Help, my journal has been hacked by a Rock Star.

What's most important is that there were pigeons all over, and that they coalesced into the collective shape of a puppy named Buffles. I could tell that was his name, because it was a British Shorthair. That's a kind of kitty, but Buffles was so good at being the puppy that they let him. So that's how that pigeons were, guys. Okay? Yeah.

Really lovely seeing you, ThouShaltNot and friends.

Rose glows and fixes everything. Everything except for my faith in the writers.

I just caught one of my coworkers in the bakery staring at the wall, vacant and furious. It's the meditative state of the working classes; I expect I'm in such a pose for eighteen hours of every workday. If we directed half of this, we'd never need to bother with riots. The fires would start themselves.