Classic.

So. Apparently I have a stalker. At long last, a real stalker – not some web bot that drops 256 pageloads per minute every thirty minutes on the half hour after 2AM. A real person, strolling leisurely (and at plausible times) through my pages of record. Who is she? I have guesses, but no idea. She *could* be a pasty hairy dude living in mom’s basement; but as I have nothing more than anonymous footprints to go on, I can make her whatever I want to her to be. And I will.

Turns out she’s adorable (who knew). Quirky and kind and smug and clever and kewte. That’s right, kewte. With the silent e.

Definitely kewte.

I have to say I’m kinde of excited about this development.

If you never hear from me again, assume the basement dude got me. Meanwhile, she’s my fantasy – I DO WAHT I WANT.

It’s a lazy, sunny Saturday morning. You are on the couch snuggling with your sweetheart. When he begins to tickle you, you realize you are trapped. Whaddyado?

A) Give up

B) Give in

C) Accept your fate

D) All of the above