Where’s my stream roller?”
Fighters are usually human or dwarf although personally I go for human, since you get a bonus feat. I mean, if you’re going for the whore class, might as well go all in right?
(Ryan is laughing too. Don’t feel bad – you’re both idiots)
- Cleric: This dude is the first I’ve ever played, simply because I only play good solo characters (see above for a list of Ryan’s insecurities with other people – no they don’t stop only in this world but also the virtual one). Every game has a healer class and this is it.
(Yes, yes, I know the Favoured Soul is a healer too but you gotta pay to get that class and I’m cheap. So unless someone from Wizards of the Coast wants to sponsor me – which would be so fucking cool – I don’t wanna spend money on something I probably won’t like)
A cleric is perfect for beginners since it can deal high damage, even so to the chumps of undead in early levels and I played a dwarf to get extra constitution. Also, making a fat dwarf chase skeletons with a big mace is hilarious!
Clerics heal themselves which is so handy when you’re complete idiot like I am and either WALK into traps or forget to buy healing potions.
(That just happened today didn’t it?) Shut up. Moving on.
- Barbarian: I said over and over again that I don’t like big muscly guys and I only rolled a barbarian because I kept dying in a level, so I got this guy, played for four hours to get him to the required level and then made mince meat of the boss. Of course got my ass handed to me with magic based enemies but hey, I got to smash shit with a claymore. What have you done today?
- Wizard: I had this character for exactly five minutes. First off, I was writing a wizard, literally, so I wanted to play one as well. Unlike my wizard, (which is oh-so-awesome, am I right Cunt-fuck?) wizards in DnD are very, very, VERY, squishy.
And by squishy I mean, they can take exactly two hits before you’re mopping up their guts from the dungeon floor.
- Paladin: I gotta mention this motherfucker for the sake of honesty. (Seriously man what were you smoking to play this guy?) Look, it said they were tough. I was told they were awesome holy warriors.
(Well you did get fucked up the hole so I guess they are Hole-ey Warriors . . . see that’s how you tell a joke.)
Either Wizards is a liar in the character descriptions (duh) or I can’t play (true as well). Either way, I dropped him yesterday and now I’m back to a Ranger.
I guess even in a game I hate confrontation – but I do love watching making enemies explode with a click of button.
This show needs a little backstory. I’ve been suffering from severe tooth ache since last Friday and have been on a wide variety of pain pill until yesterday. For a while I was even considering not doing the show because . . . well . . . crap load of pain – in my mouth.
Then everything changed once I did my root canal, got off most of the meds and bought this beautiful baby right here:
I love this thing. I spent a few hours fiddling around with it, making some weird noises and I HAD to record a podcast with this baby. The result will be clear once you hit play down below.
Also, in writing news, you are all cordially invited to the Pandora Chronicles Release party on the 23rd of October. There will be a cover release in the coming weeks.
But enough talk. Time for your weekly dose of insanity – this time with a soundtrack:
I tried counting how many songs I played but I got lost. Here’s a few gems: Word Up, Ain’t Nobody, Sweet Home Alabama, Can’t Touch This, Blood Rave, The Name of the Game, Fatal, Avengers Theme, I’m Blue, Back in Black, Shoot to Thrill and Electro Suite.
I can promise you’ll be dancing and singing – just like I was behind that mic.
Disclaimer: I don’t own the movie mentioned nor the music played. If I did the movies would be better and the soundtracks louder.
Maybe I should re-title this post as “Why I fucking hate kids” but I suppose that may be too aggressive. I don’t necessary hate them – fear them is more along the lines.
Look folks I don’t have kids: I’m too young, too single and too self-involved to every include another person within my range let alone devote my life to some tiny sticky person that will suck away all my money and life force. And boy, does that piece of honesty makes me popular. I’m at that age now, where all of my friends are dating, maybe getting engaged, some even thinking of setting dates for that sham of a ceremony where you exchange rings, recite bad poetry (seriously, who the fuck reads Wilfred Owen at a wedding? Or Shakespeare – holy fucklets!!) and lie in front of everybody when they say “till death do us part.” We all know it’s really “till you fuck up and I can afford a lawyer.”
