My Hate, I show it too you…
Peter wakes up to find the Spokesbear sitting on his chest, staring him in the face. Spokesbear: Time to work. Peter: Fuck off. Spokesbear: You’re not sick anymore. Peter: I feel like someone’s taken a razor blade to the inside of my oesophagus. Spokesbear: Yes, but you can *stare at a screen without bleeding from the eyes*. That means it’s time to work. Peter: You’re mean. Spokesbear: It’s what you pay me for. Peter: I pay you? Spokesbear: Yes. Peter: You’re an anthropomorphised fraction of my own subconscious guilt, why do you get paid? The Spokesbear punches Peter in the throat with a padded paw. Spokesbear: That’s why. Next time you ask a stupid question, I’m going after a kneecap. Peter: I kill you. The Spokesbear makes a cute face. Peter: Okay, I don’t kill you. Spokesbear: I don’t do this for free, dude. Time to work. Peter: Sadist. Spokesbear: Wuss. Peter: Crazy bear. Spokesbear: Slacker. Peter: Tyrant. Spokesbear: Slug.
