Fishbelly White

 They took away my iPod. Something about switching out all of Dr. Witherspoon's collection of Lou Rawls songs with Rammstein. At least I thought it was funny. No one else did though. So I had to dust off my CDs and re-discovered Grant Lee Buffalo all over again. There certanly seems to be someting wrong with my stars. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect the old goat to take away my iPod.

Bastard.

Mess with a guy's music, and you mess with...oh...uh...um...yeah. Strike that. Yeah. I guess I should have seen it coming. I should have seen a lot of stuff coming. I saw the plague descending upon the winter wind like a wrathful angel with fishbelly white skin, but that was in my dreams, before they readjusted my meds. Again. I saw the footprints of something no one can see prowling around the north end of the grounds, just below my window. But the snow melted and the rain dried up and there are no tracks to be seen any more, so I keep my mouth shut. I used to speak up, speak out. Never again. They have a room down in the basement, past where they've been renovating some of the new labs, past the room with the Resonator that they say doesn't exist and the other room that always smells like an abbatoir, and I know that they have a machine there that's used for shock treatment. They're not going to hook me up to that thing. No.

At least Wilbur was able to let me know that he's still planning on dropping by, probably in time for Christmas. I wonder what I should get him in the way of a present. Maybe I can order something from a website...