Come to my window...

So I was scouting out locations for Sue Grafton's new novel "U is for Utili-kilt," its a murder mystery, of course, that takes place in a queer bar. She hired me to find some bars with great local color that would be easy enough for her to hash out descriptions of with her Funk & Wagnall's Thesaurus. She pays me in Coffee Bean & Tea Leaf gift cards, so its all good.

I was checking out one called the Kitty Kat Klub, I had heard about it through the grapevine, but its kinda hard to find because they only have the initials on the door. Anywho, turns out is was lezzie night, I swear, you couldn't swing a cat without knocking off some chicks baseball hat. So I was scoping the place out when I spied a kiddy pool filled with whipped cream and the Bush Twins totally scamming on each other.

"Scissor Me Timbers!" I screamed.

"Oh stop, its no big deal," Jenna, or was it Barbara, said.

"Since when is incest no big deal?" I mused.

"We're just here to act as a distraction to the nation while Daddy starts war with Iran."

"What?!?!" I cried.

"Yeah, while the tabloids are all going on about how nasty we are, he'll be starting World War III," one of them said.

"So we're not really lezbos, we're just proud Americans doing what we need to do to protect this country from non-existent threats," the other added.

"The only way you'll protect this country is to get your Daddy out of office. Besides your plan will never work! Americans aren't that stupid, they'll never let that happen... again." I said just as Asimo the Robot walked in with a group of journalists in tow.

"Look at these girls, these dirty dirty girls." Asimo said with its cold robotic voice.

"Mom, you were supposed to let us know before you brought them in," said Jenna-Barbara.

"Yeah, so we could make sure we were really nasty, you know, like at the end of requiem for a Dream'," said Barbara-Jenna.

"Shut up you stu-pid whores and just make out, Dan Rather is growing impatiant," Asimo said.

"Dan, don't you see," I implored, "they're just trying to sucker you into some bogus story here!"

"Dan would rather look at the hot chicks making out," he said in the third person.

"But they're not even hot!" I cried and fell to my knees, then quitely repeated through the sobs "They're not even hot... "

So when I saw "Nasty Bush Twins Hot Make Out Session" on the headline of the New York Post, and the story about how Iran has not had an active nuclear program since 2003 relegated to "Page 6", I couldn't help but wonder how difficult is it to get Canadian citizenship, though they'd probably make me say my 'o's all fucked up, I just couldn't do that... damn Canucks.

A Tale of Terror. Part IV: A New Beginning Nightmare of Blood

[Back to Part 3-D: The Final Chapter] 

As the Zuni doll flew towards me, all slow motion Matrix style, I turned and leapt out of the way, all Bionic Woman style, complete with that O.G. "da-nah-nah-nah-nah" sound effect, well in my head at least. The doll landed face first in the mud, but quickly regained its composure and started running towards me. I threw my prescription sunglass at its head. It didn't much care for that. Then I ran like a little bitch.

It was a spry little thing, and was able to keep a good pace. I tried to ditch it by running into a creepy cemetery. As I ran past the headstone for Britney Speers' Career, I tripped and fell, breaking the heel of my Jimmy Choo knock offs. I tried to crawl away, but froze when I saw a zombie lumbering towards me.

"It's coming to get you Frau Bella," taunted a drunken Kiefer Sutherland as he pointed at the Zuni Doll coming around the corner.

"Thanks captain obvious." I said, getting to my feet. He took another swig from the bottle he was carrying but tipped back a little too far and fell over, knocking his head on Britney's headstone. I kicked my shoes off, and started running just as the Zuni doll stopped next to Kiefer's lifeless body and stabbed it right in the eye, twenty four times, for good measure.

I ran out the other side of the cemetery up a silent hill and into new housing development. It was near dark, and a fog started to roll in, so I hid behind the last house on the left, hoping to ditch the Zuni doll. When I peered around the corner, I saw a figure moving through the fog. As it got closer I could make out a pirate hat and sword.

"Oh Johnny, you've come to rescue me! I knew you would!" I squealed, running out from my hiding place. "You didn't bring that kooze Vanessa with you, did you?" As I ran closer, I could see that it wasn't Johnny after all. In fact it was some half decayed zombie pirate leper. He pointed at my gold bracelet, as if to indicate that my returning it to him would lift some ancient curse placed upon me when my ancestors caused his ship to crash into the rocks so that they could steal his gold, or at least that is what I thought he was saying, it was hard to tell, he didn't have a tongue.

