My valiant defense of Nutwood continues, my faithful companion Sheeba by my side. We await reinforcements, but they are not scheduled to arrive until Tuesday evening; we shall have to do our best, using our wits and ingenuity in order to beat off all attackers. Errr...keep the attackers at bay. Yes, that sounds better.
Today I tackled several dishes, including a belligerent cookie sheet, that appeared in the sink, and beat them into submission. I find that waterboarding does the trick with those cheeky bastards.
I then interrogated the deck by stretching out on a lounge chair and placing my full weight upon it. It might not seem like much, since I am not a large person, but an hour of constant pressure made it splinter in several places. Sheeba stood guard inside while I continued my interrogation.
After I completed my questioning, I left the deck to nurse its wounds while I washed away the stench of its fear and the sweat of my exertions from my body. As I finished, I noticed the towels staring at me with listless insolence, so I gave them a thorough dousing, followed by an hour in the hotbox. They are now silent in the linen closet, and I expect no further trouble from them.
Sheeba and I were both in desperate need of sustenance, so I gave him a packet of MREs while I made do with the cold pizza I had been saving for just such an emergency. Combined with the amber beverages, I find that the cold pizza has left me contented and at peace...for now.
I’m afraid that tomorrow, I will need to address a serious problem with the sheets. I’ve noticed that at night, they are bunching beneath me, perhaps in a feeble attempt to keep me from my rest. Sheeba has no such problem, as he sleeps often and anywhere, but I feel that the sheets are trying to break me. I shall not be broken. They will receive the same treatment as the towels did today, and I expect that they will also come to understand that they are powerless.
If necessary, I will call in an airstrike tomorrow from either the Post Office or UPS...both, if the situation proves dire enough. Both Derrick and Mike have proven themselves to be devoted allies, and I know I can count on them to deliver. The garbage detail will be coming by on reconnaissance, and I have already set out their supplies. I have left them a note on the back of the foil top of a yogurt container; I will trust whatever passes for providence that they receive it.
I see that I am receiving a message from the fireflies on the front screen, so I must finish this entry and decode it immediately.
I shall remain vigilant, with the ever-true Sheeba at my side. Unless it thunders; then he will retire to the basement.
No retreat! No surrender!