Damn… dropped a hammer around here someplace. Now what the fuck happened to it? Marvin (my personal robot assistant)? Have you….? Wait, there it is on the ceiling, right where I dropped it. Sheesh.
Ah, it’s you again. Welcome, welcome. Just another brief peek into the wiggly world of Big Green and friends, now en route home from a brief Martian engagement to promote our yet-to-be-released second full-length studio album (that is to say, the album itself is full length, not the studio…. the studio is quite short), a feast for the ears we trust (not quite finished) and for the eyes, as well (not designed). Did I say “en route”? Well, I was taking some liberties there. Actually, we’ve gone on a bit of a detour, thanks to the boundless curiosity of President Lincoln (the positively-charged one), one of our erstwhile hangers-on, who decided to wrest the controls away from no one in particular and send us careering off into an entirely different celestial 
direction than that which would have brought us back to our beloved Cheney Hammer Mill on dear old earth.
Damn your curiosity, Mr. Lincoln! I’m certain it was a factor in your untimely death (though historians may disagree). But I digress…
Okay, so posi-Lincoln (without the knowledge of his opposite number, antimatter Lincoln, also in our retinue) saw some shiny, shiny lights out the starboard porthole, and took it upon himself to steer us towards them. Actually, what he was aiming at was the star Cancri 55, recently trumpeted in the terrestrial as having yet another planet in its solar system. How did Lincoln manage this? Well…. as many of you may know (if there are many of you to begin with), our usual navigator and helmsperson did not accompany us this time out (potential reason: no ship-board catering service), so driving the ship has been left up to, well, a cast of extras… and somewhat substandard ones at that. Sure, John has some piloting in him, but he has to sleep sometime. As it happened, it was the man-sized tuber’s turn at night-watch and…. well… Lincoln must have found him asleep at the wheel. For shame, tubey! Ten demerits! And NO banana!
Okay, so I was a little harsh. Root vegetables have feelings too, I know. But if he doesn’t get a little constructive feedback, how is he ever going to grow into a baobab 
tree? (His fondest ambition, word of honor.) Anyway, by the time we woke up, we were in the general vicinity of Cancri 55 – a feat most earth-bound scientists would think unthinkable (if such a thing is… even… thinkable…) but which we managed to pull off because the laws of physics do not generally apply… so long as we’re in the presence of our sit-in guitarist sFshzenKlyrn, we seem to be covered by some sort of general exemption. (Don’t ask me to explain the laws of physics…. it could take all night.) In any case, there we were, in the midst of the only fully articulated solar system generally known by humankind outside of the one they themselves occupy. It was a sobering moment. We stood before the viewing port in awe, taking in this clutch of new worlds, waiting to be explored.
Okay, well… actually the larger planet has a Starbucks. And a Tower Records. And I’m not sure, but I think Murdoch owns all the newspapers. But aside from that, this is Virgin territory. (Richard Branson got here first, apparently.) More later….