"Fine, here," I said, tossing the bracelet over to him. Just as he caught it, the Zuni doll emerged from the fog and lunged for his face, stabbing him right in the eye, er, rather, empty eye socket. This pissed off the zombie pirate leper, and then they started to fight. I didn't stick around to see what happened.

Twenty eight days later, I sued the crap out of Oprah's estate, after all it was very traumatic, and I won everything. I was relaxing, rolling around in my vault of money, when my agent called. Jane Fonda had in turn sued me, claiming that the independent feature film I produced was a rip off. The courts ruled in her favor and she was going to donate all of my money to charity.

I screamed and bolted awake, it had all just been a bad dream on Maple Street. Just then, Oprah rang me, and offered me fifty million dollars to drive her across country. Sure fifty million bucks could get my independent film, "Fraubarella," into production, but I couldn't help but wonder if my horrible dream was some sort of omen or prophecy or something.

Nah, couldn't be…
Happy Halloween!

A Tale of Terror. Part 3-D: The Final Chapter

[Back to Part 2: Electric Boogaloo]

"OUTLANDER!" He screamed again. I tried to block him out by sticking corn husks in my ears, but that didn't seem to work.

"Malachi, will you get in here and help me with the dishes!" another voice chastised.

"Coming, Isaac!" Malachi answered. I had a strange sense of déjà vu, but shook it off, after all, your girl was stuck in the middle of nowhere without a ride, and no Xzbit to be seen. So I put on my prescription sunglasses [Dr. Lawrence Jacoby is the best optometrist ever!] and went off to investigate, following the voices through the rows of the corn fields. I finally came upon a Penguins Frozen Yogurt. I went in, but nobody was at the front counter, so I rang the little service bell next to the register.

"Malachi, will you get that?" I could hear Isaac in the backroom say, more politely telling rather than asking.

"Yes dear!" Malachi answered, "damn nag have to do everything never does anything," I could hear him grumble as he walked out from the store room. Then, putting on a smile, "Good morning love, what can I get you?"

"Well I know its kind of strange, but can I wash up in your bathroom? I've been sleeping in a field."

"Restroom is for paying customers!" Isaac called from the store room.

Malachi rolled his eyes and whispered, "Its okay, its not like we're busy or anything, not since Louis Gossett Jr. opened up his store across the way." I turned and realized that I totally didn't even notice the Pinkberry across the way.

"Don't worry sweetie, Penguins is way better than Pinkberry. You know I hear they put cocaine in their yogurt, just so people get addicted," I offered. Malachi seemed to lighten up and pointed me toward the bathroom. After I had washed up, I went out to find Malachi standing on one of the tables playing with a yo-yo. He was doing all of these fancy tricks and it looked like the yo-yo was coming straight at me. I explained my situation to him, and he recommended that I call a locksmith. So I called "He who Tows behind the Rows," who was also a locksmith, to get the van door open for me.

When the Locksmith and I got to the van, he went to work straight away, while I went to perch myself sexily on the side of the van, after all, I didn't have any money, what with Oprah being sucked into the vortex and all. I knew I should have had her pay me half up front. As I propped myself, I scattered a group of flies that had been congregating on the smears of Courtney Love's blood. One of them flew up to my face, and it looked like the fly was coming straight at me.

I had struck the perfect seductive pose, just as the Locksmith got the door open. "Check out that shag carpeting in the back, its real comfy," I had started to say, just as the Locksmith broke the necklace off of the Zuni Hunting Fetish Doll. The Zuni leapt to life, and stabbed the Locksmith right in the eye. I suppose it looked like the knife was coming straight at him, and then it did, right in the eye. The Zuni pulled the knife out and then leapt. It looked like it was coming straight at me...

[Next: Part IV: A New Beginning Nightmare of Blood]

A Tale of Terror. Part 2: Electric Boogaloo

[Back to Part I: Almost a Massacre]

I stood, frozen in terror as the leather faced man raised his chainsaw and screamed "GOOOOOOD MORNING GOLDBERG FAMILY!"

"Huh?" I asked, perplexed. "There aren't any Jews in Texas!"

"Jews for Jesus!" Ty Pennington said, lowering the chainsaw. "And we're here to build them a new house for Extreme Home Makeover."

