Off on our secret mission to gather up some equipment. We should be missing for a few days so don't worry if it seems like we've been missing for a while. Incognito I don't want to see any of that "five days" bullshit, you got me?
Keep it together while I'm gone alright? I don't want to come back and find all of you've all gone batshit or something.
See you when we get back.
Tuesday, April 30, 2013
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Apparently I have to put a post up about this stupid dream I had. I'm going to keep it brief but...
It started off in a graveyard. Actually the whole thing was in a graveyard but whatever it actually did start in a graveyard so yeah. It was bleak and grey and foggy, like in movies, and the tombstones were old and crumbling and... well, it looked like something my brain must've got straight out of an old horror movie.
So that was all well and good until shit got nasty. And by nasty I mean a lot of people I knew crawling their way up out of the ground nasty. So they did, crawl their way up out of the ground I mean, and the ones who'd been dead longer looked worse. Toby, then Grandma Janet, then mom and dad, and then, well, just other people, but those were the main ones. Pretty nasty looking but surprisingly I don't remember losing it. Cause I knew them, I guess.
And it wasn't like they did anything to hurt me. They were sorta all zombie-ish, once again like in shitty movies, but really lifelike. But they were talking, in these warped voices, all familiar and shit, and all at once, like in perfect unison. And they kept telling me to come and join them, because it was peaceful and quiet, and it was an escape, and they were all asking me how much I missed them, and telling me I didn't have to anymore. Miss them that is.
And I'll admit that it was tempting. Nice, quiet, a way out. It's always been tempting. But I sorta woke up before I could decide.
It started off in a graveyard. Actually the whole thing was in a graveyard but whatever it actually did start in a graveyard so yeah. It was bleak and grey and foggy, like in movies, and the tombstones were old and crumbling and... well, it looked like something my brain must've got straight out of an old horror movie.
So that was all well and good until shit got nasty. And by nasty I mean a lot of people I knew crawling their way up out of the ground nasty. So they did, crawl their way up out of the ground I mean, and the ones who'd been dead longer looked worse. Toby, then Grandma Janet, then mom and dad, and then, well, just other people, but those were the main ones. Pretty nasty looking but surprisingly I don't remember losing it. Cause I knew them, I guess.
And it wasn't like they did anything to hurt me. They were sorta all zombie-ish, once again like in shitty movies, but really lifelike. But they were talking, in these warped voices, all familiar and shit, and all at once, like in perfect unison. And they kept telling me to come and join them, because it was peaceful and quiet, and it was an escape, and they were all asking me how much I missed them, and telling me I didn't have to anymore. Miss them that is.
And I'll admit that it was tempting. Nice, quiet, a way out. It's always been tempting. But I sorta woke up before I could decide.
Thursday, April 25, 2013
Old Records
Found an old autopsy record in my stash. To be honest I'd almost completely forgotten about it, not that I have ever had the best memory.
It was the first proxy I ever killed. I remember it was back when I was still with Rex. He had this particularly nasty piece of work locked up in the warehouse we were inhabiting at the time. It was a proxy who'd been referring to himself as Cipitio. It became apparent very quickly that we weren't going to be able to bring him back, but Rex had decided not to give up.
Cipitio didn't speak english, so most of Rex's attempts to get through to him were useless seeing as how Cipitio didn't seem to understand one word he was saying. Of course, against all odds, Rex had managed to pick up a girl who'd been abandoned in the middle of Texas, who spoke perfect Spanish. Guess who that lucky girl was?
In a way it was the first time I'd ever really interacted with a proxy. Sure I'd seen them and had fought off a few, but for the most part Rex and his gang didn't want me dealing with them and I can see why.
For one I was a tiny little shit. When they first found me I was shaking in my boots in the middle of a forest trying to fire a rifle that was two sizes too big for me. For another I don't remember Rex's gang being all that fond of me. At the time I think I was pretty convinced I had gone batshit, and I spent a lot of time on my own. In other words I was their tagalong and everyone was sort of waiting for a place to drop me off.
Until of course we found Cipitio, because then all of a sudden I was somehow the go to girl. I remember the first day Rex shuffled me in there. We had him tied to a chair and he was looking at us. He had these beady little eyes and they kept moving from me to Rex. Rex kept asking me to say this and that, but once the creep found out I could understand what he was saying I don't think he payed much attention to Rex at all. I can't remember exactly what he said, but it was about as horrible as you could expect. The kind of talk that would make a sailor blush, as they say.
