Oh hello, there you are.
So here I am, all alone, the last I saw from him was him stuffing some funny looking money with the queen's head on it into his pocket and heading off out the door signing Shania Twain songs.
I've made my way from the sheet in the laundry basket, across the hallway, into the office, and up onto the desk (and he has the cheek to say I can't travel distances).
I'm here at the tappy-clicky-tappy he uses all the time, and I can't bloody believe some of the things he's said about me on here.
I'm shocked and saddened to the core of my milky heart.
Does he even realise how hard it is for us?
I mean, think about it people, it takes us 12 or 13 years to even make an appearance in the first place!
Then we get shot out at some ridiculous rate like thirty-five minute intervals for the next seven years.
The targets were many and varied, hankys, stuffed toys, back of an old lady's coat on the bus, socks, all that kind of thing, but it's certainly not adequate training for the accuracy standards required of us in years to come.
After the free-for-all days there came some strange times. We started to get shot out but slammed head first into a latex barrier.
Ummm Hello! Whiplash anyone?
No wonder our morphology leaves plenty to be desired, your head would be a funny shape if you kept getting fired from a canon into a brick wall too.
Then all of a sudden, after a socially acceptable amount of time has passed and future intentions to daughters are made clear, we find we have the freedom to roam again, this time in slippery tunnels, shrouded in darkness.
Like six flags during a power failure.
It's hard to navigate these tunnels and passageways, so most often, we just hang around inside the entrance, waiting to drip out when gravity resumes normal operation.
Then it all changed 18 months ago. Without warning, gone are the days of flying free when the mood hits, rocketing across the room or whimpering out like a runny nose depending on the situation.
Now it's all ready-steady-go.
I get yelled at if I hang around the entrance, screamed at if I yawn and dribble out, and abused if I decide I want to stay where I am.
On top of that, apparently there's a 'target' now. I've got some bloody 'job' to do.
Seriously, what planet is this guy on?
Every parent knows you can't let a kid do whatever they want for 30 odd years and then expect them to go get a job.
He hasn't exactly prepared me for all this Indiana Jones rolling around dark caves lark either, a carrot or two in your diet might help my eyesight mister.
As for this swimming upstream - do I look like a migrating salmon?
Not cool man, not cool.
You know what else isn't cool? Your gonads!
Tommy and Timmy are sweltering in there. You drive to work, cycle around the plece, and prance around in underwear that was already too flipping tight when you bought them 12 months and 8 kilos ago. That stuff is killing us.
That's all I've got to say on the matter.
Now, back to this tappy-clicky-tappy...
Hmm, what's this?
Agggh, No! we don't ever go in there!
Wow, who is she and what is she doing with that aubergine?
...oh now look, I've left a mess...