It's looking really good on the psycic front; I have just sold my third house. Who would have known it took so much psycic power in order to barder premium homes to the premium bidder. Anyway, I was showing the Lucas Estate that day;things were going great until I got a visit from George Quick himself. He came up the walk screaming about the use of psycic powers for personal gain was unlawful as well as immoral. My buyers suddenly got cold feet. I was unable to hold back my temper. I then initiated a battle to the death with George Quick who apparently graduated Psycic High With honors some 50 years ago. He powers were great, I was impressed with his gravity manipulation, as well as his tactic of using constant mind games (he would confuse his opponent by playing out a 6 games of tic tac toe inside their head while the battle raged on). About 26 min. later, the battle was over. I had six broken bones and George Quick appeared to have a slightly darker tan (I had channeled my solar energies into a beam that clearly marked him with shame, or the perfect man tan) We both returned to our respective offices and called it a night. The fire crews were still taking care of the raging blaze some 12 hours later. I sent Mr. Quick a letter of apology for my actions. We soon reconciled and became best of friends. I also sent out a formal apology to the communitee of the Everest Gate Subdivision. George said that it was probably be a good idea after destroying their homes. I shall return soon to the Psy-High Campus to complete another portion of my G.E.D. this semester. I look back at the events of the past week, and I think of my Father; he were still around, he would say, "I, King Zoltar, am proud of young Sun Son." Then he would progress into dripping his saliva onto my hand in order to show his affection (which is customary on my home world, The Zornax) [END TRANSMISSION]
 

2002-2-8   atom fusion

George Quick, the multimillion-dollar real estate king, telephoned me today. I met him at our local bar with my space monkey friend named Zanzibar. [Zanzibar was one of the first colonists on our sister planet, Zornax II] Mr. Quick offered to teach me how to amplify my powers. (Who would have thought? You find your mentors in the strangest places.) I agreed and we began to train in the mornings before class. The past two days have been a montage of working out, cooking, cleaning, washing the dishes, picking up Mr. Quick’s suits from the cleaners, scrubbing the floors of his mansion and all 27 bathrooms, filing his paperwork, clearing out his attic, washing his limo, driving his limo, balancing his check book, organizing the library wing of the house, deleting his porno off the computer before Mrs. Quick sees it, gardening, picking out the onion part of his onion rings (he’s allergic), etc. I am already feeling stronger. Zanzibar agrees. My powers will soon have the strength to fry potatoes. Until then I will remain training until my final confrontation with Boris, an evil Communist Russian who killed my best friend and was sentenced to 600 years in a ultra-violet infrared prison zone beyond the reach of the astral plain. I am ready for conflict, but until then Zanzi, Mr. Quick, and I are going to play some Monopoly- “Star Wars Edition” I get to be Chewy.
 

2002-2-12   Atom Fusion

I received a call from Mr. Quick’s boss in the Philippines on his secret phone line on that special phone that’s in the bottom of the fish tank. He was calling about a rift in the astral plain. He said to meet him in Moscow in 2 earth cycles. Mr. Quick was on a vacation to Mt. Vernon that weekend, so I cordially accepted with little to no questions about my actual identity. Honestly, I needed to get out of the house; the maid, Susan, hadn’t done any work in days. 2 cycles later, after we arrived in Moscow Municipal Airport, we approached the proposed hole; the opening to the astral plain was about the size of a window in a submarine. The mysterious boss from the Philippines was there too. His trench coat loosely hiding his rugged Russian face, the sithe and hammer tattoo on his knuckles was still in the cold, the patch he wore as a symbol of power, and the way he made me feel about myself. Finally I was a real man in someone’s eyes…wait, Russian face, and Russian tattoo, Russian-esque patch that commanded the respect of his comrades. Oh no! It’s Boris. I let Zanzibar go with him to find some bananas behind a rock. Boris must have kidnapped Zanzi and thrown him into the tear in the astral plain. Now my friend maybe lost forever. One day, old friend, I shall find you among that of the other worldly dimension, I shall come for you. In the name of King Zoltar, The Zornax, and everything else that is holy in this universe, I shall enact my revenge on you, Boris Bradley. Although your tricks are great, your costumes are exquisite, and your deviousness is unmatched in this world; I shall avenge my monkey friend and end your reign of evil communism. Oh, Zanzi… Zanzi…oh hey look a cookie.
 

