Our rocket ship is coming in angled and fast, cutting through the atmosphere at super-sonic speeds on a collision course with downtown PDX. I could swear I just saw a caped corn dog go past the porthole..? A strange music is playing somewhere - I can't hear it, I can feel it resonating up the base of my skull. Shout the anthem of the rock gods! The pilot has pulled a gun from her bag and has been staring at the side of my head for at least thirty seconds; were I a lesser man I might melt away. I think our robot has sabotaged the engines. I can see him talking to himself (in robo-bleeps), fingering a cord of frayed wires near the emergency exit. The pilot thinks I'm a spy. She's had sex in a Camaro and I'm not about to debate her. I feel a sudden, immense pressure and turn to see our robot jump out of the hatch and into the sky. Damn. - Booboo Journal Entry #223, Date Unknown.