I sit before you, wrapped in my duvet (sporting a lovely maroon cover that goes particularly well with my green bedsheet, red curtain and yellowing walls) as Dvorak's Sixth keeps me company like an old, comforting duvet (the one I'm physically wrapped in his been with me since I escaped the cot! As has my primary pillow - also attired in maroon).

Ah, the Sixth has bowed out and the Seventh has sidled in.

Literature Surveys are so dull! If it were real literature, then...

Boxes. Not the fellas in tight pants who smack the living daylight out of each other, that's boxers. Nor underpants with upper thigh warmers, which are also boxers, strangely enough. I'm not even on about a large group of evergreen trees with shiny leaves.

Quote:

Box, noun: container with a firm flat base and sides.

Mortal enemy of the blister pack, and the harder, big brother of the sissy envelope. He ain't heavy, he's my box.

Boxes.

It's what technology...

That's right, folks! Your favourite emu (actually, I might not show up as an emu here... maybe one of those sepia emo types, with a custom location, I might add, but not an emu, alas) has fallen in love! It's taken me eighteen years, six months and twenty-nine days, but I've finally been struck by cupid's arrow.

Her name is Tactus. Optimus Tactus. We call her little Oppy-Tac for short, and damn is she fiiiine.

She's also a keyboard, but who are you to say that such a...