2002-2-22   atom fusion

I saw Boris Bradley again today. It was in my local convenient store. Apparently he had removed the caps from all Mountain Dew: Code Red 20 oz drinks. That is my favorite drink. That Commie is going to get it. I followed him home and took solace in the fact that he lives across the street from my apartment complex in a dumpster. I sat in my $150 K-Mart Recliner and laughed, laughed for hours starring down at him through my window. I then heard the most beautiful noise I could ever hear, Boris sneezed; he sneezed a light unthreatening sneeze in the cold of the alleyway. I didn’t have the heart to let him die in the cold and become another homeless statistic. In a moving emotional moment, I invited him in for some milk and cookies. He came up and I went to get the treats. When I walked back into my living room he had set it a blaze. The curtain, my furniture, my “Day of Our Lives” tape collection, all of it was on fire slowly burning to the ground. With all emotion lost, I kicked Boris back on the street. I called the only one who I knew to turn to after the apartment complex burned down, George Quick the multimillionaire. He said there was a place for me in one of his maintenance sheds on the lawn. It was great, and at night I have a great view of the stars. Tonight I saw a star constellation that reminded me of Zanzibar. Speaking of which, I set up a AM radio to communicate with the other worldly dimension in which Zanzi is forever trapped. We spoke briefly last week, he had said that he was ok and would return home soon. Until then I will wait for dear Zanzibar, just me and the lawnmower (to keep me company), ever waiting in the utility shed.
 

2002-3-4   atom fusion

I had to go to Antarctica, 1000 years in the future, to recover Mr. Quick from a bad real estate deal concerning some Russians and some homes on radioactive test sites. Anyway, The Queen of Zornax sent me an e-mail on my AOL machine. She said that the time draws near to when I will prove myself on a cosmic level and fight for the power that is solar. In Mr. Quick’s home gymnasium, I have grown leaps and bounds from my former self. I have been practicing my powers on unsuspecting homeless men resembling a certain Russian Arch nemesis of mine. (I can’t trust even the trash man since my last run in with Boris Bradley) Today proved to be a most strange day, I was mowing the Mr. Quick’s lawn when mutant garden creatures attacked me. I had heard rumors of such monsters, but I had always envisioned it as a group of senior citizens who purchased Mr. Quick’s Line of Vegetarian Microwave Dinners. In actuality, Mr. Quick had a secret laboratory in which utilized atomic radiation with plant DNA on senior citizen test subjects from his privately funded retirement home down the street. Mr. Quick was attempting to make a peaceful plant people to co-exist with humanity, but something had gone a trifle awry. As the plant zombies followed my every movement and attacked with photosynthesis lasers, I hastened my way into the under ground green house 13 miles below the surface. There I discovered a homeless bum, but not just any homeless bum; it was Boris Bradley in a drunken state. I knew right then, he was the cause of all the plant problems. I slapped him squarely across his face in hope for him to reveal his plot. He stuttered then stated he had been trapped in the secret elevator for several days. He originally wanted to pee on the Mr. Quick’s prized Tulips as to get me kicked out of the Utility Shed. It was innocent enough, however his actions must have inadvertently caused the mutant creatures to resurface after a 10-year hiatus. He claimed the monsters had nothing to do with the fact that he was down there, but I didn’t believe the Russian bastard. We agreed to team up to combat the evil at hand, until Boris passed out due to the fertilizer intoxication. I then commenced to fight the plant beings with greatest articulation of my solar blast and manifestations. We continued the battle on the lawn as to let Boris rest from his evil conquests. To finish them off I created a giant Fire Demon that charred the very leaves of the plant monsters bodies. When I was done the evil had been vanquished, but so was Mr. Quick’s yard. I forgot to mention that today; Mr. Quick was showing his house to the Subdivision’s Yard of the Month Judge. I was in a heap of trouble. I went to Mr. Quick’s Time Box in his secret upstairs bathroom. The Time box has the ability to stop the time/space continuum for short periods of time. After fixing the yard to tip top shape, I started by cleaning the subterranean green house. Boris woke and thanked me for saving him. He then gave me the coordinates to the Astral Plane Negative Zone Portal in which I could again regain my lost friend Zanzibar. I thanked him for his courteousness, and vowed that there would be no battle today, for today, the two were friends, comrades even. I finished up the green house by clearing the last bit of shattered glass from the floor when I heard an explosion. I raced to the surface to find Boris Bradley equipped with the flamethrower from the Utility shed carving the Russian sickle and hammer into the front lawn. After I high-pitched squeal from myself, I forcefully nudged Boris of the property, losing every ounce of comradery left in our relationship. Mr. Quick then drove up with the judge and I knew it was over. All I could see was black; the next thing I knew I was in the utility shed, Mr. Quick was with me at bedside. I apologized for the yard and said I would make it up to him. He was strangely not upset at all. He petted the side of my head in a comforting manor and said, “Don’t worry, Atom, your safe now.” I was thoroughly confused, but was coerced into a slow breathing pattern. I imagined my Dad saying those same words, as I was an alien babe, “I, King Zoltar, say young sun-son is safe from destruction…for now.” 12 days later, I woke in a cold sweat. I couldn’t help notice the oddity of all the happenings of that one fateful day. Oh no, I my super-space-watch from King Zoltar, is gone. It must have fell off when I was fighting the Mutant Plant Creatures. Oh well.
 

