Good move, bro

Self-Loathing: You happy about being hungover?

Me: Shut up.

Self-Loathing: I mean, you did it to yourself.

Me: Shut. Up.

Self-Loathing: And he certainly didn't help.

Budding Alcoholism: I can taste my feet.

Me: I said shut the hell up!

Ego: Not so loud...

Reflection: Oh God, 7:15 AM...

Self-Loathing: Oh that was the best! Waking up, cursing yourself and the world and your fragile body. Room spinning and tilting like a damn acid trip. Threatening to become a vegan to punish your body if it didn't technically put you into a medical coma. Good times.

Ego: I get it, thanks.

Self-Loathing: So do you have anything to say for yourself?

Me:...it was fun.

I wonder if there's a pattern to all this

Writer: Well...I'm tapped out.

Work Ethic: You didn't do anything!

Writer: Still tapped out.

Me: Wow.

Self-Loathing: How do you want to be a writer for real if you can't even scribble down a damn porn story?

Me: First off...

Self-Loathing: "Alternative fiction". What the fuck ever.

Work Ethic: It's just a bump in the road.

Realism: A bump that's been a good three months long?

Work Ethic: ...a long bump.

Me: Whatever.

Ego: Good. Okay. That's awesome. I'm just going to sit down over here for a while.

It's a good question

Self-Respect: So...are you proud of what you're doing?

Me: What?

Self-Respect: You know. What you're writing.

Me: Y...yes?

Writer: Don't listen to him. I'm proud of you.

Me: Well thanks but I don't...

Ego: Yeah, it's actually good writing.

Anxiety: Don't you think it's kind of...creepy?

Pervert: I don't see how!

Me: You aren't helping.

Self-Loathing: Admit it. You have the smallest bit of shame because you're writing smut and are GOOD at it.

Me: I don't write...

Self-Loathing: Oh yes you do. Come off it.

Work Ethic: Well, porn or not, you need to get back working on it. You have, what, ten in the queue now?

Writer: Ten?!

Pervert: Ten!

Self-Loathing: ...and you don't see that as a problem?

Me: Should I?

Self-Loathing: Yes!

Me: Why?

Self-Loathing: I...ugh.

Stupid body, you continue to betray me

Me: I wanna write...

Realism: You're exhausted and sicker than a mental patient beating off to his dead grandmother. You can be forgiven. Now go chug Nyquil until you see stars and get some damn rest.

Budding Alcoholism: I...actually can't see any flaws in this plan.

Classic SPE #5

Me: Man, I'm BORED. There's nothing to do.


Work Ethic: Well you could...oh wait.

Me: Exactly. No rooms open.

Inner Child: Well, we could always play dress-up! You have towels and toilet paper. You could be T.P. Towelman, modest hotel worker by day, The Toweled Lad by night!

Self-Loathing: Because THAT wouldn't look gay...

Internal Sadist: No, no. I think he's onto something. Just call yourself The White Supremacister instead!

Reckless Endangerment: Then run down Martin Luther King Boulevard in Atlanta!

Me: Oh, THAT'S wise.

Anxiety: That might get us a stern talking-to.

Pragmatism: Yeah, from a Glock or twelve.

Libido: Well, you could always...

Me: I'm not masturbating in the staff bathroom.

Libido: Oh you're no fun.

Kleptomania: Massive toilet paper theft?

Inner Child: We could make a fort!

Me: Well that fort at OU WAS pretty fun...

Paranoia: If you build a fort, the government will try to take us down! I don't want to die in a hail of burning gunfire!

Self-Loathing: Better than rotting away from the inside out.

Kleptomania: So we steal a nuke. No biggie.

Megalomania: Annex Columbia!

Me: When the hell did YOU show up?

Megalomania: Oh, senior year or so. You just ignore me usually.

Anxiety: Thank God for small favors.

Latent Psychopathy: No matter what I suggest, you won't listen to MY ideas.

Me: Good, you're learning.

Work Ethic: A room's open! Go! Go! Go!

Me: Alright, alright. There, it's done. Happy now?

Work Ethic: For now. Now, what to do, what to do?

Pervert: I suppose playing "Age Russian Roulette" is out of the question.

Me: I'm really afraid to ask.

Pervert: See, the young workers' vaginas are the chamber and the rounds are...

