Hello, you can call me Birdman. My real name is a series of squawks and cheeps, so for the sake of ease you can use a name others have utilized for their own benefit.

I have come to inform you that Paul Tristan Fergus is temporarily indisposed. Something about a UFO and dimensional engineering feats involving object packages. A whole lot of technical stuff that quite frankly is for the birds if you ask me. Give me some tasty snacks and a brisk wind on a clear sunny day and I am happy chickadee.

Some of you may have noticed a gradual slowdown in posts here, with a general focusing on bizarre psychological adventures. I assure you this has been quite normal and intended! My fine un-feathered friend has been subjected to a great deal of stress, the misery of which has required his utmost attention to transform into usable materials for the refinement of his quest objectives.

It’s perfectly understandable if some of you have wondered about the sanity or stability of our illustrious super fool. Fear not! Such chills and thrills appear to be part of the general program, or ride, or process. At least, if I’m not a bird-brain and have got it all wrong!

Hold tight, the suspense is in not knowing if the magician is really juggling anti-matter while eating peanut butter cups or is pulling your leg. Oops, is that a real bloody stump or ketchup?

Eeegah aieee ooooeeahh!

In the meantime, you may rely on me to keep the lights on and the oxygen scrubbers pulsating. I will do my best to be a good egg—I have ordered an extra pair of dignity pants so that when I go flying off the cuff I won’t be a dirty birdie! You are all in good talons, rest assured.

For now, kick back, and listen to the transwarp hyperspace jumpspice stargate mechanisms making for a Hek of a fabulous and fantastical display of transformational transmutation of a most winged kind.

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