Dear Bitzonator,

I know I shouldn't be writin' this file at all - waste o' memry-bitz an' evryfin' - but I'm taking the risk anyway, since Zapgrod ain't learned how to read Low Goffik yet so there's no way he's gonna find out.

Sometimes I feel like I wanna talk to someone about things, but other grots use that information against you, and orks… well, are orks. So I'm gonna talk to you. I mean, talkin' ain't the right term. You're just a metal box full o' nibbly buzzin' bits with a screen in the middle, an' you've got no ears. But I can still kommunicate with ya thru this panel full o' buttons we found back when we boarded that metal gitz ship. Gotta say, Zapgrod was so proud o' me when I managed to plug in the panel, he didn't even punch me in the groin.

Anyway.

Since there's nowhere in yer data banks where it says who I am, nor who you are, I'll present meself as well as yerself to ya. I am Git No. 2, an' I'm a gretchin. Gretchins are scrawny little fellas with green skin and a long nose, created by the almighty Gork 'n' Mork to serve our bigger cousins, the orks. Orks, like I said, are big, which means they can afford to use their brains much less than grots do, 'cause orks, unlike grots, can punch their way out of most situations. Oh, and the terms 'grot' and 'gretchin' are used pretty much intra-changbley, if ya catch my drift.

Still, some orks actually like to work with their heads more. I ain't talkin' about 'eadbuttin' here - I'm talkin' about finkin'. Finkin's pretty cool. It's like talkin' to yerself without makin' a sound, so ya can fink orks are stupid without offending anyone, and that means nobody's gonna offend ya back with a grot-prod or somethin'. Even if ya fink about killin' yer runtherd by drippin' squig poison in his fungus beer, and then ya fink about where ya can get yer hands on such poison, and then fink of when ya can actually drip the poison without the runtherd seeing ya, nobody's gonna know until ya do those things. This specific kind o' finkin' is called 'planning'.

As I was sayin', some orks love to fink, and plan as well. For example there's some who like to plan about trukks 'n' walkers 'n' weapons, right? Well, these orks they call them 'mekboys'. Zapgrod is a mekboy, and I serve Zapgrod. Is it all clear up to now? I'm gonna write down that it is, since I'm pretty much writing in your brain.

Yes, everything is clear to me, the Bitzonator.

Perfect! Now, let's talk about you. You, Bitzonator, are one of Zapgrod's most important inventions. You're like a metallic brain of sorts, although a very limited one because you can't fink by yourself and so someone else needs to do the finkin' for you. I am Zapgrod's personal toolbox-holder and, when I don't need to hold the toolbox, I'm your personal finker. When Zapgrod's head is so full o' things he can't fink about fixin' and tunin' anymore, he tells me to write the foughts in your memry-banks to offload 'em a bit. That's why they're called 'foughts', by the way, because they tend to fight inside an ork's skull and make their heads hurt.

So that's why ye've got so many numbers 'n' measurements in yer files. Or why yesterday I wrote 'Tell Ratzag to go buy/nick 5 lotz o' nuts to test if the beakie bolter can also be used as a nutter'. It's all things Zapgrod wants you to remember in his stead, so he can remember all o' the funny-crazy mekboy stuff.

Pretty boring life, right? You tell me. Ya think I'm happy with holding a toolbox all day and readin' 'n' writing these things to him? Although it's definitely better than riskin' my skin everyday like the gits and the grots in the engine room, especially now that they decided to use some corridors as fuel ducts but nobody knows exactly which corridors. I mean, I have my own hammock, too, and I can eat Ratzag's food scraps, and I only get beaten on the legs because I wouldn't be able to write at all if any other body part gets damaged. As long as Ratzag thinks learning Low Goffik is more of a hassle than keepin' me around, I'm safe.

But it's boooring.

Just to make things clear, I'm not one o' those stupid grots that wanna go fight alongside the orks, much less overthrow the orks. I'm a small git, and I'm just not made for war. I've accepted it long ago. Perhaps I could convince Zapgrod to stuff me in a killa kan, sure, but why should I lose the privilege of bein' able to scratch my own butt? To go fight in a war where even a grot megatank gets blown to smithereens after five minutes? Havin' a good time means nothing when then you die and you can't even remember it.

I just need to talk, is all. Droppin' my own foughts on someone else, or somethin' else.

And that's it. Now that I've done it I'm feelin' better already. I'd like to talk about a lot more, but I need to wake up Zapgrod now 'cause if he sleeps too long he gets all grumpy and then he beats me with the prod and then I can't stop jittering for a week. Hope I ain't bothered you too much with all this?

No, ya did not bother me, the Bitzonator, at all.

Good! Then we'll do this again sometime soon.

See ya!

Why, yes, I, the Bitzonator, will see ya soon. Although I don't really have eyes to be honest.

Right, right. It was just a figure o' speech.