I was terrified of him. And not just because he was a creepy bastard with an intricate vocabulary, oh no no no, it was a lot different than that. The man was evil. Evil to the root and core, and I could tell that this guy wasn't some tortured angel before he became a proxy. He was just evil.
After day one I refused to go back in there, and even though Rex wasn't happy about it, he didn't make me. It still worried me though, because I knew he was still there, and whenever I was near the cage I could feel him watching me.
The day I killed him, Rex had decided we were going to leave Cipitio at the warehouse and move on somewhere new. I walked into that cage with my shotgun, and I remember that proxy looked at me and he smiled and said, Nada me puede matar.
When I was little, a rabid dog attacked me. Someone had chained it up and left it in the middle of the street, and I had wandered too close. My mother took me to the hospital, and my father was so angry he shot the dog. I remember seeing the body, and thinking about what it had died for and why it had deserved to die.
I shot that fucking proxy in his smug little face, and never lost a night of sleep over it. I brought his body out with me to the warehouse and that was when the idea of using what was left to learn about how proxies were made and how to help them.
I don't think Rex ever forgave me for that, but I didn't need his approval or anyone else's for that matter. I'm not ashamed of what I did and I would never apologize for it. I wasn't going to let that proxy continue to live in a world of people who shouldn't have to be forced to deal with him. There are people in this world that need protecting, and very few who are willing to do what has to be done. So I decided I wasn't going to be someone who allowed messes to go unkept because of my own morality.
So I took that proxy and opened him up and went through all of it. It was the most terrible and disgusting thing I had ever done, but I did it because I knew no one else would.
I guess I do wish the ultimate decision would have been harder for me. But what are you supposed to do when the scum of the earth tells you you can't kill him.
I still have the record. It's this tiny little list.
Cipitio
Age: 20-30
Tattoo of exed-circle on tongue.
Black liquid in brain, lungs, heart.
No teeth.
Ciptio was a screwed up customer.
It was the first proxy I ever killed. I remember it was back when I was still with Rex. He had this particularly nasty piece of work locked up in the warehouse we were inhabiting at the time. It was a proxy who'd been referring to himself as Cipitio. It became apparent very quickly that we weren't going to be able to bring him back, but Rex had decided not to give up.
Cipitio didn't speak english, so most of Rex's attempts to get through to him were useless seeing as how Cipitio didn't seem to understand one word he was saying. Of course, against all odds, Rex had managed to pick up a girl who'd been abandoned in the middle of Texas, who spoke perfect Spanish. Guess who that lucky girl was?
In a way it was the first time I'd ever really interacted with a proxy. Sure I'd seen them and had fought off a few, but for the most part Rex and his gang didn't want me dealing with them and I can see why.
For one I was a tiny little shit. When they first found me I was shaking in my boots in the middle of a forest trying to fire a rifle that was two sizes too big for me. For another I don't remember Rex's gang being all that fond of me. At the time I think I was pretty convinced I had gone batshit, and I spent a lot of time on my own. In other words I was their tagalong and everyone was sort of waiting for a place to drop me off.
Until of course we found Cipitio, because then all of a sudden I was somehow the go to girl. I remember the first day Rex shuffled me in there. We had him tied to a chair and he was looking at us. He had these beady little eyes and they kept moving from me to Rex. Rex kept asking me to say this and that, but once the creep found out I could understand what he was saying I don't think he payed much attention to Rex at all. I can't remember exactly what he said, but it was about as horrible as you could expect. The kind of talk that would make a sailor blush, as they say.
I was terrified of him. And not just because he was a creepy bastard with an intricate vocabulary, oh no no no, it was a lot different than that. The man was evil. Evil to the root and core, and I could tell that this guy wasn't some tortured angel before he became a proxy. He was just evil.
After day one I refused to go back in there, and even though Rex wasn't happy about it, he didn't make me. It still worried me though, because I knew he was still there, and whenever I was near the cage I could feel him watching me.
The day I killed him, Rex had decided we were going to leave Cipitio at the warehouse and move on somewhere new. I walked into that cage with my shotgun, and I remember that proxy looked at me and he smiled and said, Nada me puede matar.