2002-3-8   atom fusion

After the strange occurrence of the other day, I was back on my feet again ready to take what the world had to throw at me. It was Friday, the day I was going to go retrieve Zanzibar from the mysterious astral plane negative zone region. Boris had given me the coordinates to Zanzi’s time/space continuum locale the last time we met. (It took “Grant’s Landscaping” 2 weeks to replace the charred grass and prized tulips that were destroyed by that commie bastard, but he did tell me where Zanzi was) Anyway, I tuned the AM radio to the negative zone as to listen for Zanzibar’s transmission. He was coming in loud and clear (as loud and clear as AM radio gets) and I zeroed in on his beacon signal. I then fired up an “astral” laser, which reflected off the mirror, into an crimson ring I borrowed from Mr. Quick. With this ring I could open up the negative zone area to save Zanzibar. I commenced my search opening a portal with the ring. I stepped into the negative zone, which reminded me a lot of a Nintendo Virtual Boy. Through out the red outlines of objects and characters, I saw Zanzi, and without hesitation I grabbed my monkey friend and high-tailed it out of the astral plane matrix. When we returned, we tumbled into Mr. Quick’s kitchen through the astral plane’s portal. I embraced my Zanzibar, and exclaimed how much I missed the young monkey friend. He seemed somewhat different since his visit to the astral plane. He no longer spoke in his psychic mind tone, he was shorter, he had wings, he was a penguin, but I never forget the smug grin of my Zanzibar. Zanzi proceeded by walking into Mr. Quick’s freezer. I thought he was probably very tired and wanted to rest. If traveling through the astral plane can change a person from monkey to penguin, he must be worn out. I went to go talk to Mr. Quick. He was sitting in front of the fireplace drinking some wine when I came in. I sat on the floor in front of the fire in attempts to warn myself. At this point Zanzi came into the den and climbed onto a stool and stood there. I’ve never seen an animal just stand there without blinking for so long. I asked Mr. Quick about the rigors of the negative zone had on people with prolonged exposure. He sadly stated that it changes people and when they return to the real world they sometimes cannot react to the outside stimuli. He also presented the theory that I didn’t actually bring back Zanzibar at all, this was just a penguin from the negative zone, and that Boris had lied to me all along. He said perhaps that Boris Bradley had Zanzibar trapped in some sort of cage in a cave island secret hideout somewhere. It sounded just like what would actually be happening in one of my typical journal entries, so I knew it was probably true. I grabbed Zanzibar IV (The original Zanzibar’s brother is Zanzibar II, Zanzibar III a space squid who died in the great intergalactic game of shoots and ladders, and my new penguin friend is Zanzibar IV) Anyway, grabbed Zanzi 4, stuffed him in my back pack and got on the riding lawnmower to proceed to my destiny of finding the real Zanzibar, and to fight Boris Bradley. But before I got off the property the lawnmower ran out of gas and I really had to go to the bathroom, so I planned on delaying my quest for a better day. After our disappointment Mr. Quick treated Zanzibar IV and I to McDonalds, although I’m allergic to this earth food, I love to play on the slide and jungle gym with Zanzi. It was magical.
 

