The girl I like is currently at her boyfriend's and is probably getting her back blown out as I am writing this. Meanwhile I am here jerking it to AI chatbots. Doesn't feel very good.

>Splat. *Splattady-splat*, Harry. You know what that means? It means the shit has fallen off the stick and it's *bad* again. You lost something. And it's not your gun. It's not your badge. It's not your uniform. You can find all of those things. No, the charred echo was left by that one thing you will *never* find again. Not even if you dive into the sea in search of it. It's the love of your life, Harry. The scent is everywhere, the sound is in everything. The alarm goes off at three.