Oct. 29, 2003 @ 9:03 p.m.

Your words are becoming a fishbowl filled with sand, rocks and a bad air filter. There is no longer life or substance, just dirty, floating molecules of microscopic crap. The only thing able to survive among the wetness of that fishbowl is something that doesn’t exist except in the deepest parts of the ocean where light doesn’t reach, so in theory you’ll never be discovered. However, I am the special fish with super sensitive senses. I am here to call your bluff and swim gracefully in your six-inch square, cold container of contaminated water. Drink up, Sweetheart.