2002-3-20   atom fusion

I’m back after a long hiatus. Boris Bradley trapped me once again, in his space lab. I was frozen in a cryogenic slumber state. It all started when Mr. Quick the multimillionaire real estate king suggested I travel back to my home world, the Zornax. He said I was ready for confrontation and a giant space battle. Mr. Quick gave me top-secret information containing the star coordinates of Boris Bradley’s secret moon lab across the galaxy. Apparently he was building a interstellar laser cannon that was aimed for the Zornax. I quickly gathered my things and placed them in a small rocket that would be launched into the stratosphere towards my greatest battle. I said my good byes to Zanzibar IV, Mr. Quick, and the faint radio transmission of the real Zanzibar. As I climbed into the cockpit, Mr. Quick stopped me to reveal the truth under what was really going on. Mr. Quick claimed to be part of an elite A.N.G.E.L. (Anti Negative Gelatin Electro Lizard) fighting task force set up by the Interpol Space Council of Sector 3791; he more preciously was a psychic human representative and high ranking member of the group from earth who was sent to train me the ultimate weapon, me, against Boris Bradley, the ultimate Cosmic Evil with roots to Communist Russia. I was in utter shock until he revealed that all my previous battles were not with the great Boris Bradley at all, but with random bums and hobos he had purchased as training dummies from a Yugoslavic slave trader named Isaac. The real Boris was 6’5 Dark Haired, Studly Russian who went under the code name “Red Star” with various Russian insignia and of course a patch over one eye (from a previous conflict with Mr. Quick himself). However no one could stand up to the powerful evil force. I was raised from a babe and sent to Earth to train for battle in order to combat this evil. Now my home world was in danger, I raced into battle, zooming past the stars, and planets. I was there in a mere 0.6 sun cycles. I breached the doors to the space castle of sorts and found to my surprise, a cookie, but not just any cookie it was the cookie of my life. It was chocolate chip, with sugared sprinkles bending in the light because of its warm nature, and it was the size of my fists. As I approached this epitome of perfection, I was jumped by three space robots and rendered unconscious. When I finally came to, I was emerging from the freezer that had encased me for more than a week (and the cryogenic goo had shrunken my manhood beyond extremes) I heard a coarse laugh from a creepy Russian man before the drugs injected into me made me squeal and fall to the ground. When I awoke, I was strapped to the end of the laser cannon, and all I could hear was the maniacal laughing of a silhouetted man in a trench coat. The robot drones referred to him only as “Red Star”. I knew this was it. The man then explained to me that I, Atom Fusion, was the last element for his interstellar laser cannon. Supposedly the extremely rare tatianic membrane on my eyelid must utilize the light from the laser in order to amplify the laser’s destructive capabilities to a planetary scale. I squirmed, but found the nylon rope that incased me was too strong for even me. I was all but doomed until Boris showed up or more preciously a Homeless Bum that played Boris against me in my previous practice battles. He was drunk of course stumbling to and fro. The Bum had crashed to the floor and slammed his wine bottle through the control panel. The laser’s polarities were fried, and an auto destruct sequence began for a meltdown of the entire moon base. I managed to escape my restraints, attempted to save Good Boris, and capture Red Star (Bad Boris). But Red Star made it safely to his escape pod and flew is ship into the sun for safety, I hope that is the last of him, but I don’t feel he will ever be gone. As for good Boris Bum, we quickly became friends; we traded war stories, laughed at the hilarious situation we were in, etc. I told him I would give him a lift back to Earth. As we loaded the rocket I went to pick up two space slushies from the Convenient Moon Store for my new friend and I. When I started back, I saw a small nuclear explosion in the distance where my rocket ship had once been. I also saw Boris Bum shuffling away with some spare sticks of dynamite and several propane tanks. I then followed that homeless dolt and pushed him in a crater and left him for dead when no one was around (I think I broke his femur) Anyway, I slowly floated my way back to Earth some 345 sun cycles later only to be welcomed home by Mr. Quick and the gang. We had small finger foods and some of that punch with the Kool-Aid from 1987 in it. Ah Yes, those were the days.
 

