When you've got Tin-tin (here pronounced tenTEN) hair and two tubes (with your own blood trapped in the hardware) coming out of your neck, you may not do as much mirror gazing as you once did. So it's understandable that I missed the appearance of the sign on my forehead that apparently says: Tell me all about your feces in full and explicit and complete detail.
To my cell mate,
You are vile. For your own sake, start respecting the laws of common discretion because I am about to strangle you. If I wasn't too grossed out to approach you, I might have already done it.
Yours truly.
Ahh... Pantelis on the radio. What a charmer.
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