Greetings, O Spanker of the Hindquarters of Theta! Something is brewing with the Large-Jawed Woman. A few hours ago she took an old computer and began hitting it with a hammer device, reducing it to shards. Although the computer was non-functional --- the keys had long ago fused because of the Cheeto dust collecting between them --- it seemed to give her great pleasure, as she kept repeating "this'll work!" As yet I am unsure as to what it means. However, it has not slowed down her internet activity one globnik, O Mighty Miasma, and I think we are still moving ahead with the new screenplay. I have disguised myself once again as a lawn ornament, and now spend substantial portions of the day standing outside her domicile holding a lantern and dressed as one who rides the Terran horse, but once she settles down for a day of grimacing and typing, I sneak over and peek through the window to watch her under the table. There is a chance that reception for this transmission will suffer interference, as she now wears a tinfoil hat all of the time and you know how that interferes with our communication devices cell phones. But I will do the best I can. In the meantime, Minion Bruce spells me at night in order that I may hibernate, although in all honesty I have to report that he usually brings someone along with him. These assistants change from night to night, and when I expressed concern to Bruce, he told me to "settle down, Daddy needs a little break", which I didn't understand. The ways of Terran minions are not our ways, O Grand Shovel. Your faithful minion, Illuminati.