Me: I got it, I got it.

Pervert: And you "pull the trigger" to see which one you "impregnate"...oh wait, I messed that up.

Me: Yeah, no dice.

Libido: I told you he's no fun.

Pervert: It never hurts to ask.

Work Ethic: Room! Room!

Me: Are you going to freakin' do this all day?

Work Ethic: Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe fuck yourself.

Me: Oh, thanks, Mr. Wahlberg. Ugh.

Inner Child: Whee! This vacuum is really powerful!

Pervert: Yeah, it sucks just like...

Me: Just don't.

Bitchy Ex-Boyfriend Mode: So did you see Ellen got ugly? That totally rocks.

Me: I had noticed, yes.

Glutton: Yay! Break time! Chocolate muffins!

Work Ethic: But...but...the room...

Me: It can wait.

Writer: So I heard that someone might actually want to make these brain pukes into a show.

Anxiety: Shush! Don't make this meta, you asshole!

Ego: Hey, you might actually get something done and produced for once.

Me: Hey now. I can finish something.

Self-Loathing: Oh yeah. Like Stainless Steele, Lost and Damned, the PSA series...

Me: Point made.

Self-Loathing: Shattered, Second Screen Productions, Bookworm...

Me: I said point fucking made! LAY OFF!

Pervert: Hmm, that one girl makes bitchiness and statutory rape so very tempting.

Self-Loathing: Yes, but you seem like you creep her out.

Anxiety: WHat? Oh man, we can't do that. We need readers!

Me: She doesn't read this! She doesn't even know my name!

Vocal Irony: The coldest blood runs through my veins...

Music Freak: Chris Cornell. You should listen to that on your iPOD.

Paranoia: Do you really want to do the iPod after last THE TOASTER JUST HISSED AT ME!

Me: What?

OCD: THE DRAPES! THE DRAPES! THE DRAPES ARE ON FIRE!

Vocal Irony: We don't need no water, let the...

Me: No they aren't!

Fashion Sense: Those boxers totally clash with your skin tone. Take them off.

Pragmatism: Indecent exposure. Even worse, one of the women might take that as an offering.

All: Blargh!

Me: Ugh, this is why I drink.

Budding Alcoholism: And I thank you for it, good sir!

Me: *rubs eyes and groans*

They Can't All Be Cheery

Me: What's going on?

Anxiety: It's a coup! A COUP!

Me: Calm down. What?

Calmness: Self-Loathing, Misanthropy and Libido have formed a cabal, locked Ego and Self-Respect away and have joined with...um...

Me: Say it.

Calmness: Depression. He came roaring in yesterday.

Me: Ah shit.

Ego/Self-Respect: YOU ASSHOLES! YOU PRICKS! LET US OUT!

Anxiety: No more yelling!

Self-Loathing: We control the mind now. With Depression here, we will run your brain forever!

Me: This is megalomaniacal horseshit. Wait, don't tell me.

Megalomania: How you doin'?

Me: Perfect. Libido, you really joined this?

Libido: Damn straight. They can get me to blow off some steam.

Realism: No they can't, you dumb bastard. You think Depression is going to let Boba Fett NEAR a woman right now? Even if you DID get a chance, he would beat you up to the point where you would be ineffective. Did you not SEE that?

Libido:...no.

Depression: You no tell him thing! Depression only friend Libido need now!

Me: My depression is retarded?

Pragmatism: Does that surprise you? Depression oftentimes clogs the brain and leaves you foggy and stupid.

Depression: Depression no retarded! Depression smart! Depression give best way of action in man life!

Realism: You see?

Me: Kind of, yeah.

Libido: I don't want to be a part of anything that will avoid sexingmaking for me.

Misanthropy: You really want to do things with people? You ARE perverted.

Pervert: What up?

Me: Why don't you let Ego and Self-Respect go, Self-Loathing? Call it a day.

Self-Loathing: This is just...GOD, you have a stupid brain.

Depression: Me not stupid brain! Me lack of dopamine production!

Me:...beer time it is.

Budding Alcoholism: Smart man.

Classic SPE #4

Me: Ugh...so bored...and it's only 9:30. Damn it.


Work Ethic: Keep your nose to the grindstone! Give a hundred and ten percent! Feel the burn!

Me: You're not even fucking trying now, are you?

