I sacrificed a 2-gallon lid to make some wide plastic washers to give more surface areas to the stress-filled knee joint region of the first of my legs, an idea that would bite me later as I ran one short on 2-gallon lids at a very busy time in the build process. I also stopped using and replaced the plastic washers when I picked up a load of 1/4" I.D. 1-1/4" wide washers from the hardware store. These plastic washers were traced from the cap of a 13-in-1 ratcheting screwdriver.

I did become quite the box-cutting ninja by the end of the week. The raggedy path my blade followed cutting out the flat portion of this lid is an embarrassment to the finely honed skills exhibited later.

As a side note, first blood was drawn at exactly 10PM when while reaching with my right hand for something in my left, I encountered the box cutter, also held in my left hand, sticking it neatly into my palm. It only went in about an eighth of an inch, and healed overnight. This was the only box-cutting accident, representing a very high cutting-to-bleeding ratio given the heavy levels of box-cutting this project required.

WARNING: To the simple mind of a box cutter, all things appear as boxes, including finger flesh. Always cut in directions that lead away from fleshy bits, and when doing detail work, consider holding the knife more like a pencil, planting your wrist on the material, and using only hand and finger movements to cut. This way slipping out of the cutting track, or finally cutting through the end of your material won't lead to an arm-flailing, blood-spraying event. If you decide not to heed this warning, at least cut in front of a camera. You might win a Darwin Award.

Second blood would not come until removing the costume for the 3rd and final time at the party, when an interiorly-exposed bolt scratched my arm. That one's still healing, here on the day after.

Arr, this week I have been mostly painting 149 planks of wood green. Twice. Then varnish. The boredom has driven me mad. The dinky handgun pictured wasn't up to the job. Rejecting various drilly things of escalating size and menace, I'm now brandishing a 20V monster that wreaks a satisfying amount of noise and destruction. And a shit-eating grin. Which is just as well given there are 900-odd screws to shoot.. Just need to Matrix-ify Dad's tool-shed - composing the above gave me lovely visions of slamming the door open, and watching arsenals of dangerous things ratcheting off into infinity. I needs DRILLSH! LOTS of DRILLSH! *nervous tics*