21:59. The Slutbot has returned to our shared domecile. Weak from sickness, I am unable to gather the mental strength for a scathing comment. Despite the fact that I have recently awoken from a 6-hour nap, I may return to bed to avoid the banality of her pseudointellectual banter.
I have a knife. A steak knife. I stole it from Chili's. It's in my food drawer with teabags and Triscuts. I have thought of this knife increasingly often with relation to Slutbot--heaven help her if I develop a habit of sleepwalking.
The nationstate of Popsicle Heads will wage battle with Slutbot as soon as war appropriations are made. There will be terror. There will be anguish. And there will be blood. Oh yes, there will be blood.
Minister Hambone
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