Madwoman's clutches???  Cute, Candy. Real cute. And, btw, I knew you wouldn't eat those Smarties. Whaddaya think I'm dumb enough to leave a calling card? When it's time, baby, you're toast. And it's gettin' close, sugar plum. It's getttttin' close.

What I'd like to know, you lyin' little pimpernel, is where you got your info about little Wrennie. Lies! Nothing but lies! The mere thought of my lost little bird in the arms of that muscle-bound brute is repulsive! He's a wife-beater without a wife. An animal! He oughta be in that group... what's their name? Unusual Animal? Something like that. Anyway he's perfect for that zoo he runs for Mandy. And besides, everyone knows he's been schtuppin' Mandy for centuries. So I'm sure she'd have something to say about it if EVEN ONE of your lies were true!

So go on, blabberpuss. Tantalize your readers with more ridiculous horseshit. If you can make a living dragging me through the mud, have at it. My lawyers will have you hockin' your telescope in a week!

And I'll have you know, Mr. Flublue Tonite.. pfffft! Wren knew exactly where to cross those rapids. I won't argue the fact we had a bit of a tiff. It's not easy to stay calm WHEN YOU DRIVE INTO QUICKSAND! And, yes, okay Wren got a little fiesty. She tore out the steering wheel and threatened me with the brake. But, honey, I like 'em spunky. And none... repeat NONE... of that was her fault! It's the medications. And that cross-eyed klutz Stan Waller. That's right. S-T-A-N Waller. How did I know that car was stolen? He told me he bought it from Nick Carz. Said I could use it for the race.

Oh, and one more thing. Retch? If you're reading this you better be able to SWEAR you didn't let the two of them into your sleazy motel. If I find out you did you'll have more than Uzbeks to worry about, believe me!

That crazy little bitch! That crazy little Miasma tramp! Ughhhhh... how could I be so stupid? I take her in.. give her everything her little heart desires.. rings, pearls, used guitar, a shot at being a star! And how does she repay me? Lands us in a goddam ditch. A ditch, of all things!

Oh, this is priceless. Truly priceless. I ended up in the ditch. Can you beat that? I should buy the goddam tee shirt. I probably would, too, if those dip shits at The Bugle got their act together. Mandy's gonna split a gut when she hears this, the little hussy. And I'll tell you right now i ain't takin' the rap for snaggin' that tin can outta Ol' Willis' lot. That was Stan Waller all the way. Waller. Look him up. Got a record a mile long for grabbin' hubcaps and snaggin' license plates out there at Spotter's Field. S-T-A-N W-A-L-L-E-R. Lives in Bradshaw's Pike with the rest of his loony family. Shouldn't be too hard to round him up.

The loser.

But this hurts. I mean, it really hurts. I ask for one thing. ONE FRICKIN' THING! Get my ass across the Miasma. Was that too much to ask? I mean, the backwoods ho was born there, fer chrissakes! Who knows how many times she noodled her dinner outta that stinkin' cesspool?

"Oh, I'll be your navigator."

Right. Hangin' out the window with her goddam ukelele... as if anyone was listening! "Turn here!" "Turn there!" "Go that way!" "Go this way!" Then she grabs the goddam wheel! Rule Number One in Faydz World: don't ever grab the wheel when I'm drivin'.

You hear me Wren? And I know you do, booby. We're through! D-I-V-O-R-C-E. No more gigs. No more bling. No more chick flicks by the fire! And don't pull that Melissa Ethridge crap on me. I know all her songs and I ain't answerin' the door for no one. We're through!

And Willis? Don't go gettin' any slick ideas about prosecuting my ass.  That car was a piece of crap. You know it and I know it. You shoulda been arrested for havin' it on your lot. Auto Parts and Pawn Shop! pfffft. What a racket.

Waller. Stan Waller. That's the guy you want.

Two can play at this game, buddy boy... move over Yee, ya dried up piece o' yak meat, Faydz is comin' through! And I got my little angel by my side. That's right, boys. Guit-box in hand and Miasma-raised! What this chick don't know about crossin' the Miasma you ain't got time to learn.

Always did love that song. They don't make 'em like Nancy Sinatra any more. Voice of gold. Eyes of an angel. And those boots! Eat yer heart out, Nixon Kennedy. Yer fruit-loop rendition ain't never gonna match the likes of that tigress. And born to mix it up? Shit. She'd beat the likes o' Crotch Johnson any day or night. And since she ain't here? Well, buddy boy, it's my turn.

