Not even worried about the Lunatic anymore.

I never thought I'd say this, Readers, but the Lunatic is the least of my worries these days. No, I have a much more troubling nemesis now. Someone so fiendish, so calculating, so unbelievably evil that I fear the world itself is in danger of being engulfed in his madness.

I am speaking, of course, of Julian the turtle. Here, this is him, in case your feeble human minds can't remember that far back:

That, Dear Readers, is the face of Hell itself. And he's been staring at me All. Day.

Send help. An exorcist, if you have one.

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Well, this is just fine.

It turns out, Dear Three Readers, that the Lunatic got -- get this -- ARTIFICIAL PLANTS for the aquarium. They weren't ignoring me; they just couldn't reply. On account of not being alive. Because they're artificial.

Artificial. Plants.

Well, that's just FINE. Dandy, even. She can put fake plants in there, sure, plants that won't have to worry about being killed off. Perfect.

WHY COULDN'T SHE GET A FAKE HOUSEPLANT TOO, AND LEAVE ME ALONE??

At this point, I fear my options are limited. I can:

1. Try to make friends with Julian and hope he kills her along with Norman and Walter when he inevitably snaps;

2. Try to communicate with her hyper dog and get it to somehow crank the heat some night and toast her to death; or

3. Try to be more zen, like my bonsai cousins, and just let this go.

Right now I'm leaning toward number 1. Or maybe number 2. Oh, it's so hard to decide.

What do you think, Readers?

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The Lunatic just doesn’t quit.

A couple of weeks ago, I was sitting on her desk, minding my own business like usual, when she came home and plopped this down beside me:

That, Dear Three Readers, is a “fish tank,” according to the Lunatic. But who can be sure if that’s true or not, since she cackled maniacally after saying it. Although, the maniacal cackling was probably because she put this horrid, evil thing in there:

She calls it “Julian,” but I call it “OhmyFicuspleasesaveus!!!”

Seriously. That thing is going to kill us ALL. And when it's through, it will probably come to the homes of everyone reading this and kill them, too. It's EVIL.

So of course the Lunatic loves it.

Also, the bright-colored things floating around in there are called "fish." This is the one she calls Norman:

Norman is far too hyper for my tastes. He never stops moving, and the whole time he's moving, he's giving a running commentary of every thought that enters his microscopic brain: "HimynameisNormanimafishlolwowleavesohcoolbrightlightSHINY!!!"

Then there's Walter:

He's at least quieter than Norman, although he's kind of stuck up. Won't even try to carry on a conversation with a friendly plant; just turns away to pose in front of the glass some more.

But the real problem, Dear Readers, is the greenery. You see all those nice-looking plants in there? DON'T BE FOOLED. Bastards, every one. Here I am, excited to see a few of my own kind in this Ficus-forsaken place, and thinking we can commiserate about the Lunatic and our terrible, desperate situation.

Instead, these jerks just ignore me. Won't even give me a simple "Hello." What the HELL? These guys are too good for me? Well, fine. I'm GLAD the Lunatic drowned them and stuck fish in with them. Serves 'em right.

They're probably in cahoots with Julian, anyway.

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She's up to something.

Something is definitely wrong, and I'm holding all of you personally responsible for allowing it to happen. I just can't put my sprig on what, exactly, it is.

She got a big table to use as a desk, and I now have a "place of honor" on it (the Lunatic's words, not mine). She even pointed a grow light at me, so I'm not stuck in some dark, overshadowed window, trying to suck in a few rays that manage to escape the leaves of the big jerk oak outside.

Yep. Something is definitely wrong. I'll stake my roots on it.

She calls this photo "Fred Gets Lit." I don't know what 'Lit' means, but
she giggled when she said it, so it can't be good.

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I always knew I was a star.

So the Lunatic thinks she's some kind of writer. Personally, I think she's a hack (look at all the leaves she hacked off me), but what do I know? I'm just a plant. Who ever listens to me, anyway?

She's writing some horror story, and says I'm the star. Of course, I assumed the worst -- surely she's coming up with fictional ways to dismember, torture, and kill me, since the thrill of doing it in real life has worn off. But no -- she surprised me. She's making me the evil mastermind, killing off all the other characters. Now, don't get me wrong, Five Readers; I'm a mostly peaceful plant, with no real urge to do harm to anyone other than the Lunatic. But I have to say, becoming an evil genius* and killing off everyone else? Sounds cathartic to me.

I just hope she leaves out her lame attempts at humor. Ficus help me, she is terrible at humor.

*Editor's note: I never told him he's going to be an evil genius. Just evil. I don't know where he gets this stuff, honestly.

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Something isn't right...

I don't feel quite...right. I know, I know, I just took over a new root system, but that part all seems to be working fine. But there's a leaf or two on one side that I can't seem to communicate with. I don't know what's going on, but I don't like it. I'm sure the Lunatic has something to do with it.

-----

Ohai. This is Charlie again. He still doesn't know I live here. Good joke, huh?

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So maybe there's something to this procreation stuff.

Whew!

It's been a rough several months, three readers. (Thank you, by the way, to those who stopped following me just because I disappeared for awhile and looked like I was never coming back. I'm a PLANT. How'm I gonna steal the Lunatic's computer when she's dragging it all over whoknowswhere?)

Anyway. She finally managed it. She...*ahem* I'm sorry, this is difficult to say. She...killed me. Took some doing, too. I take pride in the fact that I was tougher than I looked, and I held on as long as I could. But when she left me in the car overnight, IN BELOW FREEZING TEMPERATURES...I'm a TROPICAL, for cryin' out loud.

But here's where it gets interesting: Do you remember Charlie? Of course you don't. I'm just a plant, why would anyone listen to me or remember anything I said? It's not like I have legs or other means of locomotion, so I'm not worth paying attention to, right?

This was him:

You'll note that I said it "was" him. You see, a funny thing happened when I died. No, dying wasn't the funny part. Gah, you're all as insane as she is.

The funny thing is that I became him. Or he became me. I don't really know how it works; I'm just a foliage plant. But somehow, we merged. Charlie is gone. I'm still here.

And I'm plotting my revenge. The Lunatic won't know what hit her.

-Fred, signing off.

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ohai. this charlie. fred don't know i'm here. i live in third leaf from bottom, center row.  funneh, huh? won't he be surprised?

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