I Emerge Fully-Formed From My Own Head...

and flop out onto the internet, where I thrash about, shaking off bits of grey matter. My name is Plasmatron-7; some people call me "Plaz", some people call me "fucko" , and others call me "Master", though that latter group could do for some growth. Nobody calls me "the space cowboy", "the gangster of love", or "Maurice."

This page, from this day forward, shall play host to various slitty-eyed observations and acerbic diatribes that spring to mind as I skulk in my warren, peering out through my blinds or into the dirty windows of my television and computer screens, as I cruise the city aboard the Metropolitan Transit Authority's hulking mobile human-tanks, and as I silently grow heavy with whiskey in poorly-lit bars on slow afternoons.

The effort expended in designing this site's essentials has drained my resources low, and so I shall sever this post here. The next one is guaranteed to contain some substance, though I can't guarantee that it will be a non-toxic substance. In fact, it will probably be plutonium mixed with diphtheria sludge and little ground-up bits of Hitler's moustache.