Editor's Note: Quatro's last entry detailed his time as a captive. If you missed, it, click here to read his previous entry.
Baby nation, my brethren, I’m so glad to be communicating with you again. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it. The heathen’s torture scheme continues and gets more daunting by the day. These people are heartless fiends who delight in our misery. And they almost broke me. Almost.
Brethren, why do the giants deprive me of rest? I lay in slumber, sleepily dreaming of cute little bunnies who sing gentle little tunes while surrounding me with their little baby fur. Sweet dream, my brothers and sisters.
But then, torment! I’m grabbed – manhandled! The giants, those fiends rip my clothes from my body, stripping me of my pride. And just as I adjust to the nakedness that is me, and, in fact, relish the freedom of the breeze across my….well, naked parts, my enemies quickly change tactics and force me back into cloths. The mind games never end.
Sure, I protest, as loud as I can. But sound has no effect on these villains. They ignore my pleas, the heartless brutes. So, I’ve added new tactics to my protests. Have you attempted the projectile spit-up? It’s a complicated move, involving expert timing, but I find it extremely effective. You can always use the “classics” – a/k/a “poop”. But, if you find you can’t poop – and Lord knows I try all the time – but if you can’t, a simple toot will do in a pinch. It may not pack the punch of the real thing, but used correctly, it will cause a stir among the enemy. (Sometime I laugh at the idiocy of the heathens. On occasion, when I’ve used the toot method for counter-torture measures, the leader of the heathens gets angry at the bigger, hairier heathen. Then, oddly, the bigger, hairier heathen gets angry at the dog. Very odd behavior, indeed.)
The heathens have other ways of interrupting my slumber. They’ve implemented a new torture device, “the mobile restraint carrier”. I’m placed in this demonic apparatus, arms placed through cords of made of seemingly unbreakable material, which is then “clicked” into place. The entire mechanism, with me trapped inside, is then place in the roaring vehicle of death. We then go fast, seemingly as the speed of light. And to add to my mental anguish, these fiends force me to ride backwards. Little do they know this only increases my ability to projectile spit-up. Ha!
I crave more and more of the drug I've become addicted to. It’s hard to think of anything else, truthfully. That sweet, sweet nectar…the milky flow of pure goodness….nirvana in liquid form…. But I digress. Brothers and sisters, I've pondered upon this problem for a long time now, for we have a roadblock in our escape plan. Once we’re free, and rest assured, we will be free, brothers and sisters – once we’re free, how will we fulfill the need for this wonderful, delightful, enchanting drug? Perhaps I can produce it myself? I've tried sucking on my toes, very hard, but to no avail. Damn those heathens. Evil, but genius.
Until my next communication, stay strong, baby nation. We will be free. Until then, get creative in your counter measures. This week, I plan to poop in the bathtub! Ha! #freeQuatro
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