The authorities said I wasn't allowed to communicate with any persons of the human persuasion for at least a week. The authorities don't understand my very tactile nature. And apparently - according to some half-assed judge and his twelve jizzless monkeys - I don't understand the fine line being enthusiastic and being a stalker. You live and learn. My lawyer, Thelonius T. Heizleblatter, assures me I have a good case. But then he also assures me that the head of the Pope lives on in an oxygen-fed jar in a Runcorn, perfecting the ingredients for the sweetest-tasting honey nuts this side of Brazil. I hope he succeeds, because honey nuts in Liverpool have been very poor of late.
