And so as much as I can, I care about her, dear Deborah. It's probably not love, but I would rather she were happy.

Because I am an inhuman monster, I tend to be logical.

Have you noticed how difficult it is just to get along in the world? If you're no good at all in your job, people treat you badly and eventually you will be unemployed. And if you're a little better than competent, everyone expects miracles from you, every single time. Like most of life, it's a no-win situation. And if you dare to mention it, no matter how creatively you phrase your complaints, you are shunned as a whiner.

Or was he saying, "Hi! Wanna play?" And I did. Of course I did.

It took me a moment. I blinked, and suddenly it swam into focus and I had to frown very hard to keep myself from giggling out loud like the schoolgirl Deb had accused me of being. Because he had arranged the arms and legs in letters, and the letters spelled out a single small word: BOO. The three torsos were carefully arranged below the BOO in a quarter-circle, making a cute little Halloween smile. What a scamp.

The faster it ran away from me. And I found myself reasoning that perhaps one more beer would unlock the doors of perception.

Really now: If you can't get me my newspaper on time, how can you expect me to refrain from killing people?