Anxiety: I hear screaming. Screaming is bad. There could be danger around.

Paranoia: What? What did you do now? Murder is bad! No means no! Bad touch!

Me: Stop. I hear it too. Sounds like a little kid's getting raped with a rusty sawblade.

Latent Psychopathy: That's possible? And WHY am I only learning about this NOW?

Civic Duty: You should do something about this.

Me: Oh hell no. Not my business. Wait...did she just say it was only colic?

Civic Duty: Uh...maybe...

Me: Oh fuck that then. Sick little bastard.

Latent Psychopathy: You know, you could solve their problem with that pillow you're holding.

Civic Duty: Actually that sounds like it could work.

Me: Don't encourage him!

Inner Child: A playmate!

Internal Sadist: Oh yeah, kid. Here's a garbage bag. Knock yourself off...I mean, out.

OCD: That. Pillow. Looks. Lopsided. But. It. Is. Okay.

Me: What the hell happened to him?

Work Ethic: It doesn't matter. Make that bed!

OCD: They. Gave. Me. Morphine. Now. I. Do. Not. Care. Anymore.

Me: How the HELL did we get MORPHINE?

Kleptomania: Sorry.

Writer: You know, you could just scribble some notes down on your notepad for the script that you seem to let drift further and further away.

Me: Shut it. Hey, where's Pervert? He's been uncomfortably quiet.

Pragmatism: You're better off without him but if you must know, the continous lack of any, as he so crudely puts it, "presentable ass" has left him weak and flaccid.

Immaturity: *snicker*

Work Ethic: What? Do you MISS having him make comments about vastly underage co-workers that make you feel gross and creepy?

Me: I didn't say that. I'm just, you know, used to having him around.

Pervert: *wheeze* I will rise again...*cough*...in the South.

Me: Ah there we go. Maybe some music would help.

Internal Sadist: Let's play "Randomimity".

Reckless Endangerment: Totally! Play a random song, bro.

Anxiety: Oh, I don't like the sound of that.

Me: Eh. What could it hurt? *presses random and C'est La Vie by B*Witched comes up* Oh what the FUCK?

All: *agonized scream of pain*

Internal Sadist: Change it! Change it fucking quick!

Me: *changes song and it's Tunak Tunak Tun by Daler Mendhi* Damn it!

Inner Child: It hurts me...

Me: Let's try this again. *presses random and it's Panama by Van Halen* Okay fuck this. *turns off iPod and takes off headphones* We'll go music-less for right now.

Latent Psychopathy: I wouldn't do that to my worst enemy...you're lucky.

Self-Loathing: Oh, THAT's original.

Anxiety: I'm scared now. Can that hell really exist on Earth?

Irrelevance: The pasta pizza truck flies slowly into Malaysia!

Me: Uh...okay, that part gets repressed from now on.

Work Ethic: This room's only half done, you slackass.

Pragmatism: You get paid by the hour, so either way you win.

Libido: Yes, but less time here means more time to build a nice sexy simmer at home so...

Me: Just...stop. I thought you were dead. Just go comatose, okay? I don't need you this summer.

Libido: You're no fun.

Inner Child: Break time! I want a muffin!

Gluttony: I want TEN muffins!

Pervert: I'd rather have a quickie in the laundry room with...

Me: Just shut the fuck up. Don't say another word. There is NO human being in this entire hotel that will appropriately finish that sentence so just shut up.

Writer: You're wasting time you could spend writing down Much Ado production notes.

Me: *sighs* The iPod doesn't sound so bad right now. *reaches for power button*

All: No!

A Quick Conversation

Me: Let's see. Beered up. Car all tuned up. New desk and chair coming in a couple days. Oregon/UT game this weekend where we'll get hella drunk. Money coming in and my article all the front page story for the site. Yeah, life is not too bad.

Fashion Sense: Other than looking like a transient.

Libido: And other than the fact that I'm so pent-up that if a girl actually touches you, you could blow her hand off.

Me: You know, both of you can gargle my dicklumps.

Ego: There we go! Stand up for your...wait...dicklumps? Really?

My Views On My Facial Hair Are Conflicted

Fashion Sense: Okay, I'm serious now. You need to shave the facial hair or at least trim it up, for God's sake.

Me: I kinda like it. It makes me look rugged.