And it’s only a matter of time before one of those friends phones me and goes “I have spawned” and I have to play god father (and not to good kind).
Here’s the kicker: kids love me. (Not for any illegal reasons or whatever. Seriously I think I might be an anti-pedophile – the guy who hates kids on sight.) But the thing is I cannot treat anyone like a baby. I talk to people in the same way, be they 6 or 60. I believe in treating people of every age as a PERSON, regardless of how many candles you put on their birthday cake. And that’s why kids love me: I listen to them, just as I do with adults. In my mind I can’t separate the two. When I was a kid all I wanted was to be treated like a respected person: I remember one time I told a joke in an elevator to my granddad and he just burst out laughing in tears. It was the first time anyone had every given me that reaction and I LOVED it.
I don’t have much experience with kids, cos as I said my friends don’t have any (please continue wearing a rubber guys). Bottom line is I don’t know how to talk to them, so when I’m put in a situation where I have to do so, I talk to the kid like I would an adult (minus the swearing and overt sarcasm – but a little healthy dose of sarcasm cos you gotta train them early).
Still kids are horrible and here’s why: They are master trappers. What do they trap I hear you ask? – you, you poor dumb fucker. Cute is a terrible weapon. They have infectious laughter and sometimes they develop extraordinary talents which are put on youtube and every falls in love with them . . . AND THAT’S WHEN THEY GET YOU. That’s when the demands and the tantrums start. That’s when the illusion is shattered by hyperactive, crying, wailing, snot-bubble, dribbling, drooling, little bastards with impossible needs.
And parents, can you for all that is fucking holy in this shit hole of a planet, please stop posting pictures of your ugly babies online? I don’t mean to be mean (well maybe a little but how else are you gonna learn?) but not every baby is cute. Let’s look at this objectively: a megacephaloid (that’s big head, small body), with no distinctive intellect other than crawling under your foot and pooping everywhere, who indicate their every biological need (which is every five minutes) with ungodly amounts of screaming, at a pitch specifically designed to send the human brain into panic.
Yeah. Right. Cute. Uh-huh.
Granted sometimes you will hit an exception, but most kids are time bombs ready to go off – and the best part is, they come with a feral, stressed out mother, ready to bite your head off if you so much as walk by the kid in a wrong way. Every time I see a group of young pre-teens or something close by I think “Oh no. One of them is gonna cry and then the mother is gonna show up, and then there will be a situation as either the kids or the moms duke it out”.
So where am I going with this? Nowhere really. Maybe this is all an elaborate ploy to get Durex to sponsor me. Or maybe I’m just happy that every little gremlin I have to deal with belongs to someone else. Seriously you have no idea the relief I feel when those fuckers are GONE.
OK I’m done ranting. There’s no byline here, no promotion. I’m pretty sure I’m gonna get some emails about parents being offended about that ugly baby bit. Although if you are offended that I suggested some babies may be ugly – guess who’s got an ugly ass baby?
This is a good one people. For one thing I was hyped up and full of energy. For another, I talk about cyborgs and all things robot. But instead of just nerding out (don’t worry I do that too), I explore what made people imagine such things.
Is it a fear of our own mortality? Is that why we seek to render ourselves invincible using science and technology?
Or is it more alien? The understanding of the unknown?
The show may get a little heavy and I did spin in circles at one point, but I left it there because I would like some feedback on this one. What do you guys think?
And don’t forget to join us on the 25th (that’s 2 weeks people) same time, same place, for the Ebook Extravaganza.
You can win a shitload of prizes, including a kindle device, 6 paperbacks, ten ebooks, a spotlight and more. I explain all this in a very very (seriously bad) horrible Jeremy Irons accent. It kinda takes a tour around the world at one point, but hey – it’s comedy.
We also have a new theme song. It’s no longer Rapid Fire by Blue Stahli – nope, now we have Pink Steampunk Girl by Drev. Make sure to support the artists but clicking the links below.