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???

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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!