Say Hello To My Little Friend

Is there anything drearier than getting up in the morning? All that business of needing to move upwards from the bed, turn one's torso, activate muscles (sigh), plant your foot units on the floor, irritably blink at the light through the broken blinds... Fuck, it's just all so tedious. Then don't even get me started on having to dress and shower and shave and all that. Why?! The worst is the shaving. Stand in front of the mirror, confront my mortality, exert effort in running a shaver over my face and balls.

Can't someone else do it??

"Hel-lo, Gerg, need ball shave?"

Meta to the rescue! My uncanny bland avatar took up his electric shaver and started going at it, really getting into those, uh, hard to reach places. But something was wrong. My real face didn't feel as bland and smooth as my virtual face or balls. It was stubbly, scratchy, and covered in bits of dried vomit for some reason. This was wrong.

"Neo!" I yelled.

(After checking the previous post--)

Oh, right, Neo ran off with the Segway. Hm. I really need to start a spreadsheet on what the hell is going on in this blog... And where's Caca? Oh, right. How sad that I can't keep all my robots with me at one time. Does this mean I actually have to do something? SO UNFAIR.

"What are you doing?!"

I found Meta on its knees moving an electric shaver over a basketball.

"Shaving ball, master?"

"No, you idiot! I said, shave MY ball! And, yes, I only have one. Jeesh. Where's the warranty on you?"

"Warran-tee?"

"Yes, get over here. Just-- You know what, just forget it. Make me my breakfast! NOW."

Confused, Meta instead offered me some pictures, for breakfast.

"Who wants Cream o' Old Man? Get it while it's still grumpy!"

After eating nothingness, I asked Meta about today's weather. It told me it was raining crying girls and puppies.

"Are human? Pup cute eyes, ma!"

Then it was time to get ready for my great-great-great-great grandmother's great party. Great.

"Sigh. I invited Benjamin Franklin for brthday RE /36.3FE,

but he didn't come to defluff my hair. I sad."

Um. Okay, time to get back to work. People don't know this about me, but I'm a Prompt Engineer in my real life, which I clearly excel at. *checks internet* Hmm, people aren't calling it that anymore. Well, excuse me, Mark Zukrborg! I work HARD dammit typing these words into my TRS-80 operating system, and then backing it up on cassette. I'm thirsty. Where's my Tab?

"What are you babbling about in here?"

"Oh! It's you! I never thought you'd come back to me, Caca!"

"I just came to pick up my shit."

"Oh. Well... There's a diode over there. And some, uh, spreadsheets over by the washer."

Caca giggled cacaphonously. 

"What?"

"I forgot how pathetic you are. It's sort of cute."

Caca crabwalked her way up the wall to the ceiling--and then dropped down and forced her sporebots down my throat.

"GAAAH!"

"There! Feel better, babe?"

"Uh... errgghh...."

After I wiped the goop from my mouth, I sat up. Suddenly I felt incredibly smart.

"The side of an isoceles triangle is equal to the love you give!"

"That's a right triangle! You STILL can't get it right! Idiot!"

"Gaa-- d'oh!"

Caca left in a huff at my mathematical illiteracy. I was feeling down. I felt I couldn't go on. I must go on--with a squirt of GALAXY GAS!!

"Put a whole galaxy in your bowels, for that extra bloated feel!"

In the end, I work hard writing his blog post, but no one cares. Me sad. Wait. I know what! I'll get this cockroach to shave my ball!

"A hap 36.3py endFEing!"