Dear Planet Earth,
I’m not going to mind getting used to living out of five star hotels for the duration of the invasion. I won’t give any more information about our locations other than that from now on since it’s become disturbingly apparent that the mole people can and have been reading this blog all along.
When I’m not catching up on much needed sleep, taking advantage of this electric razor I scored, and enjoying the oft-neglected luxury of two-ply toilet paper, I’m getting piss drunk with old friends. Today was Dr. Eimer.
He was in the best spirits I’ve ever seen him. We’ve all been, really, since the successful raid and liberation of the slave labor camp. He was fascinated by the mole man manifesto Perry gave me. Eimer read entire passages aloud last night, as giddy as a school girl. A Japanese school girl.
I told him he could borrow the book since I think I already found the important parts I needed. It served as an uncomfortable reminder too, I guess. As my comrades were forced to work to the bone all day, many to the point of death, I was living it up in a shady room with three square meals a day. They’ve all been doing a good job of hiding their contempt, which by all accounts must be there. Hell, it’d be there for me if I was in their shoes.
Whatever the case, Eimer showed his ecstatic appreciation by giving me his bottle of vodka. And that lasted for a fun hour.