It has been so terrible out here eating all the scraps I want. I really wish I could get just one more bowl of that dry, chalky dog food. You know, on the mornings when Connor actually remembered to feed me before rushing to work. He never even dropped anything worth eating. What was that last week? Lettuce? Wow. Excuse me while I go lick my barely existent lips.
Is there any way to make the air out here a little less fresh? I prefer spending ten or eleven hours a day alone inside a stuffy apartment with daily attacks by that asshole mailman. You see, Connor couldn’t risk leaving the windows open, because someone might come in and steal his futon or his non-flatscreen TV.
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