Caught me slippin?

Nah.

It's just... you'll need to dangle juicier morsels than that over my drooling maw to rouse me from this reverie.

As Zarathustra told the adder, "Take back your poison. You are not rich enough to give it to me."

In other words, we don't deal in filthy lucre here.

I mean, unless you're really, really sure it would weigh too heavily on your conscience and in your pocket.

If that's how it is, you can write me below and I'll see what I can do to relieve you of what is so burdensome.

Otherwise, meantime, with or without your, so to say, monetized patronage to fructify it, my imaginal realm perdures perennially, ever-fruitful, and your hungry hobo-feet are ever welcome to wander it.