… one of those reasons may be that, without the dubious protection of our writer tag, the rest of society would lock us up for posts like this, in which we replace psychotic cats with sociopathic bears:
Peter wakes up to find the Spokesbear sitting on his chest, staring him in the face.
Spokesbear: Time to work.
Peter: Fuck off.
Spokesbear: You’re not sick anymore.
Peter: I feel like someone’s taken a razor blade to the inside of my eusophegus.
Spokesbear: Yes, but you can *stare at a screen without bleeding from the eyes*. That means it’s time to work.
Peter: You’re mean.
Spokesbear: It’s what you pay me for.
The rest resides here.
