Talk:Jinko/@comment-95.151.215.15-20141130232601/@comment-25035274-20150205174620

I struggle. Oh, the struggling I do.

My feet scramble against the floor, trying to find purchase, and I stretch my arms out straight ahead, trying my damnedest to reach the wide-open outside.

HNNNNG! HNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG! HNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNG!

Strain as I might, I get absolutely nowhere. This crazy cat lady's got me locked up in a death grip. And, of course, she starts mumbling in her sleep.

"Nyam... Not goin' anywhere, Mr. Scruffles... You gotta... BAKED POTATOES! ......zzzzzzzzzzz"

Wait, baked potatoes, what? What's she going on abou-HRRRRK!!!

The one arm that's been holding me suddenly constricts, and every ounch of air is squeezed out of me.

A couple hours later the Jinko wakes up with a yawn, sits up, and stretches, unintentionally dumping my limp form on the ground. All I can do is lay there, groaning.

Worst. Morning. Ever.