[PREVIOUS RECORDING]
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I am not a happy camper.

That new officer blackmailed me. Apparently, since my last transmitter was lost in Hell (literally), I am supposed to get a new one. Fine and dandy. The trouble is this new one was going to be injected into my arm. They offered an agreement: I fix their motorcycle, and they take care of the paperwork. Installing it on my gun like last time (without my knowledge) is apparently not an option, and discharging a firearm at an officer is also very illegal, so I got stuck doing manual labor.

Here's some advice, Lorri: just because the speedometer on your bike says you can do 150+ miles an hour (241+ kph) doesn't mean you should try and go faster than that: your bike has a speed limiter on it for a reason.

Another tip: the bike should never have worn tires...let alone bald ones.

But above all else: be more careful when shifting gears. Most of the teeth in the transmission are worn or chipped, and I'm honestly surprised it didn't suffer a catastrophic failure.

I got home and found Millie was still in the closet. So there's that.

Not much else to talk about.

Iceball out.
[END OF TAPE]