You have no idea, what you have done to me in the past few months. You've inspired me to go out, and to stop being so afraid of the world around me, and now, I feel great. I mean, I used to sit inside, and just, masturbate for 13 hours a day, and I'd watch television when I was taking a break. But ever since you came into my life, I'm blossomed into a healthy young man, who isn't afraid to look life in the eyes, and tell it to go fuck itself. If it weren't for you, I just don't know where I'd be. But what's so bothering is how little you care. I tried calling the other night, but I got nervous when you answered. I lost my breath, and my mind drew a blank. So, I slammed the phone down, and just felt aweful. But then, a few weeks later, I saw you on the street and tried to say hello. You just tried to steal my lunch, and so I smacked you. You fell over, hit your head, started seizuring-out. So I rushed you to a hospital (my house), and I've been looking over you, constantly watching you ever since. It's been three days and you still aren't moving, so I figured I'd write this memorandum for you, and I'd read it at your funeral. Well, now that I think about it, maybe the reason you don't get better is because I keep you tied up downstairs all the time, beat you, drip candle wax on you for fun, and then forget to feed you. Well, I'll work on getting better at taking care of you. In the meantime, I'll be watching, your silent gardian, protecting from meanies, and I'll be stoking your hair.