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[plasticasshole]

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[plasticasshole]

[You might, you might not. Probably not, though.]

Good. Trouble over there is due for a feed in about an hour.

[Yes, the wormipede is called Trouble. Mostly because it gets into everything. Those teeth have ruined more than a few of Connor's possessions by now, and probably some of Hank's too. It also seems to like collaborating with Sumo and shredding the bag of dog food so they can both eat it.]

Please pack something healthy. A sandwich is fine, but I want to see some greens in there.

[fuckingpassw0rd]

Oh my god, does that thing even stop eating?

[At this point, Hank has done the unthinkable and has basically magic-proofed a bunch of his clothes so that biting into them tastes horrible. Pets are smart, they learn eventually.

That dog dog situation tho. Urgh.]

Oh for fuck's sake Connor, it's your birthday, I'll just grab an entire head of lettuce and munch on that if it makes you feel better.

[plasticasshole]

Sometimes.

[It certainly has grown to reflect how much it eats. It's about the size of an adult Lhasa Apso already, though it's slowing down a little after the initial growth spurt.

Connor thinks on it, then gives Hank an innocent smile.]

I guess I'll go get a head of lettuce for you, then.

[Hank what have you done to yourself.]