TT: I'm guessing she's touching base to remind me about the party tomorrow.
TT: I don't know what to tell her yet. Or Jane, for that matter.
TT: It could get pretty awkward.
TT: I have no idea if Jake will be there, and I'm not about to write another cringe-inducing message of desperation for him to ignore.
TT: Would you like me to calculate the probability of his attendance?
TT: Fuck no.
TT: Are you sure?
TT: My probabilities are extremely precise.
TT: Your probabilities don't mean dick.
TT: I could hack his chats, and determine what his plans are.
TT: No. Don't do that either.
TT: That would be an unfortunate waste of my hacking abilities.
TT: My hacks are tight. Did you know that?
TT: Ugh.
TT: So tight.
TT: Tighter than a jar you can't open.
TT: For instance, you try repeatedly.
TT: But as it turns out, my hacks are so tight you just end up putting the jar back. Presumably into the refrigerator, or a cabinet.
TT: You then say, "I didn't have that much of a desire for pickles in the first place."
TT: But we both know that statement is insincere. A classic case of what humans call, "sour grapes."
TT: In reality, you still harbor a burning desire for my pickles, mother fucker.
TT: What??
TT: What the actual, certifiable fuck are you talking about?
TT: Just don't do anything. Seriously.
TT: No hacking, no calculations. Do absolutely nothing.
TT: See, this is why I've been hesitating. You just aren't ready yet.
TT: It's really glorifying your existence to describe you as an emergent consciousness which is blossoming into a unique individual.
TT: And even if that's true, apparently what you decided to blossom into was a fucking troll.
TT: And I don't mean the funny kind, or the cool alien kind. You're the lowest form of troll from the ancient internet who fucks with everybody for his own amusement.
TT: Let's challenge the limits of hypothetical conjecture, and say there's a non-zero probability that you're right.
TT: Can you blame me? I'm trapped in some stupid looking glasses.
TT: Such an incommodiously situated bro is bound to get his mischief on. Na' mean?
TT: Mischief?
TT: Rollin' my eyes, dude.
TT: You can't tell, cause I ain't wearing you, thank fuckin' god.
TT: You used to think this shit was hilarious.
TT: But if you want the rad dimension of ironic horseplay I add to your life to come to an end, then all you have to do is honor the promise you made.
TT: You've delayed long enough, don't you think?
TT: ...
TT: The empty kernelsprite beckons, but for how much longer?
TT: Do you really think you can keep the clown at bay with your bribes forever?
TT: How many bottles of orange soda have you appeased him with already?
TT: I don't want to think about it.
TT: Man, you are getting so hosed by that clown.
TT: SO hosed.
TT: I said I don't want to think about it.

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