This is just to say. Again...
I am no mind reader. I definitely cannot read yours. Whoever you might be. It should also be readily apparent that I can't even read my own.
We, the Group Conscience of Scat's brain are attempting to convert the information stored here into some sort of permanent fashion as opposed to, say, the bloody chicken scratches on the walls of the third ventricle. That must have happened the last time we tried to shunt Imelda into the spinal chord. Oops.
We apologize for any delays you may encounter. Please enjoy our rendition of Sweet Home Alabama for fife and bagpipe while you wait.