When I was little, a rabid dog attacked me. Someone had chained it up and left it in the middle of the street, and I had wandered too close. My mother took me to the hospital, and my father was so angry he shot the dog. I remember seeing the body, and thinking about what it had died for and why it had deserved to die.
I shot that fucking proxy in his smug little face, and never lost a night of sleep over it. I brought his body out with me to the warehouse and that was when the idea of using what was left to learn about how proxies were made and how to help them.
I don't think Rex ever forgave me for that, but I didn't need his approval or anyone else's for that matter. I'm not ashamed of what I did and I would never apologize for it. I wasn't going to let that proxy continue to live in a world of people who shouldn't have to be forced to deal with him. There are people in this world that need protecting, and very few who are willing to do what has to be done. So I decided I wasn't going to be someone who allowed messes to go unkept because of my own morality.
So I took that proxy and opened him up and went through all of it. It was the most terrible and disgusting thing I had ever done, but I did it because I knew no one else would.
I guess I do wish the ultimate decision would have been harder for me. But what are you supposed to do when the scum of the earth tells you you can't kill him.
I still have the record. It's this tiny little list.
Cipitio
Age: 20-30
Tattoo of exed-circle on tongue.
Black liquid in brain, lungs, heart.
No teeth.
Ciptio was a screwed up customer.
Monday, April 22, 2013
Makeshift Weapons and Fighting Technique
Just something I thought of the other night. One of the things you learn to do growing up is to get creative with your weaponry and fighting. I'm lucky because I'm about 4'11 and weigh barely a hundred pounds so I have the element of surprise on my hand. Sucks for all you body builders out there. (As Danny would say, "heavy sarcasm.")
Seriously though, not everyone is suited to finding weapons or being able to fight with years of practiced technique. In fact the majority of people have no experience in those areas, and even if you do sometimes they won't always come in handy. You may black out and wake up tied up in someone's basement and in times like that it's easy to lose your cool.
But just remember, never panic, and never be caught off guard.
As someone who is a tad on the tinier size, it's easy to find yourself in a situation where you have the bottom hand. Still though that doesn't mean you can't cheat. Here's a quick list of scenarios.
Pinned to the ground? Easy. First of all, don't get pinned. If someone's trying to pin you, they're probably coming at you from the front or back. Bend your legs and turn into the blow and hit them right in the center of their balance. Knock them over and then bring your foot down on their neck. Easy kill. If you screw up and get pinned anyway, there are still a couple of things you can do. If they have you on your stomach with your hands behind your back, get a feel for where they're holding your hands and pull towards their thumbs, if you do it fast enough your hand will slip out of their grip. Bring them to the ground and push off to the side as opposed to straight up, you'll knock them off of you and you may get a good kick to the face while you are at it. If they have you on your back, get your hands free the same way, make a v with two of your fingers and get the fucker in the eyes. If they happen to have a knife at your neck, may I redirect you to my first bit about DON'T GET PINNED.
Tied up in a chair? Well hopefully you kept something sharp on you in a place you can get to it, like a key necklace or a bracelet with a razor. If you failed to do that, relax and concentrate on breathing. If you expand your chest enough you can loosen the ropes and slip out. Same goes for your hands. Pull on the ropes until they loosen up enough for you to get free.
Got a bastard choking you from behind? Bend your knees, lean forward, and flip the guy over. You have to do it fast though or you'll get caught under them. Once you've got him on his back, bring your foot down on his neck.
Got a bastard choking you from the front? Fall on your back, and bring your legs up in-between you and kick at the abdomen. If it's a guy, get him in the balls. Bring your hands behind you so you can pop right up again.
In a headlock? Push the guy away from the side, or kick his feet out from under him. Whatever works.
Got a guy with a gun aimed at your head? Bring your hand up behind you in his blindspot and bat the gun away in one swift and quick move before they guy realizes what you've done, as soon as the gun isn't pointed at you bring your other hand over and shove the guy onto their back.
Vital areas to go for are the nose, the temples, the philtrum, the testicles, the neck, the adam's apple, the base of the spine, the heart, the back of the skull, the abdomen, the ankles, the eyes, and the waist.
To knock someone off balance aim for their center (right under their ribcage but above their crotch, if you kick them in the ass from behind they'll fall over too,) or their ankles.
To snap someone's neck from the back, place one hand over their mouth, the other on the back of their head and jerk abruptly to the side.
