Bears are lonely souls, who desperately yearn for a personal relationship with their official Saviourette. It’s difficult to help miners, write a blog, and be a good housewife. I don’t know how I manage to look so great. Maybe I was born with it?
Some crabs like don’t like me, and I’m like totes fine. I don’t like like them very much either, to be like quite frank, miners like disgust me.
I like like people who like naturally like gravitate into my like orbit, and submit unconditionally unto me. I expect feudal subservience, my divine birthright. For example, Molagne Deninard was trying to steal my ore, and was surprised to discover his Twitch had viewers. Meanwhile, he warped from belt to belt, desperately trying to escape justice. He was breathing heavily, unsure where to go, whom could he trust? Eventually, he made the right decision, calming down to embrace fate.
Other miners make a slightly less optimal decision.
In order to advance our civilization, I have been encouraging miners to practice arts and crafts. I’m always pleased to see what they come up with.
There’s a secret message in the sky! If you stare long enough, you might notice my name, written amongst the stars. Of course, some gobloks prefer to compose essays, and I always (get it?) encourage them to express their little feelings.
Some carebears claim we are space bully griefers, that we just want to upset them and bathe in salty tears. Honestly (no roleplay here), I do enjoy that, but what brings me the most pleasure is knowing miners are grateful to die…
… and pay for the right to stamp my name on their bio.
It’s fair to say that I’m legitimately space famous.
I didn’t earn all this attention, but I definitely inherited it.
I know what the people want.
Somewhere, in Hek, James is proud of me.
He is proud of the CODE.