It's even worse than it appears.
There was a time when every woman I met was named Kim. It's happening again, only this time they're all named Maryanne or Marianne or Maryann. There have been four so far. Just got an email from a person working on a project that I'm also working on. Of course, her name is Marianne. My dear departed uncle used to say he was a member of the Church of Non-functional Probabilities. Things would happen to him that could not be predicted by any legit probability distribution. This is an example of a message from god. I was doubting His or Her existence. I don't doubt it now. And further I think my dear uncle in heaven is having a good laugh at his still-living nephew. If you can read this, Ken, I miss you! 💥#
An idea for a Netflix-style scifi, tragicomedy, about a race of aliens that are actually bacteria that fly between solar systems in alien spacecraft landing on inhabited planets and reducing the dominant species to slaves. They are transmitted from human to human via farts. Most humans die when infected, some survive, to be controlled by the alien life form, and to infect others of course. But a very tiny minority resist both dying and being controlled, but they can transmit the infection, and they must race to develop an antidote or else humanity is doomed. Hilarity ensues when people develop ways to be insulated from each other's farts, or when it's impossible, killing infected humans before they can transmit the disease. Rumors fly that certain races and religions are especially virulent transmitters. Time is running short when Season 1 ends. #

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Last update: Wednesday July 3, 2019; 5:01 PM EDT.