My vast network of spies and satellites tell me that Uncle Todd has breached the southeastern perimeter. He is embedded in a suburban safe house somewhere along the I-4 Corridor. This news has the Robot Army on mauve alert. I myself have gone into an inverted position to rest my legs until I engage Mr. Todd on Friday afternoon.
I have contracted a team of documented aliens to cart me around south Florida by hand this week so that every ounce of strength can be applied to representing TEAM BRC this weekend on a tour of Florida trails.
They need to get in here and cart me to the kitchen, I’m getting hungry.