Don't Fall For My Chatbox, Please

Dear Loyal Reader/Asylum Escapist/Random Passerby/Confused Victim:

As you must have noticed by now, a new chatbox has just taken up residence in my sidebar. It turned up on my doorstep one day, starving, wet, and running from -- in no particular order -- underground mafia, the police, FBI, marine conservationists, Scotland Yard, UN forces, treehuggers and door-to-door salesmen. Being the Very Good Person I am, I took it in with open arms and fed it some soup. Then I enslaved it on my site, where it is now doomed to a miserable life of taking whatever well-deserved praises/questionable insults/wrongly-directed flames/unjustified demands you have for me and eating it.

Please note that the aforementioned chatbox, which I hereby dub "Joe the Unfortunate Chatbox Enslaved On My Site For All Eternity" (or "Joe" for short), takes to strangers quite well despite its shady past. It will not, in any way, bite or attempt to eat you. It will, however, jump out at you and poke your eyes out with a spork should you stare at it for long periods of time without any intention of feeding it.

P.S. Despite it's name, Joe is not male. Or female, for that matter. I have no idea what gender it is. You may ask him/her/it, but I will not be responsible for any damages incurred.

Joe's Owner,
Galvea