I don’t think I like it here at Promises at all. First of all, they expect you to eat the food. We don’t eat! I can’t even find the champagne locker. “Home-like” environment my perfect ass.

Let’s not even discuss where I had to conceal my fentanyl patches during intake. And Lambchop isn’t even allowed to be my roomie. She is locked down clear across the campus. We hope to rendezvous in the day room soon.

Mel Gibson is really taking that therapy puppet business to the next level. I preferred the old Mel, who knew his way around a jacuzzi. A real party guy. At least Alec Baldwin will be stopping by later to teach a class on voicemail etiquette. Hint: no one uses the phone anymore.

Tara Reid will be teaching Life Skills, and Lindsay Lohan will doing a seminar on “How to explain gaps in a résumé.” She is also co-moderating a panel on dressing and accessorizing for success with Winona Ryder.

Damn it, Lindsay, you are persuasive. I guess I could stand to revamp my résumé. What am I really good at? Why do I deserve to be Vomitola?

Well, I’m a people person, so I usually handle HR back at HQ.  I, like Tyra Banks, can tell within 3 seconds whether I will have any use for you at all. Not smizing? We have a special diversion program for that. Never let it be said that Vomitola does not nurture the staff. Sure, we may toss the occasional platinum cell phone, but how can we be responsible if someone opts to step into its path?

The more I think about it, the more I realize that this is what we were born to do. No faceless corporation could ever understand the creative process that is our lives. We’re going to have to appeal to the fans on this one. We’re going to have to cry on TV.