Welcome back to the 4077th. Status report: the surgery happened. I am alive, I am cranky, and I am under strict orders to avoid golf, heavy lifting, and any activity more strenuous than glaring at a screen. The doctors called it a "minor procedure," which we have already established is doctor-speak for "minor for us, a whole storyline for you." Recovery is going fine. The recliner and I have reached a professional understanding, and the dog has assumed full morale command.
Golf: medically banned, clubs in chains
No golf for a few weeks. None. The clubs have been placed under quarantine, and frankly the padlock is as much for the house's protection as for mine. Somewhere in that closet my driver is whispering sweet nothings about the range, and I have been instructed to ignore it.
Here is the part that stings: my drives were finally behaving. Long, straight, occasionally majestic. The putts were still committing crimes, but the system worked at full swing. And now the whole operation is suspended for weeks at the exact moment it was showing signs of sentience. The course will still be there when I get back. So will my drives. The putts, sadly, will also still be there, completely untouched by improvement.
Music: practice is postponed, the keytar is lonely
Band practice is also on pause for a couple of weeks, which means Under The Influence gets a brief vacation from me asking "can we run it one more time" about a section that only I believe needs one more time. The bands will survive. The keytar, meanwhile, sits in the corner by itself, charging dramatically and waiting for its moment like a very specific prop in an eighties movie.
The lab shipped something useful: a vacant land auditor
When a duck is grounded, the duck builds things. With the golf ban and the practice break, I had actual hours with nothing trying to kill me, so I finished a service for verifying vacant land: the Vacant Land Seller Impersonation & Deed Fraud Auditor. It is a ten-point forensic audit that runs before anyone wires a dime on a land deal: county treasurer tax-billing cross-checks, notary commission verification, phone-carrier lookups, SSDI and probate checks, and certified-letter confirmation straight to the real owner.
Because "the seller lives in Florida but the tax bills go to Illinois" is not a vibe. It is a felony. It is on the services page now, live through Contra, and it is the most useful thing to come out of me being ordered to sit still. Apparently enforced idleness is a productivity hack. Do not tell my doctors.
Yeet 'N' Greet: beta, and with its own movie
The sitting still also had consequences for the games division. My new game, Yeet 'N' Greet, went into beta. It is exactly what it sounds like: you yeet, and then you greet. If you have ever wanted to launch a duck and then be friendly about it, this is your moment. It is in beta, which is industry-standard phrasing for "it is alive, it is fun, and if it does something weird, that is called feedback."
The video: starring one duck and a ring light
A game without a trailer is just a hobby, so I made a fun video about it. Ring light, camera, the whole production. One take of me gesturing at a game like a game-show host, several takes of me explaining the plot of a game about yeeting, and a final cut I am unreasonably proud of. Watch it. Share it. Then go yeet something.
What comes next
The next few weeks: more scam-warning videos, more real estate fraud coverage, a slow, doctor-approved return to golf and band practice, and the eternal campaign to close the taco deficit. Recovery orders say rest. The lab says otherwise. The lab is winning, as usual.