Happiness is like a butterfly: the more you chase it, the more it will elude you, but if you turn your attention to other things, it will come and sit softly on you're shoulder.

That is of course, until it flies off into the desert leaving you crushed and alone with an overwhelming sense of void and meaningless despair that forces one's self to slowly slip further and further into the powerful jaws of insanity

To people who are small:
Tell me your secrets, I envy your heights

Hello...I uh... I'm looking for Cecil. I think I lost him back at the dog park...

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Name(If applicable)- Oh are you from that vague yet menacing government agency? I am John Caster.
Age(If applicable)- 20
Gender(If you posses the function of reproduction in the mammalian sense. If not, jot down your place within the insect society)- Male
Nationality/Original plane of existence- I am a Brit. I just kind of woke up here one day. Never questioned it.
Current Occupation- I am an intern at Night Vale Community Radio

Appearance(If you are in possession of a corporeal form)- Can't you see me?
Personality/Reeducation Serial Number- I describe myself as a cold, cynical yet caring person
Bio _(If the sheer extent of our pointless existence hasn’t robbed you of your past)- I woke up here only knowing my age, who I am and where I originally came from.
Extraneous physical and mental details- Nothing worth noting, my good sir
Likes/Dislikes- I quite like dogs and tea

Friends- my fellow interns and I suppose Cecil counts...
Family/Hive Warehouse Number- I have no idea.
Place of Shelter- Old Town. I think.
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