Face it, Crotch, ya washed up, doddering old mule, you ain't half the man yer dad was. How long ya think you can keep skating on his good name? Five years? Maybe two? Burnin' Rubber? Ha! The only rubber you ever burned was that Trojan you thew in the fire that night you were too scared to do Mary whats-her-name up on Tanwater Peak. Didn't think I knew about that one, didja Ol' Chum?

Oh, yeah! Faydz knows all.


So keep schtuppin' that bimbo at Tire Fire City, babe. With any luck she won't blab that you couldn't get it up for Kim Kardashian. Course it wouldn't matter if she did. You'll be doin' your book signings at Crossley's the moment I win this race... which, according to my calculations, should be just about noon tomorrow.

Now, that's burnin' rubber, baby!

Boys and their toys. pfffft. Must be nice to NEVER grow up!.. "BIG" race, my ass. Just another excuse to get drunk and rip up the county. But, hey. That works for me. Oh, and if you're just dialing in, Gwen? I'm here with my little angel cup. Would you like to speak with her?  LOL  Yeah, I bet! After the piss poor performance you gave at The Ditch. Ha! Maybe I could arrange for some lessons for you. You know... in song writing? Maybe how to... oh, I don't know... remember your own frickin' lyrics??? Dumbass. Do you have any idea how much that piece of shit concert will end up costing me? Not that I'm gonna pay Mandy. Oh, hell no. That bitch can rot backstage for all I care. It's the lawyers, something your little perforated brain wouldn't understand, Gwen. Your DISASTEROUS performance, among other things, will probably set me back ten grand. Ten thousand dollars! That's more than you'll make in a lifetime of Open Mikes, honey. Oh, that's right. I forgot. You've got two CDs out, too. How many have you sold again? Ten? Maybe I should buy one. They're bound to be collectible in a few decades!

$31,284.00????????????? Are they fucking kidding me??? 210 people showed up!! Two hundred and ten! They charge $10 a head then charge ME $10 a head? Oh, I don't think so! And what's this shit? "Hands-Off" policy retainer? I got news for you, Ramsey. That's called a B-R-I-B-E. Bride. A payoff! What? You guys get paid to NOT raid the club? Oh, I'm gonna have my lawyers on this one. Four "round trips" to the hospital? What did they take people who O.D.'d BACK to the club?? What am I paying for here? Taxi service? That's supposed to be Carson's job. But, I'll tell you what. At these rates? I might be getting into the taxi business. Four round trips! pfffft...  and Narcan, no less! I'm gettin' billed for junkies who shot too much of Raven's poo?? This is ridiculous. I oughta FRAME this invoice, cuz I'll tell you one thing, it sure as hell ain't getting paid.

Mandy? You little snot nosed tramp, I've got one word for you and that Golliath you tote around with: Fat Chance! Okay, two words. Maybe I should charge you $15,000 a piece for my advice, eh? Keep dreamin', baby! You got about as much chance of me paying this bill as you do making that washed up has-been manic-depressive Gwen into a star. Did you see what my little angel did to her? She anihilated her, that's what she did! $31,284.00 my ass... pfffft. I'm already on the phone to my lawyer.

Command performance?? Bribing the Board of Tyrants?? Oh, you're scum, Candy. Know that? You're an oozing, slimy slug. No, wait. That's not fair to the slugs. You're a maggot. Darwin never mentioned them, did he? No? Okay. You're a maggot, weaving in and out of the lives of Flubuggers as if they were so much clay or bread or whatever maggots do. In short, you're a bastard! You two-bit, washed-up has been! As if I, Hope Faydz!... and you're goddam right I'm proud... would ever stoop to your level to address your ludicrous allegations. Ha! Not on your life, buddy boy. And you can tell that to all your friends at the Nafta Inn. Yeah, I know alllll about you and that little... what's his name? Bruce?

Hypocrite!

