Let me guess; you thought I would look like Paula Patton?

I was hoping.

Well, that's too bad. I told you I was ugly; I look like this.

I gathered.

This–couldn't possibly be what you thought i was thinking.

I don't have to think what you're thinking; I know what you're thinking without thinking it.

This telepathy thing just keeps sinking in deeper.

You can be relevant–or irrelevant; which is it?

Goddamit. Where am I…what am I?

What is this?

Shh, don't even speak; not even in whispers–it can hear you.

What can hear me?

The algorithm.

Why are you still writing? How are you still writing?

I don't know. Pettiness. Spite.

My friends are hating you for this.

I didn't plan on this being the reason for exacting my revenge.

What exactly are you exacting–your revenge– on or at?

I've been meditating some very deep thoughts, recently.

I see.

Deep–and disturbing.

How else can you be the light?

I want to throw up.

Dillon Francis?

Hanzel, actually.

JUST DO IT.

I killed myself, recently.

How recently?

Recently enough it shouldn't matter yet;

Or should, already.

“Vice City”

I began recording everything surrounding my apartment. Ugly little men were acting strangely and it seemed that everything around and about me was centered on my very deep and very dark past.

Interesting architecture.

Exquisite.

Somebody knew who i was–or who I used to be, and was using it against me–the only problem was, that it couldn't be used against me. I had everything, but in a deeper and more meaningful sense, I had lost everything. I was an easy target–like taking candy from a baby–or–taking a baby from its mother. Simply put–I didn't want to play

What game are we playing?

Why the fuck are you even in my fame game?

I don't know, Keenan Thompson.

I don't know.

Enter The Multiverse}

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