Soon I will tunnel underground in an attempt to escape hyper-cubic time dilation and the shrekfaced donkey/human hybrids that roam the surface layers. I’ll emerge only when it is safe for those of us with greenless skin and foreshortened ears to breathe the atmosphere again. Beware the second variety, the ones with the motorized gingerbread claws.
Day Seventy-three: I have been tunneling under what I believe is a major base of operations. I can hear the shuffling of hooves and the echos of songs. They have forgotten me; assumed that their campaign has been one of total domination. Well, it ain’t Oger til it’s Oger.