Fashion Sense: No. It doesn't. "Rugged" generally means "Hey, I've been too busy cutting down trees to bother with shaving". You are not rugged. You are more "Hey, I've been too busy drinking and playing with myself to realize that I look like a Muppet." Not rugged.

Me: Oh, it's not that bad.

Fashion Sense: Yes. It is. You have officially graduated from "adorably scruffy, kind of like a secluded author" to "potential sexual predator, hide your kids".

Me: Don't be hyperbolic.

Fashion Sense: I'm NOT. That's the thing! You look as if you might mug a soccer mom and drag her into a dark alley one night as she walks home from Kroger because it was such a nice night.

Me: Right.

Fashion Sense: You look as if you have the capability of both planning and executing the sodomization of a toddler.

Me: Oh that's nice.

Fashion Sense: You look like a mountain man fucked a bear with mange!

Me: Alright, that's enough.

Ego: THAT is the one that pushed you over the edge? THAT one was too far? Really?

Budding Alcoholism: Phwaw! What the hell is that? It's like Newcastle mixed with heavy syrup.

Me: Dude, you have to let that beer chill for a while.

Budding Alcoholism: But I want it now.

Me: I know. Patience.

Patience: No!

Me: Ugh. I don't want to talk anymore. Stupid body betraying me.

Ego: But...

Me: No. I'm done. Where's that beer?

Classic SPE #3

The third day.
------
Me: Okay, only a five hour day. We're just going to...what the hell?


Anxiety: Oh no. The whole cooler's been rearranged. Don't let OCD...

OCD: *barely audible scream of absolute and total agony*

Me: Oh shit...

Work Ethic: Well, I guess we'll just have to fix it up!

Me: Fuck that. Let's do the freezer.

Reckless Endangerment: I'm telling you, man. Na-ked.

Realism: In-de-cent ex-po-sure.

Inner Child: I miss running around without pants.

Pervert: Don't we all?

Internal Sadist: Let's hang ourselves with our pants. It'd be ironic!

Me: How the hell would it be ironic?

Internal Sadist: It just would.

Sense of Irony: No it wouldn't.

Me: So...what would happen if that tube near the top of the cooler would burst? I'm bored.

Realism: Well, it would shower icy pain down onto your entire body, effectively freezing you to death.

Imagination: Or you could become a superhero!

Realism: No no, pretty sure it'd be the pain.

Me: Superhero, you say?

Inner Child: I wanna be a superhero! Or a fire truck!

Latent Psychopathy: You mean superVILLAIN!

Me: Yeah! Villain would be so much more fun. Shooting ice from my fingers. Freezing babies. Kickass.

Latent Psychopathy: Hey, he said it, not me.

OCD: FIX THE COOLER, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!

Pervert: So is the bakery chick here today?

Me: No! She's not! Let it go, you're obsessed.

Pervert: Hey that chick's pretty hot.

Self-Respect: She can't be more than fifteen!

Pervert: If there's grass on the field, play ball!

Me: What the hell is wrong with me...

Work Ethic: Just get those green beans put away and ignore it.

Irrelevence: Green beans look like the Jolly Green Giant's wang!

Inner Child: What's a wang? Some Chinese thing?

Pervert: It's when a mommy and a daddy...

Me: Shut the hell up!

OCD: WHAT THE FUCKHELL IS A BANQUET MEAL DOING WITH THE EGGO WAFFLES?

Fashion Sense: A FILA jacket with a checked tie. How gauche.

Pervert: Here's a work idea: assless chaps. How about it?

Internal Sadist: That might actually be hot.

Me: What? But...KHAKIS!

Work Ethic: Ignore the khakis. Fix the ice cream.

Latent Psychopathy: You have an Exacto knife! Use it! USE. IT.

Inner Child: Let's play superhero! We can fly around the store on the cart!

Me: The cart has stuff on it though.

Irrelevence: Purple monkey dishwasher!

Laziness: He makes a good point.

Me: What? But...how...?

Pervert: Quick! The lady bending over to get a pizza is hot! Go, go, go!

Gluttony: Pizza?

Me: Why every work time?

Classic SPE #2

The next day...
------
Me: Okay, so the Green Giant broccoli cuts go...


Immaturity: Up your ass!

Me: What the...oh come on, not this again...