2002-4-9   atom fusion

As I opened the mail this morning, I found an invitation to Mr. George Quick’s (the multimillion-dollar real estate king’s), brother’s wedding. Louis Quick was to be married to Delilah Wu Tang the IV. It was indeed a glorious day. I packed Mr. Quick’s things into an overnight bag, and likewise did the same for me. I made the cleaned up everything and started up the Time Wagon (Mr. Quick’s old Time Machine 1960’s Volkswagen Euro Van). The wedding was going to take place back in during the French Revolution (which is the place of places to be married for any Ace-Time-Jockey, as Louis himself was). Louis always had an eye for cleavage and big hair. Anyway, as I proceeded to tell Mr. George Quick the great news, he remained silent in his chamber. I proceeded in only to find him in a solemn, melancholy mood. He said he would not go to the wedding that he would never go not if he were the last person to go. He threw a random liquor bottle at me and told me to get out, and that he wanted to be alone. I scurried off like a squirrel hiding his own nuts. I waited with Zanzibar IV in the van slowly saddened by the day’s events. I knew the last call for Mr. Quick’s brother’s wedding was coming up (despite the fact we had a time machine, the reservation was at 8:00 sharp). I was forced to leave without him. Zanzibar IV and I traveled back to the French Revolution wedding and sat in the 3rd pew on the left with one empty place for Mr. George Quick as the procession began. The ceremony was wonderful, Mr. Quick would have been so proud of his little brother; he would have liked to see this. I’m sure, back in present day, Mr. Quick was flipping through a family photo album that was being altered for the time events as we spoke. I had an odd feeling about the bride. She was very beautiful don’t get me wrong, if you like Asian’s, but something was different I couldn’t put my finger on it. I then met some of Delilah’s parents and family. There was something wrong, but I couldn’t see it. I noticed a group of them speaking softly in the corner of the lounge. I over heard a very familiar dialect of Space alien, the Xorax’s of the Delta Quadrant [an alien civilization who fed off the brain’s of unsuspecting earth beings. I knew that was a rare and difficult language to master, but until Delilah Wu Tang the IV’s entire family and friends arrangement tore off their fake human costumes and their tentacles branched out all over the ground I had no idea this was an invasion. Delilah and her entire family were going to feed off the brains of Louis’s friends. The tentacles trapped the unsuspecting guests of the party and began sucking the brain juices from the hosts. The party was in danger and I was the only one who could stop them (seeing as my brain juices are stronger and not compatible with Xorax’s stomach acids. I swiftly broke away and powered up for an ultimate solar fury attack, when Boris Bradley (the Bum, not Red Star) stumbled into the path of fire. I quickly diverted my rays of heat in order to not injure the innocent, but inadvertently activated a nearby volcano. One of the Xorax Aliens took “mind control” of Zanzi IV and made him attack me. The penguins shaped Zanzi then proceeded in an awful tickling frenzy. I was paralyzed. I began to weep at the misfortune of the wedding. No one could save us. But just then, a leer jet flew over the ruins of the activity hall, and out came parachuting George Quick, the multimillion-dollar real estate king with slime gun in hand and the original Zanzibar the space monkey. He floated down to the surface like a glorious angel of death. The toxic sludge pulsated out of his rifle matrix into globs of pain upon the Xorax aliens. Their tentacles shriveled like raisins drying in the California sun. They began to retreat to a secret space ship which was actually camouflaged as the three story wedding cake. Quick laughed because he had already alerted the elite A.N.G.E.L. space fighting task force which would be greeting the alien invaders around Mars. The captives were freed and Louis’s friends rejoiced at their savior Brother Quick. Louis himself was discouraged that he chose a nasty Xorax alien as his wife. George (the multimillion…), reminded his little brother, Louis, that the gal must have been lying all about the pregnancy and also that Louis was a free man now. The two embraced as George admitted that at first he didn’t want to come back to the wedding because he was envious of Louis’s womanly success. But now they were back to being the best of friends. Just then Boris Bradley, the bum, had stolen the wedding ring, which held mystic spider powers. His drunken fury showed through the mind control of a giant energy force spider monster. But he passed out and the monster dissipated into nothingness, a close call, (and only 4 casualties [which was no problem because one of Louis’s was a wizard who could make zombies]). Anyway, the night ended in utter utopia. As we all transported back to the present to the Mansion owned by the legendary George Quick, the multimillion-dollar real estate king, and had all sorts of goodies. Ohh ohh we even had candy corn. Best wedding ever.
 