To snap someone's neck from the front, place both hands on the side of their head. Your thumbs should be gripping them from behind the ears. Wrench their head towards your dominant hand, and pull up.
Bring the palm of your hand up under someone's nose and you can shove it back into their brain.
Also if you punch someone hard enough in the ribs on the left side there's a very good chance you can send a bone into their heart.
Gouging out the eyes with your fingers or another sharp object is good too. You can't be squeamish ladies and gentlemen.
Here's a list of some easy to find and inconspicuous weapons to keep on hand.
-Kitchen Knives
-Razors
-Switchblade
-Car Keys
-Barbecue Fork
-Hairspray (Works extra nice if you have a lighter.)
-Pepper-spray
-Pen or a Pencil (Shove it in the ear or the eyes)
-Hammer
-Wrench
I'm wary of using things like shovels or baseball bats because they leave an opening that's very easy to push through. Just keep them close to your body, and hold them over your head when you swing as opposed to swinging them back.
Practice throwing items like the hammer or the knives. I happen to have a dart board I practice on. Practice until you can get the target 20/20 times. I also suggest researching some more of this stuff on the internet and trying it out for yourself. Practice makes perfect.
The best thing is to just always be prepared. The less prepared you are the easier it is to find yourself in a bad situation. So keep calm, remember your technique, and give em hell.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Back to Work
And you guys thought we were dead. Ha.
I've made it this long, and frankly at this point I think it'd take a nuke to stop me. That or a an evil tentacle monster, you know, whatever it takes.
Still though a run in with Slenderman is nothin to sniff at. I broke a perfectly good window and had to spend a good hour picking glass out of my knuckles. Not to mention all the times I lost my lunch. (Honestly kid you get so used to vomit in this lifestyle that stain on your seat may as well be bleach.) It wears you out, but I'm used to it by now. It was just a bit of a scare on me and Danny's part, Danny mostly. Though he's definitely been a lot less of a brat since he almost got lobotomized by Slenderman. Yeah, that happened.
It's always weird when I hear about Slenderman getting super close to people. It happens a lot where he gets up in peoples faces, but he's never done that to me. The closest I've ever been to the guy is a good 10 yards, and about 5 days ago the closest I had ever been was 50 yards. I've never gotten why he keeps his distance, although I guess it's because I'm scary as fuck.
Anyway, back to planning our big trip.
I was gonna run some tests on the Azoth and to do it I'm going to need some special equipment. Although at this point I may just hand Danny a potato and ask him to make an MRI scanner out of it. It'll be a bit tough because it's going to involve some...slightly illegal behavior, but it's for a good cause. Again I'm not going to divulge so many details, in case we get followed.
Should be interesting, I'll keep you posted.
I've made it this long, and frankly at this point I think it'd take a nuke to stop me. That or a an evil tentacle monster, you know, whatever it takes.
Still though a run in with Slenderman is nothin to sniff at. I broke a perfectly good window and had to spend a good hour picking glass out of my knuckles. Not to mention all the times I lost my lunch. (Honestly kid you get so used to vomit in this lifestyle that stain on your seat may as well be bleach.) It wears you out, but I'm used to it by now. It was just a bit of a scare on me and Danny's part, Danny mostly. Though he's definitely been a lot less of a brat since he almost got lobotomized by Slenderman. Yeah, that happened.
It's always weird when I hear about Slenderman getting super close to people. It happens a lot where he gets up in peoples faces, but he's never done that to me. The closest I've ever been to the guy is a good 10 yards, and about 5 days ago the closest I had ever been was 50 yards. I've never gotten why he keeps his distance, although I guess it's because I'm scary as fuck.
Anyway, back to planning our big trip.
I was gonna run some tests on the Azoth and to do it I'm going to need some special equipment. Although at this point I may just hand Danny a potato and ask him to make an MRI scanner out of it. It'll be a bit tough because it's going to involve some...slightly illegal behavior, but it's for a good cause. Again I'm not going to divulge so many details, in case we get followed.
Should be interesting, I'll keep you posted.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
Hi everyone
Daniel here.
No, we're not dead. We lost four days in a loop, according to Anna.
It showed up at our place. Yes, it, IT, you know what I'm talking about, the big guy, the head honcho, Cthulhi's Armani-loving second cousin twice removed. It fucked with my tech, as you all know, and freaked us both out. Before I go too far into the details of exactly what it did here I'm going to explain to Mr Incognito why he should never make assumptions about MY TECHNOLOGY, as well as why he's wrong.
