Journal Entry # 1644

Well....poop. Every Dahk-Tore before me had protocols....guidelines for situations like this. If you crash on a foreign world, and it seems unlikely you will receive aid or be able to fix the problem yourself for a very very long time, make yourself at home. In short, since I will not be able to contact the Divine any time soon, and I can't fix the ship myself, due to unavailability of resources, I must consider the possibility that I will have to live on Urth. For the time being. I'm sure Tsar-Djent Peckerhead will be ok with this and I'm sure Spasmodeus...will continue to eat everything and just kind of go with the flow. Now the original Dahk-Tores protocol said that you were to integrate into the dominant society and blend in. Be one with them. In this case that would be you, the Hoomans. I have my reservations about this. I've never hidden my distaste for you hoomans. I can't suddenly jump in the air cheering for you. I'll say it a million times, you're backwards to me. However I must follow protocol, so trying to be hooman it is. My computer made a list of some common elements and essential components in being a hooman. First I need a Social Security number...wait, you number each other? Laaaaame. Not doing that one. Second, have multiple emotional insecurities...ummmm....ok....moving on. Insurmountable medical bills...what? Seriously? A minimum wage job....whatever that is. Bad breath...alright now this is just getting sad. How do you live like this? I'm sure there's an upside somewhere....what's BBQ?