They're coming to get you, Barbara. And you too, Wes.

Wow. You guys have missed out on loads of my insightful insights, due to the recent whorelicious metamorphosis of my job. What kind of insights, you ask? Well, this kind:

Was just thinking about Halo. When Master Chiefy gets hit by a warthog or sent forty feet into the air by a rocket, he dies but looks the same--metallic and bulky. But what must the inside of that suit look like? Whose job is it to pull out the gory meat after the soldier is run over by a Scorpion tank? And how much worse must it be after a couple hours in the middle of the Blood Gulch sun?

Just listened to an hour-long dramatization of Night of the Living Dead. Decent, but a little hokey in parts. I hate radio drama that tries to make up for visuals with dialogue like "look, over there, a man! Oh, he's walking toward us. Here he comes, striding absently." I also hate when you can tell that one character is another with a different accent.

Still, it provided an interesting hour-long background to video gaming. If interested, I'll loan.