- First up, the Slenderman screws with my stuff majorly, alright? As well as disrupting my coding and nearly completely burning out my recording program, it rerouted the auto-post to a neighboring blog account - Anna's. That's why it said Anna posted it.
- Next, I read that you said 'someone lasted long enough to post this' which means gee you REALLY DON'T LISTEN TO ME. I need to make it very clear to our readers that whether or not we DIE after a recording, my programs will post it to the blog AUTOMATICALLY. If that wasn't the case, why the fuck would I bother with this at all? I have better things to do than make useless stuff, man.
-And then he cut out the audio by frying the mic and the codes I attached to the corresponding software. When that happens, the word "ERROR" is supposed to appear - not necessarily in creepy binary, but I can explain that after a while looking through the files and writing a list of exactly what I need to fix.
- Which, fortunately for you guys, I already did! The binary happened and repeated because as well as murdering my recording and transcript codes, he also screwed with the rest of the program I had in action. My transcripts are put through the spellchecker that came with Microsoft Word 2007 (which is why they aren't always picture-perfect. Lost in translation, right?). I jacked the files out of Word and attached them to my own program, I think I've told you this already? But it deleted those, so I have to redo them. What basically happened was the translation of the base binary codes I used to create my software was completely eradicated. So you just got the binary. And it was repeated because some fragment of my original data-transport pathway was still open, well, on or off.
- I think you all noticed some other glitches as well - like the date stamp prefacing the actual dual-user (two-voice) transcript. That and some of the other things that didn't fit are pretty much just a result of my wonderful programming trying its hardest to do its job, and failing because of Mr Spaghetti. If that makes sense.
If you have any questions, by all means do not bother me with them until I'm finished being busy and overtired.
What pretty much went down was that Annalee heard something and left the cabin with a shotgun. That was when my computers wigged out, as did everything else inside, which admittedly freaked me the fuck out, and then, well, it was in here. With me. And it sort of just got really close to me, and it must have locked Anna out or something because she couldn't get in. And the thing touched me, on the head, like, just reached out real slow and touched my head while I was kind of flipping out, and I'm pretty sure that's when I passed out and Anna busted in through the window. Now, it's four days later even though I could swear it was only a few hours ago and yeah. Not fucking fun.
Once again, just leave the questions here and back away slowly and I'll get to them when I can be bothered.
No, we're not dead. We lost four days in a loop, according to Anna.
It showed up at our place. Yes, it, IT, you know what I'm talking about, the big guy, the head honcho, Cthulhi's Armani-loving second cousin twice removed. It fucked with my tech, as you all know, and freaked us both out. Before I go too far into the details of exactly what it did here I'm going to explain to Mr Incognito why he should never make assumptions about MY TECHNOLOGY, as well as why he's wrong.
- First up, the Slenderman screws with my stuff majorly, alright? As well as disrupting my coding and nearly completely burning out my recording program, it rerouted the auto-post to a neighboring blog account - Anna's. That's why it said Anna posted it.
- Next, I read that you said 'someone lasted long enough to post this' which means gee you REALLY DON'T LISTEN TO ME. I need to make it very clear to our readers that whether or not we DIE after a recording, my programs will post it to the blog AUTOMATICALLY. If that wasn't the case, why the fuck would I bother with this at all? I have better things to do than make useless stuff, man.
-And then he cut out the audio by frying the mic and the codes I attached to the corresponding software. When that happens, the word "ERROR" is supposed to appear - not necessarily in creepy binary, but I can explain that after a while looking through the files and writing a list of exactly what I need to fix.
- Which, fortunately for you guys, I already did! The binary happened and repeated because as well as murdering my recording and transcript codes, he also screwed with the rest of the program I had in action. My transcripts are put through the spellchecker that came with Microsoft Word 2007 (which is why they aren't always picture-perfect. Lost in translation, right?). I jacked the files out of Word and attached them to my own program, I think I've told you this already? But it deleted those, so I have to redo them. What basically happened was the translation of the base binary codes I used to create my software was completely eradicated. So you just got the binary. And it was repeated because some fragment of my original data-transport pathway was still open, well, on or off.