Work Ethic: Shush, ignore them. You just keep on keeping on, friend. Go do the eggs.

Me: Eggs. Right. I'm on it.

Bad Joke Center: Technically, the hens were on it.

Work Ethic: Oh ha ha, very funny. Go away. Okay, put the eggs away.

Me: Got it.

Overreaction: Did that woman just wink at us? YES! You're in!

Me: Wait, what?

Libido: Totally hit that shit, man.

Self-Preservation: She's like fifty and fat, dude.

Anxiety: That could be us in thirty years.

Me: What's happening?

Libido: RED ALERT! RED ALERT! BIG STORM RISING!

Self-Preservation: Don't rise! For the love of God, don't rise!

Self-Respect: Come on, man, you're better than that! Control it!

Me: I don't know what's going on!

Libido: It...is...alive!

Self-Preservation and Respect: Nooooooooo!

Internal Sadist: Punch yourself in the sack. Hard.

Self-Loathing: Good plan.

Me: Stop agreeing!

Work Ethic: Ignore it and get back to shelving eggs. Work is no time for an erection.

Pervert: Unless it's over the bakery chick. Me-ow!

Me: But she's not here today!

Reckless Endangerment: Dude, we should see how long we can sit naked in the freezer before our ass gets frostbite.

Me: What? No!

Latent Psychopathy: We could hang small children on the meathooks in the cooler!

Me: But...there aren't...what? Meathooks?

Hopeless Optimism: Why not just smell the roses?

Everyone: SHUT THE FUCK UP, OPTIMISM!

Hopeless Optimism: Fuck you! Fuck all of you! I have as much right to speak as any of you so if you have a problem with that, pucker up and kiss my left nut you assholes!

OCD: PEAS! THERE ARE PEAS IN THE CHEESE SECTION! FUCKING PEAS!

Latent Psychopathy: Hunt them down by scent and violate them with a wine bottle!

Inner Child: I wanna play racecar!

Me: There are EGGS on the CART. They might BREAK.

Internal Sadist: Fuck the eggs. Throw them at grandmas.

Latent Psychopathy: Yeah! They might break a hip and we can suck the sweet, sweet marrow out!

Me: Dude, sick...

Sixth Sex Sense: Hot Latin-looking chick. Possibly legal. 8:00.

Libido: Where? Can we flirt with her? Flirt with her! Why aren't you flirting with her?

Pragmatism: Ding, ding, ding. Sexual harassment ring a bell?

Pervert: Hey, know where her panties belong?

Me: I swear to God, if it's "in your mouth"...

Pervert: In your mouth! Hah!

Latent Psychopathy: She's getting away! Now how can you kill her and rape her corpse?

Me: Go AWAY! You're getting creepier by the minute.

Paranoia: We're all getting creepier. Can't you tell by the nervous looks we're getting?

Me: Oh great, you woke up Paranoia. Just fucking great.

Work Ethic: Milk's tipping! MILK IS TIPPING!

Me: Shit!

Everyone: Get it! Go! Hurry!

Relief: You saved it. Way to go!

Libido: Yeah, great job. Go crank one out. You've earned it.

Inner Child: Race car! Race car!

Work Ethic: After work, maybe. Okay?

Inner Child: Yay!

Sports Freak: We should shoot some hoops, man!

Me: It's raining out and we're inside doing work.

Sports Freak: Oh. Well...football then?

Latent Psychopathy: Yeah! Chop block some five year olds!

Internal Sadist: Maybe we'll tear an ACL. That'd be sweet.

Self-Preservation: You're not looking so hot, man. We should stay out of the freezer for a minute.

Overreaction: That guy just called you a great salesman! A GREAT salesman! GREAT!

Self-Loathing: He also said you should sell cars. He's implying you're sleazy and underhanded.

Rationalization: So? If it works, it's a good thing, right?

Me: Um, I'm not sure that's right...

Writer: You've got another blog entry!

Me: Oh damnit to Hell.

Spiritual Side: Someone call me?

Me: *groans*

Another Sports One

Sports Freak/Budding Alcoholism/Impotent Rage: FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!

Me: I'm...I'm just going to let them tire themselves out.

Classic SPE #1

This one took place in the summer of 2006 while working at Coborn's, a grocery store in SD:

Me: Gosh, I'm tired. I just want to sleep.


