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.