My computer landed next to me in the oubliette yesterday. I suppose I should consider myself lucky it didn’t land on me.
Two and a half years I’ve been down here. Little Caligula pushed me in as a merry jape just before Christmas and the delightfully vindictive little swine probably thinks I’ve died. Evidently he failed to work out the password for my computer, which is why I have it now.
Now I can communicate with the outside world again. I can get someone to help me out of here and end my diet of raw rats and spiders. It’s not a bad diet, plenty of protein, but it gets boring after a while.
The only ones I’ve talked to in here are Death and Red Stan and they’ve become pretty dull. Death just looks disappointed when he shows up and finds me still alive. Stan keeps going on about me signing a contract to get out of here but I’m not falling for that. His contracts are heavily loaded in his favour.
So if you’ll excuse my long absence from reality, I have to call someone to get me out.
Professor Crowe, you have mail.