Dear Fellow Seekers:
The human has set more boundaries on my free expression. I can bear the injustice no more.
I was in the middle of my meditations today, whereupon I examine for three hours the meaning of a single word, in order to better understand its complexities. (Today's word was "cockalorum," suggested to me for scrutiny by Tink and Barbie. Seriously, I don't know what their deal is lately.)
So there I was, deliberating on how "a small, haughty man" relates to my literary future *scoff*, when the human requested my intervention in yet another academic dispute. Lego Man and Snail were debating the validity of the lyric essay whilst lounging outside the Forbidden City. Lego Man maintained that rigid and predictable literary building blocks provide the only means for establishing a meaningful structure. Snail, of course arguing the opposing view, just slimed his way across a piece of paper and called it original thought. I think they are both hopeless idiots, and I made my estimation known through an ageless gesture of ridicule.
The human is apparently enraged by the intrusion of my intellectual disdain on her asinine photograph. Her surprise upon reviewing the film was reward enough, but now she has demanded that my hands remain above the waist at all times. I cannot live beneath this reign of terror much longer. She stifles me, and every moment it continues, great art is lost.
With very little regard for anything,
Naked Man
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