Dear Mun . . .

You're finally going to do it, aren't you? You're finally going to drag me somewhere and let me do my little twirl on the catwalk.

Honestly? Not sure how I feel about it, but whatever. I'm not your bitch, of course, but I think we've both come to terms with that. I don't even care anymore. Just get me out of that head space of yours. I'll do the rest, princess.

... Wait, what does AU mean?

...

Does it look like I give a fuck?

[The bad part about being in someone's head is that they don't go away, but he knows that already.]

No. Seriously. Does it actually look like I give a fuck, because I don't. Do whatever the hell you want to do. I don't give a damn. Did you even read the goddamn book? If you want to go back to the sexy lesbian place, do it. If you want to go back to that mind fuck inception bullshit, do it. If you want to try out that weird space station thing then, guess what, maybe you should try and do it. Whatever you do, stop bitching to me about it.

But since you're here, why in the hell does that doctor chick get all of your attention lately? Yeah, you went through that Cajun and the alien and that fucked up spoiled kid, but what about the rest of us? And by the rest of us, I mean me. What about me? I don't like these game things anymore than the next guy, but it's better than sitting in your rotting brain all day reading Shakespeare and Plato. There's only so many lectures on doing what one sees fit a guy like me can handle, okay?

So, if you can't figure your shit out about that bitch, I'm ready. And bored. Mostly bored. There better be booze.