For those of you with five digits on your paws, the fist has become a symbol of the extreme: of power, of freedom, of revenge. The "fist" for most creatures takes a similar shape, tightly wound, tense with excitement, but with the construction of fur, scales, goo, or whatever substance makes up your mortal form.

Science is a curious thing. On one hand, you have intergalactic travel, power sources creatures never would have dreamed of, and advances that would make even the most skeptical of Yurzinbbals becomes true believers. On the other, unfortunately, you have the eggheads of Kokimi Industries Conglomerated.

The Universe has a long history of seemingly stupid and futile decisions. One might say that breaking into a bacterial testing laboratory is a poor decision. And, you might say that forcing your way into one of the many storage containment units shows the intelligence of a fool. And, you also might say that cracking open a frozen cube of xecotarcilia (one of the deadliest organisms known to the stars) and dropping it into a warm glass of Jaarviz Harboughz's RAT (Radiation-Altered Transmographied) Soda, is a monumentally boneheaded decision.

Audionauts, we are among the lucky few who remain sentient and alive; our physical forms able to feel and taste, love and hate. There are others, though they call themselves lucky, too, who feel those same physical and emotional highs, but they are nothing more than ones and zeroes.

A decade had passed since the foursome of Switch/Bored had graced intergalactic radio stations with their unique blend of music and storytelling, culled from various communiques they had intercepted. However, the well was running dry for Lembert, Briitt, Kotto, and Asher, and the creative juices were no longer flowing (through their veins, or the many bottles of Grizzlesizzle’s Pork-based Cola products).

Audionauts! We are proud to announce that the latest installment of Intergalactic Beets Records is now open in Putnam, CT! Join us from October 15th to October 26th at the Silver Circle Gallery (134 Main Street, 2nd Floor) for an art and music exhibition that is out of this world!

The village of Nyx had fallen into disrepair in the looming shadow of the closest moon. It was not the fault of the celestial body itself, but those who lurked in the mist upon its rise and fall. The son of a carpenter, Lefkó Vrykola would have died a carpenter without the intervention of the Feast of the Ancient Ones. A yearly ritual staged in the autumnal season, the Feast saw the shambling, lost sons and daughters burst forth from their graves, bent on siphoning the blood and nutrients flowing through the veins of the denizens of Nyx.

It was the bark heard round the Universe. The inhabitants of Orbis Canum were a peaceful bunch: four-legged, furry, mostly cute. While they had accomplished much in their planet’s history, it was their lack of opposable thumbs that limited their opportunities for advancement.

With the intergalactic ban on music that seeped its way across airwaves on July 6th, 5000 (0000 AM), so too went the art of talk radio. Now, you might be asking yourself, dear Audionaut, with so much at stake and the tastiest of beats no longer available, should talk radio be given an ounce of respect?

Drugs. Powerful, delicious drugs. The good kind, we mean. The life-saving, medically necessary ones. Not those evil ones that will make you see the Universe in a day and stretch time and space to their zenith, only to transport you to the end of an alley, your head between your hooves, retching with the might of a zuurlix in heat.

Red, blue, yellow. We take them for granted, dear Audionauts. Happy are we to allow the stars of the universe to transmit powerful rays of colorful light, which we then trust our ocular programming to accurately reconstruct and depict. For Acidic (twins Brønsteed and Lowree), color was a form of communication.

Consumed By Nature was not only a punishment but a request for normalcy. RUBUS had spent the better part of the early 4600s playing in the confinements of the Universe's busiest cities: Dooqlin, Xervox, New Rewind City, even Ippoldonia. Hailing from the bushy forests of Zefflehim, they longed for the protection of nature, fresher air, and the solitude of partial isolation.

Wormholes are not as dangerous as we once thought. Unimaginable horrors were commonly expected upon entry into the naturally occurring phenomenon, and, like most misconceptions that are soon debunked, officials advised the creatures of the Universe to avoid them at all costs.

They say an eternity in Night City can either be a day or a lifetime. The scum of the Universe called it home, trading on the Black Market, imbibing substances of death-defying highs and gutter-ending lows. The perpetual night of the city was enhanced by the smog and the activities of various clubs and dive bars, the greasy kitchens, and substance dens.

Small Wonders were microscopic. Not in their popularity, but in size. Discovered by accident, (a research lab was testing a flesh-eating bacteria out on a few choice specimens), members Pro and Neu were making beats for fun, hyping themselves up as they rested upon the pillowy chlorophyll chamber of the leaf of a boozimina plant.

Despite the grim title of their 6666 debut, Death reflects the untimely occurrence rather than an outward call for it. It has become commonplace to perceive planets as having a single ecosystem (few have only ocean or lava and little else).