OMG, I am the worst captor ever! I left my Zellweger at a rest stop two weeks ago. Didn’t even notice until the laundry started piling up. Well, hell. She must have gnawed off her ankle bracelet, because I can’t find her anywhere. Maybe she was put off by Theater in the Car. I think I was doing selections from Gigi that week.
And today I slept in, only to wake up to more perplexing acts of human awfulness. The mind reels. Should I go back to bed? Should I spend quality time staring into my new 10x magnifying mirror? Should I delete all these emails from MoveOn.org and NARAL hectoring me about the supreme court? Should I purchase a trailer in the woods? Should I stick my head in the oven? No, because the oven is filthy since I had to let the help go. Oh balls, I’m sure I’ll think of something. A telethon! Tom Cruise is in charge of the phone bank. The prescription for PTSD is long walks on the beach and a tinfoil helmet.
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