Observation: Spud has not blogged in 3 months.

Plausible Hypotheses: Spud has died. Or is having family drama. Or doesn’t like Space Men anymore. Or was kidnapped by Swedish terrorists. Or– and bear with me here– has died.

Actual Explanation:

Credit: Incendavery

UUUUUUGH FINE I’LL BLOG SOMETHING. >_<

People always seem a bit confused when I make fun of the Knights of Montesa, but this is because most people have not read the Military Orders fluff section of the original Human Sphere book from N2. Behold the storied history of this noble order (emphasis is mine):

In short,

1. Nobody wanted them to exist.
2. They’re only operating on a temporary pass.
3. They’re slightly worse than other knights.
4. They struggle to prove their value.
5. There have been repeated attempts to shut the order down.

Or in even shorter, BAHAHAHAHA THE OFFICIAL FLUFF SAYS THEY SUCK. XD

I’m working on a terrain project that isn’t quite ready to show yet, but I didn’t want to miss my monthly bloggerating, so instead I’ll show off some art I made for the project:

It’s an O-12 Kappa! In a very odd pose! We’ll get to that in a sec!

I’m really smart and talented and attractive and I succeed at most things I try, so sometimes I like to set myself absurd goals just to break up the monotony of my relentlessly successful life. About six months ago, I posed myself just such a challenge: to make a foamcore terrain design SO SIMPLE, that even you– yes you, the less smart, minimally talented, and honestly rather homely masses— could build it without parental supervision.

I of course did not succeed. As always, the fault lies with you; I vastly overestimated the average human’s patience, hand-eye coordination, and capacity to sit next to a bottle of glue for an hour without ingesting any. But if you imagine yourself to be among the more skilled apes and want to risk crippling injury attempting to follow my instructions, I invite you to click the new “Papercraft” link in the menu above and see what doomed misadventures await you there.

I even made you a TV show so that you could absorb the instructions in a more format to which your adorable brain is more accustomed. After all, words are hard.

If, on the other hand, you worry that you would come away from such an endeavor with fewer than the factory count of fingers, you can just keep reading here and watch me make pretty red shapes in Photoshop instead.

*condescending head pat*

I’ve never been a gum-chewer. But in the last year, the gum needed chewing, so I got down to business.

That isn’t a metaphor.

About a year ago, someone offered me some gum, and I was intrigued by the vessel it was offered from— not a metallic bubble pack, but a plastic jar with a very interesting lid.

The lid is a truncated hemisphere, but the flat cut of the top isn’t parallel to the base– instead it’s angled, creating an interesting shape. The flap at the top is a separate piece that can be (permanently, and destructively) removed, and there’s a satisfying row of parallel indentations around the edge. As it tends to do, my brain took in the shape of this lid and filed it into the Terrain Scrap Archives, a filing system in my brainmeats where I track “stuff I’ve seen that could probably be used for terrain, someday, maybe”. I didn’t immediately know exactly what use the lids would have, but I knew in my core that there was a piece of terrain somewhere inside it.