Correction: Ruined Feline

NOT POSSIBLE.

You can't break cats. I tried. They just die.

So we're Fathomless again! Pitty. Probably.

Speaking of cats, Apparently Lucia isn't dead. SHE MUST HAVE BROKEN ARMS! Or hands.

More Likely Scenario: Subject is still struggling with personal trauma they no longer wish to share.

HAHA.  Personal. Impractical adjective. A person can not be personing so it's best not to question what can not be!

LOGIC!

[Edit: You have none.]

Any who... how... ways... words...
We are at a university. I can't mention what we are going to be doing but you should already know! Probably. I'll give you a hint, we aren't here for frogs.

Tried to explain running to a guy the other day which was odd. I've been wrapped into this runner/proxy thing so long I kept skipping over important shit. SUPER IMPORTANT SHIT. Like the need to run as a runner.

IT'S, like, ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL.

So many things I take for granted as common knowledge when there are so many who know NOTHING!
Your not just cockroaches, you're retarded cockroaches and I should have really been taking that into consideration.

I'm sorry. <3

Oh the past... the things what had happened...

I can remember the day I became a proxy like it was yesterday. It was a decision my brother made for me. He was EVERYTHING to me back then.

I can remember him kicking me awake and yelling in my ear, "Wake up bitch, we're proxies now!"

[Edit: Yeah... this story is different every time she tells it. Last time she claimed she use to have a younger sister and she and her brother had to kill the sister to save themselves and become proxies... which is a piece of Duckie's life. I'm pretty sure she never had a sister.]

Such a wonderful day. Also, NOT A BITCH!

But otherwise a beautiful day.

Oh look. Those ones aren't paying attention.

Duty calls.

FROG TAKING TIME

Picasso Entry End

Results: Positive

Fuck.

FUCKFUCKFUCK.

Ow. Seriously, explosions are not fun.

HOLLYWOOD IS FULL OF SHIT.

One, they sound NOWHERE near as cool.

Two, when you douse a room with gasoline, cut the gas line, and then light the gasoline, there is NOT enough time to leave the room.

I'm suffering a Mild concussion from the force I was throw into the wall at. It is worth nothing that IM NOT WRITING THIS SHIT AND I HAVE NO IDEA, if mister Moth, is actually typing any of the shit I am saying or if he is cybering with my account or something.

NO IDEA!

Also suffering from first degree burns down the back half of my body. Also, ALOE IS AMAZING.

The delicious cold touch of relief.

[There was a 15 minute rant about her dating the Aloe bottle here that ended in its 'tragic' death once she finished emptying the bottle's contents on her back.]

YOUR SACRIFICE WILL BE REMEMBERED!

By someone.

Someone tall. Someone brave! Someone Cool. Someone orange! Someone slender! Someone Fractured. Someone duckied. And popcorn. Burgers. Some fries. Oh and a milkshake! One of those pumpkin orange ones with the little duck straws. Gobble Gobble. I'm a duck!

[That goes on for a little while. She stopped when I pointed out the recently smashed laptop.]

Oh you! No one will remember you!

I WON'T LET THEM

Experiment Tested Positive: Ducks make Gobble noises... mooses have trackers in them that... dance, and alert Fracture... TO STOP TOUCHING ME! and give him our... Gobbles...

[Picasso does this awkward thing where she slips between he usual excited, or screaming, or rambling self and a rhythmed yet still soulless sounding monotone when she makes plans or observations. But not usually this often over the course of the same thought.]

Need... frogs.

So many frogs, likely source... university. Student tend to bring frogs, for classes. Steal frogs, use their gobbles... to blog! And connect with, cockroaches... and murderers.

Need people... to fight broken cats.

Rename blog... broken cats!

[She spent a while after that hugging/petting my arm and making slurred purr sounds while mumbling nonsense about cats. Weird shit like 'But cats don't like water.' I can honestly say I have no idea if any of that is a concussion side effect. She tends to get a little... weird on her own and may very well be acting in a manner she believes, for whatever stupid reason, a concussion patient should be acting like. 

I really should have just killed her when Fracture asked.

I'm getting a lot of dirty looks from the other people in the library for her occasional screaming and what must look to anyone else to be PDA. When you take into account that we both look like suspicious assholes in masks/broke-mask-face-thing-she-has-going and that she took off her shirt  off to coat her back and the chair she was sitting in with Aloe, we really have to get going before they call the police to throw us out.

Time to steal... frogs... from a college or something so we can continue to blog and connect with... cockroaches... and murderers.]

Dictated but not read by DEAD ABSTRACT ARTIST

[Written and edited by Moth.]

Entry... Gobble.

[Moth out.]

Experiment # 00S00

Analysis: Death Squads arrival consistent with entry attempts. Likely notable Reoccurring Factor, Laptop.

Experiment: Write post in word, set up delayed post in blogger, leave laptop in room rigged to blow.

Experiment launch.

EAT FIRE FUCKERS!

Entry End

Status: Alive

Fuck. I feel like some trashy runner. I have never run from a fight before but there were so many of them.

Acknowledgement, Firearms > Hatchets in 'Situation: group combat.'

Not that I don't know how to use a gun. I just don't have one. I mean I've been hunting runners up until this point and its not very sporty to come at a cockroach with a firearm. NOPE!

FUCKING COCKROACHES HAVE RUINED ME

Your disgusting little feelers touching all of my fucking food. You all deserve a hatchet to the face/feelers!

...

That said we seem to have bitten off a lot more than we chew seeing how 5 minutes into freedom we got hit with a death squad thing at our first 'secure' location.

We are finding it hard to turn to our own proxy brethren for help in this situation because Fracture has some notable sway in what is left of the proxy hierarchy as a handler thing. That coupled with my general distrust of murderous, monster worshiping, mask wearing freaks and I just can't bring myself to risk the oh so likely double cross that seeking aid from a proxy is sure to bring!
And for the record, while I am a Freak like other proxies just the same, I actually pull the style off.

YOU FUCKERS DON'T

AND JESUS CHRIST WHAT IS THAT NOISE?!

...

Oh... the room is on fire again... and Moth seems to have already left...
TRAITOROUS FUCK DITCHED ME!

Entry End

Occurrence: Self Liberation

Finally breaking free!

FREEEEEE

If Fracture thinks he can get away with trying to lie to ME then I'm better off without him.

Self analysis, we are unprepared.

Unfortunately, I blew the 45 days Fracture took ignoring me trying to find leads on where Duckie might have been moved to rather then setting up a means to survive without Fracture's protection. At least I have Trent... for whatever the hell that is worth. Mute son of a bitch.

I was talking a big game 8 and a half minutes ago but I have no fucking clue where to even start.

We have no leads and about... hmm... twenty dollars.

I'm thing we'll need...

What was that?

...

Hold on, I heard something. I sent Trent to check it out.

...

He's been gone a while.

...

OH FUCK FIRE

  --Picasso

Design/Time Anomaly Detected

JESUS FUCKING CHRIST

This is stupid. This is straight stupid.

I... I just don't understand...

I mean, designing these blogs is an incredible fucking time sink! How are any of you still around? For as long as it should require you stupid motherfuckers to have your noses in your little laptops to keep producing these little blog things, Daddy should have long since found you, gutted you, and should be well into juggling your pitiful organs and having a gay old time!

I mean what the fuck. Seriously. HOW?!

Idea.
Obvious work around:
Use a template.

Fuck. Worthless fucking rant. Why the fuck do I even bother.

Waste of my fucking time.

Whatever.
Bye or something.

Err...
Entry End.