To the Uninitiated and the Incurably Curious

These stories you’re about to read—

this swirling mix of satire, dubstep, bureaucratic breakdowns, and philosophical orks—

they are, at their core, love letters.

Not the quiet kind.

Not the sanitized kind.

The kind that shouts in frustration because it cares.

The kind that stays behind, even when the plane is fueled and waiting.

The kind that sees what’s broken and mocks it only because it still believes it could be fixed.

Yes, the villains are inept.

Yes, the institutions collapse under their own contradictions.

Yes, the laws seem written by crabs with a grudge and a Sharpie.

But this isn’t cynicism.

It’s devotion with claws.

These aren’t just tales of government incompetence.

They’re reflections of what the island deserves—

to be bold, creative, free, safe, and real.

To be better.

To remember its soul, even under layers of concrete, contracts, and committee meetings.

The Rogues—the Ork, the Adeptus, the Secretary, the Harlequin, Romantic Interest—they’re all pieces of me.

Pieces of how I love: with absurdity, with precision, with fire, with silence.

They aren’t heroes because they save the day.

They’re heroes because they stay, because they notice, because they refuse to look away.

So laugh. Rage.

Notice the patterns beneath the punchlines.

And remember: everything that seems ridiculous…

was either real, almost real, or should have been.

This is not just fiction.

It’s the truth—painted with satire, because that’s the only brush left clean.

Welcome to the absurd.

Welcome to the real.

Welcome to love—dressed in madness, armed with meaning.