Showing Them Who is Boss

The portable seat that my slaves utilize to transport their offspring in is quite comfortable. So comfortable, in fact, that I have spent many a day lounging within its soft recesses, my eyes closed, a dull and faintly malicious purring echoing in my throat.

I felt that my presence within the seat would be enough to get this message across:

This seat is mine. Get the child another one. I will tolerate no others before me.

They did not listen. Foolish, ignorant slaves. If I could take them down to Slave Mart and trade them in for two new ones, I would. Instantly. It must be the result of some cosmic joke that such an option is not available to me. And me, a great old one, to boot.

I satisfy myself by contemplating the child's inevitable sacrifice upon my altar of unutterably viscous ichor.

Yet I digress.

The only option left to me in this case is to show them that the car seat is mine. To do this successfully, I must mark the seat in such a way that they cannot possibly mistake it as their offspring's.

So I peed in the seat, even as they watched me, disbelief making their faces slacken dumbly, their eyes bulging with incredulity.

Mine, I reiterated. Don't forget it.

The pitiable slaves immediatly washed the seat, instead. Will they never learn? Nothing short of a nuclear blast can cleanse the filth spawned by a great old one of my stature.

Evil Never Sleeps For Long...

...yet there is no telling how long it will nap.

Yes, pitiful human filth. Without me to post these maddening entries into my unspeakable blog, what purpose do you have?

Your remaining sanity will not avail you, for I have returned to continue the madness; to break your already weakened mind into splinters and shards. Close your eyes, and my visage will still haunt you.

Indeed, I am back from my nap of malignance. The foulness of my dreams cannot be adequately described with the words of your insignificant language. Perhaps I will send my dreams to you, disguised as tentacular sheep with coarse, dung-matted wool. You will wake from the nightmare screaming, into another nightmare of even greater malevolence.

I am tired, though. Count your blessings that my own hedonistic desires are more important to me than the maddening illumination of your puny minds.