This profile, and all images, text, and secret messages to hovering motherships, should be considered copyrighted material. Your appreciation of material contained within my profile or speaking with me should be for personal use only. The reader cannot, will not, and most important, cannot copy any or all parts of this profile or chats, excluding the following made up word: antedelopean.

Mere visitation of this profile or messaging of this account constitutes a non-disclosure agreement not to share the contents of our conversation or profile with anyone. Describing this profile or me to a group of 3 or more people, or less than 2, shall be considered a criminal act of piracy under the Digital Millennium Copyright Act. Describing it in an entertaining fashion shall be considered an unauthorized rebroadcast.

No parts of this profile or chats with myself shall be "sampled" or "remixed" or "mashed-up" or "recontextualized" or "used as inspiration for" or "borrowed from or used as source material" or "be nearby when working on a new project" or "homaged" or "thought about during ♥♥♥."

My being may linger with the reader for 6 to 234 months after reading and affect one's actions. Therefore reading this profile and chatroom logs gives Sheba exclusive rights to all books, movies, plays, paintings, photographs, light operettas, wood carvings, multimedia displays, new recipes for gumbo, dance maneuvers, pop songs, or orchestral works created while under the influence of my actions. If works are created, Sheba should get top-billing, or co-creator credit, whichever is deemed more impressive.

The reader retains no rights to transfer this material to other devices, such as iPad, iPhone, PadPhone, Kindle, Kindle Fire, Kindle Sprindle, Paperback, Mass Market Paperback, Player Piano Scroll, Audiobook, Videobook, Odor book, Snarky Post on Boing Boing, Braille, Zoetrope, Fortune Cookie Strip, or any other form of media in perpetuity throughout this or any other universe.

Transgressions punishable by fine, jail time, fine time, fine jail, or all 4.

This profile or my person is to only be contacted by a human being with an active internet connection. If the reader cannot afford the internet, the reader is to get a job. I hear they're hiring down at the grocery store. I mean sure, it's just as a bagging boy, but you have to start somewhere, look, when I was your age, I was a bag boy for two summers. It taught me a lot about dedication, hard work, and how much I hated being a bag boy. Those are lessons you can't buy. Well, you can't buy anything, because apparently you have no job.

If this profile has been read using a mobile device or a free internet area, or messaged using such, the reader is to immediately speak with the manger, and offer to pay for their internet services for 3 months.

Transgressions punishable by flogging, caning, or both.

My being is intended for people above the age of 18, or below the age of 18, or to be enjoyed on the reader's 18th birthday.

People who speak with me should be Americans, Israelis, Brits, Canadians, Australians, or Germans with little or no criminal record who have pledged allegiance to their flag within the past 24 hours. People from any Axis of Evil countries (Iran, North Korea, Sweden) should leave. My being should not be acknowledged by illegal immigrants, or acknowledged to one's children by illegal immigrants. If there is an emergency situation in which an illegal immigrant is the only person available to acknowledge my being to one's children, care should be taken to pronounce the "J"s. Film Composer "John Williams" should never sound the same as FoxNews pundit "Juan Williams."

Trangerssions punishable by Internet Explorer, Nickleback, Crocs, or all three.

When reading in public, the device you are reading from should be held at a 90-degree angle to the floor. If reading on a sloped surface such as a mountain or canyon wall, a variation of one degree is acceptable, if verified by a compass, plumb line, or a certified autistic savant. Care should be taken not to cover up the Steam avatar, username, or other information on the top, bottom, left, and right of the internet page.

Utensils are to be used in the American style only. When cutting meat, the fork is to be held in the left hand, tines down. After cutting your meat, set the knife down on the upper right quadrant of the plate, and transfer the fork to you right hand before eating.

Be accessing this profile, the reader agrees to allow Sheba access to and the right to Boilerplate Boilerplate Boilerplate Boilerplate lorum ipsum dolor amet Roy G Biv Bel Biv ABC BBD. Are you seriously still reading this? You're supposed to look at all this tiny type and think: "Egad, I don't want whoever wrote that to sue me!" But try being the guy who has to write it! It's a lot of words, thousands of them , and you have to think about each one! While the whole time you're sitting here thinking: "No one's ever going to read this, it's just there to make people's eye's gaze over while superstitiously stripping them of their rights." And yet here you are! Reading. Fantastic! Thanks a lot buddy, I guess that means I have to continue typing this up.

Well screw it! I'm going to spend my Sunday afternoon at the office while my family is celebrating my birthday at the water park, then I'll write what I want to write, because neither of my bosses nor the ass-captains at the publishing house are ever going to take them time to notice. Just YOU. Lucky, lucky, you.

Yeah, I used to have them, and I can assure you they didn't involve generating Byzantine small-type legalese to protect some cocky Steam user. I was going to travel, I was going to learn to play guitar, at the very least I was going to use my considerable writing skills-Walmont High Essay Contest Champion and two years running, jerkoff! To write something people would easily seek out, instead of rifle past impatiently with a vague sense of antedelopean tedium. (See what I meant about writing skills?) I was going to write the Great American Novel, or at least the Good American Novel. Amazon top 10,000, at least!

While we're talking about forgotten dreams, what's about yours? We're six categories and 1,300 words into this legal Sarlacc Pit, and you're not going anywhere. I'm getting the feeling you don't have a lot going on, either, let me ask you something: have you ever seen a girl ♥♥♥♥♥? Don't answer, I don't want to know. I'm depressed enough right now. Let me just say this: there's a big world out there buddy, full of interesting and exciting people, and yes, charitable women who will show you the goods with surprisingly little prompting. Why not quit reading this and give it a shot? You'll be surprised what a little sunlight can do for that acne.

Let's put the both of us out of our misery, shall we? Because I've reached my word count and that means that, however mind numbing and inconsequential my day's work has once again been, at least now I get to go home and finish that bottle of Bushmills.

By either reading this section, or skipping it due to it's miniscule font size and mind-numbing boringness, the reader agrees to the entirety of the contract, regardless of whether they choose to agree or not. The reader cannot escape from the gravitational pull of this black-hole contract. There is no exit. This contract is a windowless, doorless room. You belong to the contract now.