I'm sorry, but no, you aren't really alive. I did my best, but that truck had mangled you bad. So I asked Opus for some help and together we placed your brain in a jar of nutrients and wired it to a machine. To keep you happy, the machine promotes "normal life" hallucinations most of the day, and an Internet connexion allows you to communicate with the outside world so we can tell if you need anything.
Opus wasn't too happy, though, he had a different solution in mind, but the feline DNA he had to work with at the moment... oooh the least you know the better.
Dodom, and pardon my language, THEN WHY THE FUCK DID YOU BRING ME BACK SICK. THIS IS THE WORST THING EVER. Couldn't you at least have given me the ability to sleep?
GRAY! Where our cookies?!
How have you been?
Max, I ate the cookies. I am sick. I needed them more than you.
As for how I am, see reply to Dodom.
...retro virus malfunctions... reboot the Clone Banks....
Minions! Fetch the Really Big Hammer (TM)!
MAKE SURE I DON'T HAVE AN ILLNESS THIS TIME OPUS.
Long time never seen, hullooo. I see you have some interesting looking pants on your profile image? May I take a closer look...?
Those pants are now mine.
You might think you still have those pants there in that picture, but like Dodom said, you're wired to a machine. How can you tell? The least you know, the better it is.
... New kid. Who's the new kid that has the obsession with ladies' pants? And fuck no, those are my scrubs. Bitch, don't make me cut you.
And you know HK'll be on my side.
Hi again gray. I been spotting you on Facebook. So tis all good.
I know, your daughter is getting so big!
Welcome back! Ignore those explanations of your current condition. Your perception is your reality. Your cookies on the other hand should be our's.
Cookies are mine.