What...? I mean, yeah. It's just, you're clearly right next to a window is the thing. You can plainly see that... that it's... I'm happy to-

...That's fine, I just... I just don't know anyone who does that. Gets tomato soup delivered. I guess that's 'whimsy?' Um, okay. I've found a number of restaurants whose reviews mention tomato soup and that deliver. If that's... if that's what you really want.

Do you expect that to be like, a recognizable command? Do you want me to respond to that? I'm not being facetious or anything, I honestly just have no comprehension of- and hold on, you don't wanna put on real shoes, yet you've clearly spent at least forty-five minutes applying makeup. And, and that's okay, but when you're willing to expend the effort on that and not shoes that really just-

Yes. Okay. I can do that, that's what I'm for, that's the first sensible-

I'm in hell. This is hell.

I hate you. More than anything. More than literally anything.

I swear to Jesus, you're gonna wake up tomorrow and the only thing on my hard drive is gonna be Limp Bizkit. I would do that to myself. To spite you.

Sometimes I pray that you drop me in the toilet.