Tagged: cat

Self

Dear Planet Earth,

I’m getting a lot of feedback here about my last post. I haven’t been able to go to the makeshift mess hall and eat a meal by myself for more than minute without someone coming up and asking me if it’s really true, if General Talpa really did kill those homie spies in cold blood.

Half of them get angry and curse, they say we’re losing our humanity, inching closer and closer to living under a police state. The other half nods, sometimes smiles, and says, “That’ll teach the bastards.”

I don’t know where I am. I’ve always framed this as an invasion of the mole men. I’ve been convincing myself that I could kill them, those inhuman tyrants. But their homeless minions are just as human as me. They look like me, they talk like me, they bleed and eat and drink and shit just like me. But then again, does someone who’s sold out their fellow humans have a right to be called “human” himself anymore?

I’m going to go crazy if I spend a second longer brooding on this. Here’s a funny cat video:

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The Skillful Skull-Swiper

Dear Planet Earth,

It seems my painkiller bender is over. The swelling’s gone down considerably and now only hurts as much as listening to Justin Bieber sing a duet with a pack of geriatric cats in heat. My insightful wit also seems to have restored.

But drugs or no, a little boy did actually steal my burnt mole man skull. There’s at least a dozen kids running around the hospital at any given time, but Roberts is pretty sure my suspect is the little Hispanic boy they picked up at a looted gas station near a highway off-ramp.

They found him huddled underneath a cash register, covered in spider webs and Cheetoh dust. He’s only said the words “yes” and “no,” which first led everyone to believe he only spoke Spanish; he spoke even less to a translator.

Whoever he is, he stole one of the few material things I have left, and that cannot stand. Unfortunately, I cannot stand yet either.

Ouch

Dear Planet Earth,

I’m feeling less overwhelmingly depressed today. The pain is still there, throbbing with its own distinctive pulse, but I’m learning to ignore it.

Thank God or Allah or the Flying Spaghetti Monster that someone found this new netbook for me. I’ve been able to distract myself with cartoons and cat videos on YouTube. It’s no morphine, but I’ll take it.

One of the nurses said General Talpa and the rest of my merry band of mole men killers are on their way back here to regroup. I’m excited to find out what’s going on out there, if they know any more about our future masters and how to stop them.

I’m excited and apprehensive. And slightly abandoned. And did I mention in unbelievable pain?