What a bunch of idiots. These people I surround myself with are total morons. One of them literally thinks up is down. He is a twisted fellow. He spends most of his time one is head, so I guess in all reality he is right. We call him Lance. 
    My next cuckoo friend would be Darla. She talks to birds, only eats food with two syllables in the name, and calls everyone Sport. The Good Doc doesn’t really like her, and I like to take her feelings into consideration, especially during our one-on-one conference calls in the social corridor. 
     I almost forgot about Shmitty! He is an old sailor, weary with war wounds and as foul as the ocean’s depths. He really likes to get the rest of us into trouble. He always finds a way or roping us into teasing the white-coated servants, or stealing things from out neighbors in the hall. 
    It is not really fair that there are four of us in this cramped room when everyone else gets their own. I think we got the short end of the stick when it came to leases. The Good Doc just renewed us for another six months. 
    What a bunch of idiots I live with. I eat, sleep, and breathe these buffoons. Sometimes the Good Doc tells me I should leave them, get some alone time for myself, but I ignore her. She is smart, but not so bright in the head. I always get a kick from watching those three play cards.
    We were all sitting in my room one day. Lance was in the corning, propping his sorry self up against the wall. Darla was eating her carrots and pancakes. And Shmitty was contemplating all the uses for the word fuck. Suddenly there was a knock on the door. It seemed I was the only one to hear it. 
     I wonder if it is a new friend. 
 


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