Remarkably enough I have enjoyed more than an hour without being made to eat a pill, drink the yellow milk or even being puffed. If only the little, grey pest wasn't hurtling around the place like a jumping bean with St Vitus' Dance, my life would be almost tolerable.
Update. I was wrong. They found something else. Held me down and doused the back of my neck with some sort of chemical. Now, everywhere I go, flies drop dead. Tried sneaking up on that fat pigeon again but it could smell me coming. Rats.
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