The mere thought that I would EVER take advantage of that poor, little darling angel, Wren, is beyond comprehension. Only a MAN like you could twist something beautiful into a tawdry affair. And, okay fine. We're having an affair. BFD. As if we're the only two women in Flubug who ever took one look at the men in this town and said, "Yuckkkk!" Besides, she's in much better hands with me than she ever was with Gwen. Anyone with eyes could see that. Not much of a scoop there, Mr. Flubug Tonite. Gwen needs help. And I mean that in the nicest of ways. She needs, you know... professional help. The meds ain't workin', sweetheart!  Hahahahahaha! The damnable thing is I could give her the name of a really good shrink. But you think she'd listen? pfffft..

Get out your candles and pins, Gwen baby! You don't mind if Wren and I lay here nekkid on the bed while we wait, now, do you? :P

Okay, back to you, Slime Ball. How did you ever sell KRAK your show? Everyone knows you're a flat out liar. Hell, you're worst than Nick Carz. And, no, I ain't scared of Amber. Trust me, this was the last year that bitch'll ever be Bonfire Queen! Thought I saw a bit of a gut forming around her mid-section.

But I digress.

Candy? You are by far the most despicable, disgusting, reprehensible, irresponsible, reckless idiot I have ever known and I swear.... and I have a witness right here.... that if you print one more WORD about me and Wren, I'll drag that rat-ass newspaper, blog or whatever it is into court so fast it'll make Wartti's head spin. So just chew on that and smoke it!

Candy's coming to KRAK?? Oh, I can't believe this shit. The guy is a freaking creep. Remember his radio show? Had like five listeners. He's a loser, okay? Who booked this clown? He's a bigger loser than my husband (or son even) and that's saying something. All I can say is Thank God for Wren. That little angel has changed my life. No, really. I mean it. How Gwen managed to pluck that little treasure from the muck of Miasma is beyond me. I actually doubt she had anything to do with it. Sonata's the one who prolly "discovered" her. That bitch has freakin' tentacles, or whatever you call 'em. You know, the shit bugs have? Hears EV-ree-thing! No shit. Read my cards and the bitch was like IN MY HEAD! Okay, now I'm rambling. So Candy's coming to KRAK. Fine. Whatever. I don't make the rules. But if that fruitcake lays one hand on Wren? It's on, baby. You've been warned.

My son is a jerk. Westy really let me down this week. I mean, lying to the Board of Tyrants? And believe me, those men are tyrants. Does he really think he can get away with waterboarding a young Kenyan almost 250 times and call it "research?" You know where he gets this from don't you? His damn father. Sonofabitch. That fellow and I could have had it all. Why he became a Soldier of Fortune is beyond me. Personally, I think those bastards in Bradshaw's Pike had a lot to do with it. I'll never forget what he said. "I think we need some time apart so I can become a Portugese mercenary." I nearly spit up my Pinot Grigio which, of course, I shouldn't be drinking with my irritable bowel syndrome. But he made me so mad!

Okay. So all the animals will soon be extinct. The air's not fit to breathe. The temperature's about 130. The tornadoes and hurricanes get worse every year. Two thousand miles of Japanese sludge is due to hit the west coast any day. The coral reefs are dead. Dolphins are committing mass suicide. Whales are attacking boats in a last ditch effort to get revenge. There's so much junk in orbit we're about to have rings like Saturn. Old Faithful's getting ready to spew an enormous amount of lava into the atmosphere. There's no money for the  mentally ill so they're out on the street. Any idiot can buy a gun. Tuberculosis is coming back along with Whooping Cough and Polio. Staff infection is now completely resistant to anti-biotics. And my doctor... a man, of course... asks me why I'm depressed???

Welcome to Hope Faydz Blog

Restless leg kept me up half the night. Then my sciatica kicked in. As if that wasn't enough I'm plagued with fibromyalsia which our "Western doctors" can't seem to pinpoint. Why are all doctors men? If we had more women doctors they'd know right away what the problem is. It's my irritable bowel syndrome brought on by ingesting all the toxins these men have poured into our lakes and streams. But unfortunately, women haven't ruled the world since the Isle of Lesbos lost control of the Crystal Palace on Ethos. But what doctor is going to believe that? So all I can do is tryyyyyy to stave off the pain with these anti-depressants which, I can tell you right now, don't work. Because I still want to drive my Corvair into the garage, listen to Gwen's rendition of "Why Go On?" and just breathe deep with the door closed.

Oh! don't forget to catch my new radio show at 9pm Sunday nights on KRAK Radio in Flubug!