The winner of the election doesn ' t even concern himself with facts . I certainly don ' t care if spez does . Fuck The Donald and their neonazi membership . <| sep |> You called him a pedophile . and that hit too close to home . So close , he was triggered enough to do that shit . <| sep |> That sucks . Maybe next year we can get a bit more of the plant and forget stuff in there . I ' m pretty sure I can get you boatloads of black eyed Susan ' s , coneflowers , sedums , etc for free via Master Gardeners . <| sep |> Ah , cooking . I couldn ' t relax more in a spa . all the ingredients , all the prep , and the eating that comes later , hm . I can ' t stop it ! I hate cooking shows . Watching them on TV was bad , but as a kid in the middle of New York , there ' s not much to do at home when your parents are both broke and not here to take you out . But growing up and having to deal with it on YouTube because you don ' t know how to make a stake ' n fries is just . maddening . Well , just don ' t let it take the best of you . Relax , breathe . Looking over my shoulder at the screen , and back at the halfpeeled potatoes , relaxing comes in the form of music . The song drives the activity , movements guided by the tunes , a dance made with knives and vegetables and slices of meat . Mr . Sandman , Give me a dreamMake him the cutest that I ' ve ever seenGive him two lips , like roses and cloverJust as the song reaches it ' s climax , the lady in the video gives some important information on meat seasoning , and I have to stop my whistling to hear her . As I lean in to see what the lady is up to , a noise comes from the living room . And tell him that his lonesome nights . are . over . A deeper tone than I was using , rough and poorly done , but chilling nonetheless . There is someone here . Knife in hand , I rush to the living room , almost ripping out the kitchen door in my way . Standing in front of my couch , I listen , trying to catch any sound , a breath , a whisper , a slip of the foot . Nothing . I advance silently through the room , trying to make myself as soundless as my intruder , trying to assess the situation , trying not to lose it . In the midst of the chaos of New York City , my house is a sanctum of silence , a shrine in which time itself stands still , and the world holds its breath , listening . I check every inch of my apartment . Nothing . No one was there , no one but me . Everything was where it should be , everything was in place . Except . Something felt odd . Like someone had shifted the furniture two inches to the left , and it was bugging my mind . I call 911 , go back to the kitchen , lock myself in , and wait . In less than two minutes , an officer is at my door . Sir , what seems to be the trouble ? There is someone at my house . I was cooking in the kitchen , singing , and someone finished the song in the living room ! And you live alone , sir ? Yes , officer . That ' s the scary part I looked all over the house before calling you guys , and I couldnI wake up , my head about to burst . Looking around , I can see it isn ' t my house anymore . I look to the room I ' m in , and there is nothing . No windows , no lights , nothing . Nothing but the officer , tied to the chair in front of me , out cold . I try to move , and see that I ' m tied up too . I scream , and the officer wakes up . Where are we ? he asks , the fear palpable in his voice . Fuck if I know . What happened ? Something hit you . Outta nowhere ! I tried to find it , and it hit me too . And now I ' m here . What can we Mister Sandman . A voice , in the speakers of the room , whispers the tune I was singing earlier today . Was it even today ? The tune is frightening . The officer shivers . I hold my breath . The voice goes on . I ' m so alone . I have nobody to call my own . A door flies open , and light floods the room . A man , a giant of a man in a black overall coat , dragging behind him some sort of iron bar , the ripping in the concrete of the ground twisting my spine . The heavy boots ring all around the room with each step . The man grins , a sick , twisted grin that has us both shivering . He pulls the hood of his coat , and reveals a long , blonde hair . Sophia ! Her voice is her own , now , but no less terrifying . Please , turn on your magic beam . The officer breaks down . Please , let me go , please , I didn ' t do anything , I ' m just trying to make it in NY , please , don ' t a sharp blow to the back of the head shuts him up . Blood and brains fly everywhere . I ' m still in shock , now more than before , but somehow , I manage to speak . Sophia , what the fuck , what are you doing ? Why ? Mr . Sandman , give me a dream . She grins again . She raises the bar over her head , and brings it down , full force , in my knees . All I can feel is pain . I wake up again , the pain in my knees consuming me . I open my eyes , and across the room , there is a slim , young woman , crying . I look at the door , and there she is again , that sick grin smeared across her face . Come , as you are , as you were . she sings , coming in . Reflexes kick in . I answer . As I want you to be . She smiles at me , not the sickly grin , but a normal , human smile . Somehow , it ' s even worse . She walks towards me , and metal flashes in her hand against the light flooding in from the door . As a friend , as a threat . She cuts the rope holding my arms to the chair , and the chains bolting it to the floor . It was a wheelchair . Was it ? When I got here , was I already in a wheelchair ? Events are blurring in my head . She hands me the knife she was holding , and points at the girl . Before she can react , I make a quick motion , a clean cut , slashing through skin and muscle and bone , blood flowing down in a cascade . She tries to stop the bleeding , but it ' s too late . I cut too deep . I ' m free . The last thing I see is her sick grin , watching me die , almost too happy . As she lets go of me , light starts to fade , and the last sound in my ears is of the knife , steel against cloth , mingled with the cries of her next target .