A young lady stands in her bedroom. It just so happens that today, the 13th of April, is this young lady’s birthday. Though it was thirteen years ago she was given life, it is only today she will be given a name! What will the name of this young lady be?

ZOOSMELL POOPLASS!

Sometimes you feel like you are trapped in this room. Stuck, if you will, in a sense which possibly borders on the titular. And now your chum is pestering you again. The clockwork of friendship turns ceaselessly, operating the swing-lever dealies of harassment in perpetuity. Whatever. This chick can just hold her damn horses. You decide to consult with the Colonel’s bottomless wisdom. Good grief, this thing is huge. It could kill a cat if you dropped it.

Whatever it is, the kernelsprite seems particularly agitated about it. You’re no astronomer, but its trajectory looks suspiciously head-on with your current perspective. This is a troubling development. Joan, high-five kernelsprite. You figure you’ve left him hanging long enough.