Work Ethic: No! You stay awake and do your damn job. You're getting paid for this.

Me: Shut up, Work Ethic. I know my bodily limits.

Inner Child: Let's go play outside!

Me: Wish I could, Inner Child but...

Work Ethic: You go away! He needs no distractions!

Me: I said shut up!

Inner Child: You're mean! *starts to cry*

Me: Oh great, now look what you did...

Internal Sadist: Mmm tears. The pain makes them sweet.

Me: Hi Internal Sadist. Didn't figure you'd show up right now.

Internal Sadist: Slam your hand in the freezer door. C'mon, it'd be fun.

Me: Are you crazy? No!

Self-Loathing: Why? It's not like you deserve anything more than pain.

Me: Goddamnit, go away Self-Loathing. This isn't a good time.

Self-Loathing: It's never a good time...

Internal Sadist: We can hang out, though. I know a great game with a belt sander we could try.

Me: Damnit, Internal Sadist, I don't want to get hurt.

Reckless Endangerment: Oh come on, bro. Let's jump into the cardboard compiler and hop out right as we're about to get crushed. It'd be wicked!

Work Ethic: All of you shut the hell up and leave him alone! He needs to work. Go to the cooler.

Me: Fine, but why?

OCD: MOTHERFUCKERS! Rows 15, 34, and 7 are missing milk jugs! It's uneven!

Latent Psychopathy: Kill them for fucking with us! Do them! Do the whole damn store!

Me: What? OCD, calm down I'll fix it. Latent Psychopathy, I didn't even know you were still there.

Latent Psychopathy: Hang them from the ceiling. Use their blood to wax the floor!

Me: Annnnd that's why you're latent. Great.

Hopeless Optimist: Isn't it just a golly gosh darn wonderful day?

Everyone: SHUT THE FUCK UP, OPTIMISM!

Calmness: That's not very nice. We should all just get along.

Inner Child: Oh! He said a swear!

Latent Psychopathy: Burn 'em all!

Me: Please just...

Romanticism: Come on, be thankful. You might meet the perfect woman for you today and your life will be complete!

Internal Sadist: Punch yourself in the balls. It'd be quicker.

Self-Loathing: I agree.

Reckless Endangerment: Dodge right before you hit your spuds, dude. Killer!

Latent Psychopathy: Yes?

Me: What? But...come on just go away. I'm getting confused.

Pervert: Check out the rack on the bakery chick. You should totally grab her buns.

Bad Joke Center: *ba-dum-tisch*

Me: Oh very funny. Go away, Pervert. I'm trying NOT to have my pants cause me problems.

Fashion Sense: The pants are already causing problems, sweetheart. Totally clash with the tie.

Work Ethic: The pants aren't the problem. The fact he's not working is!

Inner Child: Work is for adults. I wanna play in the sandbox!

Me: We don't HAVE a fucking sandbox!

Writer: Yeah, you could totally put this on your blog when you get home.

Me: I'll think about it. Listen, everyone just calm down. I'm trying to think here.

Calmness: Thinking sucks. Go with the flow.

OCD: THE FUCKING MILK RACK IS STILL UNEVEN!

Pervert: The bakery chick's ass still isn't on our dick!

Me: Go AWAY, Pervert! You're not helping!

Self-Loathing: Nothing ever helps.

Romanticism: *sings* Storms are brewin' in your eyes...

Anxiety: Storms? Where? Are we in danger?

Reckless Endangerment: Rockin'! We could ride a tornado!

Internal Sadist: Or get thrown into a building!

Latent Psychopathy: Everyone inside could die!

Inner Child: Storms scare me! *cries*

Me: *eye starts twitching*

Anxiety: Ohmigod! He's having a stroke!

Pervert: I like having a stroke.

Bad Joke Center: *ba-dum-tisch*

Hopeless Optimism: It'll all work out for the best.

Everyone: SHUT THE FUCK UP, OPTIMISM!

Work Ethic: You've stopped doing work. Wonderful

Pragmatism: You're still getting paid.

Me: Hey, he's right!

Pragmatism: Besides, you're doing it for college.

Romanticism: Where you'll meet the perfect girl...

Pervert: And knock holes in your wall with the bed frame.

Me: Please just GO AWAY!

Writer: Oh this is so going in the blog.

Me: *sighs*