- I think you all noticed some other glitches as well - like the date stamp prefacing the actual dual-user (two-voice) transcript. That and some of the other things that didn't fit are pretty much just a result of my wonderful programming trying its hardest to do its job, and failing because of Mr Spaghetti. If that makes sense.
If you have any questions, by all means do not bother me with them until I'm finished being busy and overtired.
What pretty much went down was that Annalee heard something and left the cabin with a shotgun. That was when my computers wigged out, as did everything else inside, which admittedly freaked me the fuck out, and then, well, it was in here. With me. And it sort of just got really close to me, and it must have locked Anna out or something because she couldn't get in. And the thing touched me, on the head, like, just reached out real slow and touched my head while I was kind of flipping out, and I'm pretty sure that's when I passed out and Anna busted in through the window. Now, it's four days later even though I could swear it was only a few hours ago and yeah. Not fucking fun.
Once again, just leave the questions here and back away slowly and I'll get to them when I can be bothered.
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Report 3
[011:45, 17/4/13]
Well Danny, what do you have to say?
Hi.
Danny. I'm serious.
Hi everyone and welcome to the... third? Is it third? Edition of bullshit reports nobody cares about.
...Today, Danny has something he would like to say to all of you since last time.
Yeah, excuse me dearly for being sick, overtired, stressed and going through withdrawal Sorry blog followers, I'll keep my bullshit picture-perfect for your benefit from this point forward.
You're apologizing for being a snappish asshole who went off on a bunch of people.
That too.
Because people were just trying to help.
Whatever.
Not whatever, for fuck's sake kid you sure are turning a whole lot of nothing into a huge deal. Especially when the worst anyone suggested was for you to buck up a little once you felt better.
We both know that's not true.
Do we now? Because as far as I can tell, no one was mistreating you while you were sick and you are infact capable of some bucking up.
Yeah, well, excuse me! The last time you listened to those people you tied me up over a prank!
As opposed to just shooting you point blank?
You know what? Maybe a little part of it is that you trust strangers on the internet more than me.
Oh my fucking God kid, now you're just making shit up to be mad about.
I'm really not! They tell you to tie me up and interrogate me, you do it. And it was about to escalate!
Kid just shut your trap for a moment and really think about some of the shit you're spewing at the moment. You think I should've just overlooked it when you started acting out of the ordinary? I should've just shook my head and said that oh well probably nothing. What if there had been something wrong with you?
No, but you didn't need to jump up and have a shot at me when fucking bloggers told you to!
No one told me to do anything.You think I can't make my own goddamn decisions? You think I can't tell a bad idea from a good one.
I didn't say that! Ugh, can we not now?
Do you think I just get a kick out of causing you pain? That we're in the third grade and I'm giving you a wedgie? Kid grow up for a second and stop being so goddamn defensive about everything. I don't give a shit about withdrawl or not, the entire world is not out to get you.
If the whole world isn't out to get me, I don't need commando training! You're contradicting yourself.
Do you even hear yourself?
No, I've suddenly gone deaf.
Obviously.
So it's fine for you to be in a bad mood, but not me.
Have you never held down a job before? That is exactly how it works.
Yeah. Sure.
Kid. We have been over this time and time and time again. I am trying to look out for you, and it would be nice if whenever I tell you to do something it was not met with a premadonna meltdown...Is that too much to ask?...Answer me.
Guess not.
Sometimes it'd be nice if you trusted me some too.
What's that supposed to mean?
It means that sometimes it would be nice if you trusted me.
I do.
Then maybe put some stock into the idea that I know what I'm doing every once in a while...So let's try this again. What did you want to say to everyone?
Up yours.......I mean sorry.
Great, now that that's all settled we can continue on with...
...What?
That shouldn't be right...
What? What?
Sit tight for a second.
Wait, should I close the recording? Anna?...Uh. Right, um...
Oh god. What the... Anna? Anna, what's going on?
Oh shit. Holy shit. 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⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂⨂1 ⨂11⨂111⨂ ⨂11⨂111⨂ ⨂11⨂⨂⨂⨂1 ⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂1 ⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂⨂ ⨂1⨂⨂1111 ⨂11⨂1⨂⨂⨂ ⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂⨂ ⨂11⨂⨂11⨂ ⨂111⨂1⨂1 ⨂11⨂⨂⨂11 ⨂11⨂1⨂11 ⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂11⨂1⨂⨂⨂ ⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂⨂ ⨂11⨂⨂11⨂ ⨂111⨂1⨂1 ⨂11⨂⨂⨂11 ⨂11⨂1⨂11 ⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂11⨂1⨂⨂⨂ ⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂⨂ ⨂11⨂⨂11⨂ ⨂111⨂1⨂1 ⨂11⨂⨂⨂11 ⨂11⨂1⨂11 ⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂1 ⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂
[End Transcript]
Well Danny, what do you have to say?
