It would appear that some people never change. Quin is one of those people, as you may have surmised. He is eternal, and will probably keep that hat until his dying day, when he bequeathes it to one of his (known, legitimate) heirs, entrusting that young individual to carry out his legacy of addlepated intellectual tomfoolery. It will be a beautiful ceremony, I'm sure. But that's beside the point.

Also, I do enjoy everyone's face in that last panel. It...just sums the entire situation up so well.

I would like to take a moment to espouse the virtues of chocolate soy milk, as I am enjoying a tall, cold glass of this delightful beverage as I compose this newspost. So, without further ado: 1) It tastes like chocolate. 2) It tastes like delicious. 3) It tastes like delicious chocolate. 4) The fourth virtue is a lie. 5) It is marginally healthier than Dr Pepper. It cannot, however, take the place of Dr Pepper, though it may function as a potable fallback point in the event that Dr Pepper is, for some reason (nuclear war), no longer available.

I have been (more than a decade late) enjoying the grisly heavy metal stylings of Quake II, thanks to the We Can't Tell A Video Game From An Audio CD fifty cent bin at the big library book sale this past weekend. It is one of the many titles, along with such luminaries as Marathon and Doom, that helped define the first person shooter as it exists today. And though the graphics aren't the latest and greatest anymore (compare Quake II to, say, Enemy Territory: Quake Wars), the visceral feel of grinding an enemy cyborg into meaty chunks with a chaingun doesn't seem to have lost any of its charm.

Some of you may feel differently on this point. Some of you may think that alien cyborgs have rights under the Geneva Convention or some shit, that we can all talk this out. Let me tell you, negotiations are difficult when the weather forecast on Planet Hellhole shows a one hundred percent chance of hot lead with a forty percent chance of particle beams moving in from the southeast during the late afternoon. I'm sure they'll be willing to listen to reason as they crucify and then vivisect you in the name of terrible alien science.

You just let me know how that turns out.