How Very Difficult To Make Very Little Sense

Sir, if I may:
You logged into your journal on this late date the following algorithm:
Sloth, kettle, hypospray, collocation.
You expect us, perchance, to solve this as a riddle?

Nonsense, my lord!

Yet may I ask what rights do you take to have, to sully mine own things with your espy?

My espy?

Your espy.

I guess I'm in charge.  I can look at what I want.

That hardly seems in keeping with principles of privacy & civil liberties.

Why do you think we have privacy & civil liberties?

& thus you have divined the meaning of "sloth"!

What sort of game are you playing here?

Is it a game?  Or is it a gamelan?

I'm pretty sure I wouldn't confuse a game with an Indonesian percussion instrument.

It's not one instrument!  It's several.

& you're thinking it resembles a kettle.

To the untrained eye.

Oh god what a stretch.  Look, I don't want to do this anymore.

We're halfway through!

Please don't.

But I...

Star Trek reference.

Damn it!

I mean, I know what a frickin' hypospray is.

Your conscience shall call you coward!

What are you doing?

Looking up "collocation" on my phone.

What are these "phones" of which you speak?

"The habitual juxtaposition of a particular word with another word or words with a frequency greater than chance."

Ha ha, like magic you find...

So your point is "sloth, kettle, hypospray, & collocation" is not collocation & never will be.

Hunh.

Well.

Why were you looking in my journal anyway?

You told me to look into your journal!
You said to look into your journal for an algorithm.

Oh yeah.

Then you said "talk in that fakey voice you talk in when you're at ren fairs."

Speaking of ren fairs - why don't we ever do anything fun anymore?

The pandemic.

This damn pandemic!