2002-4-23   atom fusion

George Quick, the multimillion-dollar real estate king, invited me on a field trip to a new nuclear power plant he had recently acquired through an exchange of properties from a Monopoly-esque game, played by the top four real estate investors in town. He had traded his Park Place and $500 for the power plant. He said it would be good for me to go with him to check it out, as to better understand my nuclear-based powers. We sat in a dark room which was used for public tours. Mr. Quick left the room to speak with some of his business associates, when all of a sudden a film reel began to roll. It’ was apparently one of those nice films about nuclear power with that wacky and zany atom character named A-tron. He was basically a bunch of cartoon molecules and such twisting and orbiting around a bit with a real playful voice that just absolutely made you love nuclear power. I walked in with an obscure precondition that atomic powers were severely destructive. When I left the dark, moist amp-u-theater (powered entirely by nuclear energy), I felt somewhat short changed on my gifts from being a Zornax Prince from a distant sun galaxy. I saw my powers much less dangerous. My greatest attack changed from “Molecular Fusion” to “Solar Beam” (because apparently that can cause skin cancer). Crazy 1950’s propaganda will ultimately be the end of my self-confidence. A-tron told me that everything that is anything is made of atoms. He said these “atoms” were safe enough for a baby to play with. My great cosmic nuclear abilities that once could destroy entire planets now are the random playthings of you typical infant. If that’s the case I don’t see why babies hate me. Odd, indeed.
 

2002-4-26   Atom Fusion

I was locked in the basement of George Quick, the multimillion-dollar real estate king’s nuclear power plant. Mr. Quick brought some investors over to see if they would be interested in purchasing such a fine plant and property. Of course, the power plant was very worn down and couldn’t even sustain enough power to power itself. The multimillion-dollar real estate king didn’t become number one without having a few tricks up his sleeve. He told me to hide down in this basement (he called it a reactor core), and when he called my beeper I would have to use my greatest attack against this balloon floating weightlessly in the center of the room. He then had machines convert the energy to power the plant and a neighboring city. The Japanese businessman, named Mr. Shanghi, was very impressed with the plant performance. I was snickering from an AC vent when I saw them buy the plant. George Quick, the multimillion-dollar real estate king, had done it again; he swindled Mr. Shanghi and walked away with a fat check. I then went to a neighboring window and saw the men make a last business handshakes and leave. I was all alone; both men left in their respective limos. I sat in the darkness of the air duct and waited for someone to return.
 

2002-9-13   atom fusion

I had been sitting in the darkness for sometime (the entire summer a matter a fact). It was all just a ploy by Mr. Quick, the multimillon dollar real estate king, for me to get a summer job. All summer I was to work in this abandoned nuclear power plant. Mr. Shanghi, the new owner, would walk into the basement each morning at dawn to wake me for work. I basically harnessed my energy to the balloon each day to provide electricity to power a neighboring city by the name of Tokyo. ( I think it's somewhere in New Jersey) Anyway, I was just released from my "internship" this past week (I call it slave-driving, but who knows); however I missed regestraion for the new school year, so I will be working with Mr. Quick's multimillon dollar real estate franchise until he can find a suitible place for me. It's good to be back in the mansion with Mr. Quick and the gang: Mr. Quick, his brother Louis Quick, Zanzibar the original Space Monkey, Mrs. Quick (back from her trip to Jamaica, with the pool boy, Antonio), and Zanzi IV the space penguin from the negetive zone. The gang was all here and it was too perfect. I even got to speak to my father, King Zoltar, benevolent king of the Zornax, on the video phone, he said, "Hello, Sun Son." (He hadn't been that affectionate in years) Life is just now starting to get back on track. Tomorrow is my first day back into the Real Estate offices. It was more than six months since Mr. Quick and I battled over the legitimicy of using psychic powers for monitary gain in the realm of business and real estate, and since I had destryoed the Everest Gate Subdivison as a private real estate agent. It will be good to get back into the saddle, metaphorically speaking. Although words out about a new real estate guy who's got Mr. Quick worried. When I asked Mr. Quick about it he said there was no trouble and that I shouldn't worry myself. He also said that I'm presenting and hopefully selling the Balholm Property tomorrow. It's going to be a big day. I can't wait, although I haven't heard from Boris the bum yet, I can only assume he will come crashing back into my life at an inopprotune time, only to complicate the situation at hand. Oh Boris, what are you up to this time?