You gratefully return to your hive after the feeding of your insectoid lusus. Hell, that's a nightmare. It's like a bad stealth game, where the slightest noise instantly alerts anything in the house,
which in this case then tries to eat you while simultaneously thanking you for the lovely dinner you collected.
You glance around your room. It has seemingly random areas of chaotic mess and precise, merciless order. Through the glass yellowy brown light filters through, coloured and weakened
by a caramel-like substance. When you were young you attempted to eat some of this, assuming it to be composed of harmless things like glucose, or at the most some flavourings.
It is an experiment you most emphatically do not wish to repeat.
You suppose you should summarise your interests and personality for those reading who you are certainly not aware are there peering in at your life like a mentally disabled child staring at
a pile of sweets it will never be able to eat without laughing inanely and choking. Well, here goes.
You feel a deep spiritual kinship to some insects, and the main hobby that takes up your free time is BEEKEEPING. No doubt this is why your favourite colours are BLACK and YELLOW. You harbour A DEEP HATRED OF WASPS, however. You feel certain they are plotting the next step in their unending scheme to overthrow your bees, lords of the hive. What will those scheming insects do next? You enjoy this MENTAL BATTLE with those infernal creatures, and it is almost as fun as watching BADLY ANIMATED CARTOONS, where you marvel at the ability to suck at drawing so badly. You have attempted to make some yourself, but alas, they were simply too detailed and you have no choice but to burn them. You will not stop trying, though.
You have, unfortunately, a GAMBLING ADDICTION, which has reached infamous notoriety amongst your fellow SUIT APPRECIATION CLUB members, which you chair. You are also the author of a few excellent books including BEES:OUR RULERS, OUR PROTECTORS, OUR FRIENDS and WASPS: INSIDIOUS HEXEPEDAL PESTS.
Your laptop buzzes incessantly, it's usual alerting beep replaced with a sound less harsh on the ears. You frown, your delightfully engaging monologue interrupted. Just who the hell thinks they have the right to barge into a perfectly formed, sophisticated speech like that and expect a reply? You check who is messaging you.
Hell no, not now. You don't have the energy for these textual sparring bouts between you and him at the moment. You only just put down the Wasp Incursion, no chance you're answering him now