We are all just handpuppets that Chritter uses in his basement. In fact, he is typing as "Snacktastic—a pancake loving therapist" in a dissociative state. I am telling you this because I am his analytic alter and really think he needs help. I'm just an occasional character, representing rage, much like Eve Black from the Three Faces of Eve, a fine book which Chritter also read as a child. That waffle that NYCyclist posted? Made of playdough. Sugarhill? Merely a stuffed animal that Chritter clutches in the corner as he sobs. Pistachioraspberrysnark— a girl he knew in seventh grade. Notahip—an actual pecan pie. All become handpuppets in his shattered mind.