Pandoran Gazette, Volume 30, Issue 161 – Page A4
Advice Column: Ask Doctor Tannis
|Dr. Patricia Tannis
For those of you who possess the (for this planet, anyway) downright startling ability to read, you will be pleased to note that I, xenoarchaeologist and varnish enthusiast Patricia Tannis, have once again returned to the pages of this grease-and-semen-stained rag of a newspaper to dispense my uniquely brilliant advice that you will almost undoubtedly ignore. When you invariably end up dying alone, in a ditch, with only a pile of your own feces to keep you company, you will likely regret ignoring my sage wisdom. Still, there are questions to be answered – let us continue.
My daughter won’t listen to me. She refuses to acknowledge that I exist – she only seems to be interested in swallowing bread and spitting it back up a few minutes later. She refuses to let me touch her – she actually burns me if I try – and she hasn’t said so much as a single word to me in weeks. What should I do?
– Twice Burned in Lynchwood
Dear Twice Burned,
What you refer to as your “daughter” is, in fact, a toaster. This is a common mistake. Teenage daughters, like toasters, are prone to sudden shifts in mood – docile and room-temperature at one moment, then hot-tempered and impatient the next. They also have a tendency to suddenly pop at the most unexpected of times, startling children and adults alike. You should also exercise care: though I have not tested this experiment on teenage girls, I am one hundred percent certain that French-kissing a toaster will cause irreparable damage to your own tongue, and the toaster’s psyche.
Why is everybody in Sanctuary knocking on doors and walls all the time? I literally can’t walk three feet without hearing the rhythmic tap-tap-tap-tap on corrugated metal. Who are these people? What are they doing? And how, in the name of everything that is scientific, do I get them to stop?
– Asprin Addict in Sanctuary
Dear Asprin Addict,
I see two possibilities regarding the identity and motives of the wall-knockers. Possibility one: they are simply bored, or insane. This, of course, is the most logical and straightforward explanation. Had Occam not had his throat metaphorically slit with his own razor the moment Scooter and Lilith turned the city of Sanctuary into a teleporting airborne fortress, I would be inclined to trust this explanation above all others. But Pandora is strange. Pandora is odd. And so, I put more of my considerable valuable stock into the second possibility; that the wall-knockers are part of an immeasurably vast cabal who work day and night to usher in the apocalypse. Perhaps they believe that, by repeatedly resonating corrugated metal over and over, they will eventually uncover a frequency that will tear Pandora in twain. Or maybe their constant rat-tat-tat-tatting on Sanctuary’s walls is their attempt to summon the Eridians who originally built the Vaults, presumably in the hope that said Eridians will destroy Pandora just to stop the racket. There will be those who disagree, of course. Those who laugh at you for your genius. But worry not – while they will be the ones to perish under a sea of flame and door-knockery, we will be the inspired ones who shall wait out the apocalypse in soundproof bunkers, passing the time eating miniature pizza bagels and reading back issues of Ceiling Chair Aficionado.
I fear I am losing my mind. Pandora has driven me to the brink of madness, and I am not sure if I can handle another moment on this godforsaken planet. I’ve watched my friends die. I’ve watched complete strangers murder one another over the promise of a shinier gun. I’ve seen skags perform horrors the likes of which I will have the good taste not to relay to you within the pages of this newspaper. Suffice to say, I do not know how to handle it. Despite your obvious, if charming combination of Asperger’s and incredible condescension, you seem to be relatively sane. Tell me, if you would, Doctor: how do you do it?
– Losing It in Overlook
Dear Losing It,
I have heard you are acquainted with the vault hunter known as “Zer0“. I have been meaning to ask – that’s not really his true name, is it? Hell, maybe Zer0 isn’t even a “he”. Do you have any details on this mysterious figure?
– Curious in Old Haven
I am indeed acquainted with the towering stack of leather and poorly-written poetry that so many refer to as “Zer0“. As you have correctly noted, “Zer0” is not the Vault Hunter’s true name. Zer0’s actual name and gender are
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