This is really more like a joke, but I liked it and wanted to share it with people.
Day 9 of my captivity in the House of Boredom.
As is usual for the House of Boredom, nothing of worth is available to share. My window into the world has a lack of snow. My satellite programming is limited to only those who can hear me; I don't even know who will be able to receive this message. The elders of the HoB have restricted my ability to communicate with the outside world, leaving me stranded with the demonic angels they call dogs.
These strange creatures have a fascination with anything that moves. One acts upon this fascination, using her teeth to bring it down to her level. The second watches is patient contemplation of his next move, debating on whether to attack with his odor of EW. The third seems experienced with her moving companions, and knows exactly what to do to drive them to madness.
The smell of the HoB can not be rid of. The food they call ham is a common smell to me now. I await the day it is gone from me forever.
My rations have been varying. I shall either recieve a bountiful meal, or nothing at all, in which I scour the Closet of Boxes and Cans for something worthy of my appetite.
As for my private quarters of the HoB, I have been barracaded in. I cannot escape the HoB without notice.
Oh pity me! I shall be trapped here forever, having only this to use in my time of peril.
~Captive of the House of Boredom
Day 9 of my captivity in the House of Boredom.
As is usual for the House of Boredom, nothing of worth is available to share. My window into the world has a lack of snow. My satellite programming is limited to only those who can hear me; I don't even know who will be able to receive this message. The elders of the HoB have restricted my ability to communicate with the outside world, leaving me stranded with the demonic angels they call dogs.
These strange creatures have a fascination with anything that moves. One acts upon this fascination, using her teeth to bring it down to her level. The second watches is patient contemplation of his next move, debating on whether to attack with his odor of EW. The third seems experienced with her moving companions, and knows exactly what to do to drive them to madness.
The smell of the HoB can not be rid of. The food they call ham is a common smell to me now. I await the day it is gone from me forever.
My rations have been varying. I shall either recieve a bountiful meal, or nothing at all, in which I scour the Closet of Boxes and Cans for something worthy of my appetite.
As for my private quarters of the HoB, I have been barracaded in. I cannot escape the HoB without notice.
Oh pity me! I shall be trapped here forever, having only this to use in my time of peril.
~Captive of the House of Boredom
