(no subject)

[comfortinconsistency]

Dear author, I really must ask that you reconsider this proposed scheme you have. Don't get me wrong, I am completely sure your intentions are pure and true; there is no greater goal someone can have in their life than guiding lost sheep back to the fold of honorableness and decency. After making it to the end of it relatively unharmed in body and mind, anyway. But...are you really sure this is a job for me, author? Simple biology aside I am sure your heart is in the right place. Unless someone snuck into your room in the middle of the night and moved it someplace else, of course, or removed it entirely only to replace it with a small pocket of darkness or something equally unknowable. But...I am only a humble broadcast journalist. What special knowledge could I possibly contribute to this goal? I admittedly am entirely capable of taking care of myself within the realms of allowable behavior, and of feeding Khoshekh as the schedule requires, when the door to the men's bathroom has not been removed or we are not in imminent danger of our impending demise, of course, but that doesn't mean I'm qualified to take care of another person, author. On any plane of existence. That really seems like something more suited to someone else. Someone more qualified for that kind of thing. Someone with some kind of...degree, or at least municipal sanctions. And I hear they have an entire room filled with pens and pencils! And their librarians are not chained up for the public's protection! I don't know about you, dear author, but this seems highly suspect and potentially unsafe.

And, now I don't want to sound ungrateful, but...it doesn't even look as if my dear, sweet, perfect Carlos will be there. And what kind of place would it be if you were going to deprive me of hearing his melodious tones, or the magnificence of his perfect hair? It sounds like a torment worse than any Re-Education could be, author.