Mark 3:25

Things are getting ridiculous as of late. I feel like I've been stripped of my officer's rank and thrown into the ocean, forced to attach my seal of approval to blog posts about the endless joy of infants. Suffice it to say, I don't get any psychotic amount of joy out of staring at babies, and it shames me that my name has been inadvertantly attached to such tomfoolery.

I think that Kyle may be plotting against me. Sometimes I catch him staring at me out of the corner of his eye when we're watching Angel, a malevolent grin just barely visible on his shadowed face. I know he's up to something.

It's only going to be a matter of time before he makes his move against me. But no, I will not play his game, and I will not relinquish sovereign power of this blog and this friendship. It's true, more binds us together than separates us, but great gulfs exist in the cracks. For example, I don't like the new season of Veronica Mars. And Kyle doesn't even like Final Fantasy, and he's managed to beat me at Heroes of Might and Magic. And so the rift deepens.

As I type this entry, I narrow my eyes out the window, across the railroad tracks, to the apartment complex that this friend of mine calls his home. No, not a friend, a usurper of my rights and human dignities! It's time to set my plan into motion. I have to make my move first. Act, not react. If it comes down to a deadly, epic battle to the finish, that's what it'll have to be. I can't afford to engage in any prolonged power struggles now. Not when I'm so close to realizing my plan of world domination. I make my finishing move tonight.