Hi.
Danny. I'm serious.
Hi everyone and welcome to the... third? Is it third? Edition of bullshit reports nobody cares about.
...Today, Danny has something he would like to say to all of you since last time.
Yeah, excuse me dearly for being sick, overtired, stressed and going through withdrawal Sorry blog followers, I'll keep my bullshit picture-perfect for your benefit from this point forward.
You're apologizing for being a snappish asshole who went off on a bunch of people.
That too.
Because people were just trying to help.
Whatever.
Not whatever, for fuck's sake kid you sure are turning a whole lot of nothing into a huge deal. Especially when the worst anyone suggested was for you to buck up a little once you felt better.
We both know that's not true.
Do we now? Because as far as I can tell, no one was mistreating you while you were sick and you are infact capable of some bucking up.
Yeah, well, excuse me! The last time you listened to those people you tied me up over a prank!
As opposed to just shooting you point blank?
You know what? Maybe a little part of it is that you trust strangers on the internet more than me.
Oh my fucking God kid, now you're just making shit up to be mad about.
I'm really not! They tell you to tie me up and interrogate me, you do it. And it was about to escalate!
Kid just shut your trap for a moment and really think about some of the shit you're spewing at the moment. You think I should've just overlooked it when you started acting out of the ordinary? I should've just shook my head and said that oh well probably nothing. What if there had been something wrong with you?
No, but you didn't need to jump up and have a shot at me when fucking bloggers told you to!
No one told me to do anything.You think I can't make my own goddamn decisions? You think I can't tell a bad idea from a good one.
I didn't say that! Ugh, can we not now?
Do you think I just get a kick out of causing you pain? That we're in the third grade and I'm giving you a wedgie? Kid grow up for a second and stop being so goddamn defensive about everything. I don't give a shit about withdrawl or not, the entire world is not out to get you.
If the whole world isn't out to get me, I don't need commando training! You're contradicting yourself.
Do you even hear yourself?
No, I've suddenly gone deaf.
Obviously.
So it's fine for you to be in a bad mood, but not me.
Have you never held down a job before? That is exactly how it works.
Yeah. Sure.
Kid. We have been over this time and time and time again. I am trying to look out for you, and it would be nice if whenever I tell you to do something it was not met with a premadonna meltdown...Is that too much to ask?...Answer me.
Guess not.
Sometimes it'd be nice if you trusted me some too.
What's that supposed to mean?
It means that sometimes it would be nice if you trusted me.
I do.
Then maybe put some stock into the idea that I know what I'm doing every once in a while...So let's try this again. What did you want to say to everyone?
Up yours.......I mean sorry.
Great, now that that's all settled we can continue on with...
...What?
That shouldn't be right...
What? What?
Sit tight for a second.
Wait, should I close the recording? Anna?...Uh. Right, um...
Oh god. What the... Anna? Anna, what's going on?
Oh shit. Holy shit. Something's he1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂⨂1 ⨂11⨂111⨂ ⨂11⨂111⨂ ⨂11⨂⨂⨂⨂1 ⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂1 ⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂⨂ ⨂1⨂⨂1111 ⨂11⨂1⨂⨂⨂ ⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂⨂ ⨂11⨂⨂11⨂ ⨂111⨂1⨂1 ⨂11⨂⨂⨂11 ⨂11⨂1⨂11 ⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂11⨂1⨂⨂⨂ ⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂⨂ ⨂11⨂⨂11⨂ ⨂111⨂1⨂1 ⨂11⨂⨂⨂11 ⨂11⨂1⨂11 ⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂11⨂1⨂⨂⨂ ⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂⨂ ⨂11⨂⨂11⨂ ⨂111⨂1⨂1 ⨂11⨂⨂⨂11 ⨂11⨂1⨂11 ⨂1⨂⨂⨂⨂1 ⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ 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⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂ ⨂11⨂1111 ⨂111⨂⨂1⨂⨂11⨂⨂1⨂1 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