Dear Planet Earth,
I was able to catch a couple winks last night (that means â€œsleepâ€ for all you Bieber-lovinâ€™ toddlers in tiaras out there) and have some nightmares that donâ€™t involve running for my life fromÂ technologically advanced mole people.
MyÂ on-again off-again strictlyÂ platonicÂ male friend Dr. Eimer revealed to me that General Talpa and a small squad have been scouting the surrounding area. He seems pretty convinced that theyâ€™re not ditching us slow-moving civilians, and I donâ€™t have any choice but to agree. I do have to wonder though, with about 100 of us and only enough food and water to fit three trucks, how much borrowed time are we running on (that means â€œperiod of uncertainty during which the inevitable consequences of a current situation are postponed or avoidedâ€ for all you TweetingÂ E-Trade babies out there).
But I need to stop thinking the worst and focus on my more immediate concerns.Â My leg is still killing me. I canâ€™t sleep for more than six hours. And I badly need to shave. I grow facial hair at an incredibly slow rate, even by seventeen year old boy standards, but I currently look like a mugshot for Gary Buseyâ€™s stalker.
Follow the mole men invasion at Beneath Average