In Which The Author Engages In Some Unseemly Whining
Damn it, where the hell is my Hugo? It was supposed to have been shipped as of the 11th, and here it is the 21st, and I don’t have it. Is it being couriered by tortoises? Has Fed Ex been replaced by a league of snails? Will sloths in UPS caps show up at my door, eventually, and hand it to me coated in their thick, insect-catching drool? I mean, hey, if any or all of the above is the case, that’s cool, I just wanna know.
Don’t mind me. I’m just incomplete without my phallic object.