This message is brought to you by the Daleks, who have me typing furiously at gunpoint.

So I finally got myself a tablet, which I mailed to myself in the future so I can open it up and dick around with it in about three weeks. That is, in about three weeks when I get back to the glorious hills and fjords of America, where the birds sing the national anthem and the 72-ounce steaks taste like Freedom.

Sweet, greasy Freedom.

Anyway, this should end up leading to a couple of changes around here. I’ve been sketching a little in my spare time, flexing those old metacarpals and secret, magical doodling muscles that absolutely everybody has inside their right and/or left hand. It’s been a minute since I used those for anything other than drawing a helpful portrait of myself on red Solo cups at parties. The point I’ve been beating around here is that, as I explained to a battle buddy of mine outside the barracks the other night, there are times where simply writing about how the military can - on a whim - bend you over an ammo can and call you Sally just doesn’t do it justice. No, sometimes you need a friendly and informative visual aid, drawn with the help of a brand-new Wacom tablet, to share your feelings of violation with the world.

Or, y’know, draw other cool things, too. Like a shirtless, ripped Jesus Christ. Which I absolutely plan to draw and post here as soon as possible. When I picture our Savior, I’d like to imagine a Lord of Hosts that went three rounds with Satan and then Sparta-kicked his own grave open just to show off his wicked stigmata to Pope JP II.

Somebody should get that tattooed on their back to immortalize it. I have to go; there’s some Joes around here that are about to hear the Good News.