If you'd have liked me to post to the blog while you're gone then maybe you shouldn't lock me in the closet beforehand, eh? Think about that next time. It takes me a while to shovel six feet of concrete with a spoon. A plastic spoon. Goddamned cheapskates.
Then I had to dodge all your fooking death traps in your hallway of fooking inconvenience. I almost ran out of glass shards for the lasers--sorry about the bathroom, by the way, I'll replace the two-way mirror as soon as I scrape up the cash--and the poison gas ruined the wallpaper. (You're going to have to disinfect the place when you get back.) Oh, and I split all your security camera lenses with some well-timed bagpipe music. Nothing like 90 decibels of "Amazing Grace" to put a $500 thermal imaging scanner out of commission.
As regards your bottomless pit, I was apparently correct when I assumed that the gap would be smaller than the length of a ski. Plus the slats were good for when your stairwell turned into a slide. The guard at the bottom looked like he choked on a lemon.
Speaking of the guards, I nearly broke my wrist taking out the one in the kitchen--it's a hell of a lot harder smashing a chair across someone's back than it looks in the movies. The one by the garage? Introduced his coattails to some lighter fluid and a match. The three of them got on wonderfully, like a house on fire. With the smoke and the panic and the insurance claims and everything.
So, my dear, what can we learn from this?
The answer is: if you want me to post faster, just give me the goddamn closet key before you leave.
~Mnemosyne
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