Frisk snorts. If this was their subconscious, at least it was pretty self-aware. More than they could say for themself, at any rate. Clapping their hands sarcastically, they say, "Congratulations, you get the psychoanalyst of the year award. Spot on. Bravo. You're right, nobody likes a-" They squint, wrinkling their brow. Wait. Why did all of this sound so... familiar?