"I see. So, do you know if there is a Popeyes around here?"

"Nope, don't know."

"Useless fuck," I said, turning and walking back to the van. When I finally made it back to the van, I found Oprah gnawing on a dead armadillo that had been on the side of the road. This seemed to satisfy her hunger for now, so we both hopped in the van and kept driving.

Several hours later, the sun had set and a thunder storm had rolled in. I was getting a little tired, so I decided to pull off the road for the night. I wasn't quite sure where we were, since Oprah didn't splurge on the GPS option for the van, so we just kind of drove around. We finally saw a huge old house that was nested in between two large corn fields. We pulled up and parked.

"Let's go see if they have a room for the night." I said. 

"It's gonna rain on your head."
"Yes, I realize that, and it wouldn't have been a problem if you didn't give Rihanna our only umbrella."

"-ella -ella -ella." Oprah added.

"Get the fuck out," I grumbled. Fuckin' Rihanna. We ran over to the porch, passing the large muddy hole of a half dug swimming pool, the storm water slowly filling it. I rang the doorbell, and when there was no answer, I knocked on the door, inadvertently pushing it open slowly with a creek.

"Hello?" I called out as I tentatively walked in. "I guess nobody is home," I said, turning to Oprah. "Come on, lets check the place out," and motioned for her to follow. We were half way up the stairs when we heard a ghostly voice loudly whisper, "Get out!"

"Guess they don't serve our kind here." I turned to Oprah and said, because as you know, I consider myself a "sista" ever since Chaka Khan recruited me into her chapter of the Black Panthers. Ain't nobody loves me better than Chaka. "I guess we can sleep in the van," I added.
We had almost reached the door when an evil pig headed demon materialized in front of us. 

"Get out!" Rush Limbaugh growled.

"Well if you would move your fat ass, we would!" I yelled. "Get out!" he repeated. Realizing his logic was as dense headed in person as it was on the air, I had to think fast. I pulled a pack of Lemon Heads from my purse and hid the label. I rattled the box and taunted Rush. "Who wants some OxyContin?" Then I opened the box and spilled the Lemon Heads on to the floor [seriously folks, always carry a box of Lemon Heads, you'll never know when you'll need a placebo of some sort]. Rush hit the floor so hard he caused the house to shake so much that it began to collapse in on itself.

As Oprah and I ran out into the blinding rain, I tripped and fell into the muddy water of the half dug pool just the corpses of Ann Coulter and Nancy Grace floated to the surface. I screamed in terror when I realized that in fact they were still alive.

"If only we could get Muslims to boycott all airlines, we could dispense with airport security altogether." Ann started, followed by an in comprehensible squacking from Nancy. I screamed like a little girl [which is not okay, because I am a lady] and dunked Ann's head under the water, using her for leverage to get the hell out of the pool as fast as possible. Just as I pulled myself out the rain stopped and the house, Oprah, Ann and Nancy [not Wilson] were all swallowed into another dimension.

Well at least I still had the van, I thought to myself as I walked over to it, then cursed myself when I realized that Oprah had the keys. Damn her. I figured the best thing to do was try and get some sleep and then figure out what to do in the morning. I made a make shift bed out of corn stalks next to one of the fields and fell asleep right away. I was awakened the next morning someone yelling from in the corn fields.

"OUTLANDER!" he called out accusingly...

[Next: Part 3-D: The Final Chapter]

A Tale of Terror. Part 1: Almost a Massacre

I was driving Oprah from her compound in Santa Barbara back to Chicago. We were transporting a Zuni Hunting Fetish Doll as a special gift for Stedman, and rented an old 1973 Green GMC van, I don't know why she couldn't have just bought a new car, but I guess she didn't feel like it after buying all those cars for her audience. It's a little sad when you have to buy your friends. Anywho, I didn't complain, after all, she was paying me 50 million dollars to drive her and she said something about not being able to sit in the car another minute with Gayle.
We were cruising across Texas, [I was in the front, Oprah in her wheelchair in the back. She wasn't convalescing or anything, just too lazy to walk, so I had to push her around, but whatever, 50 million] when I spied a hitchhiker in the road. She was all dirty and kind of crazy looking, so naturally I stopped.

"Thanks for stopping." Courtney Love said as she climbed in the back of the van with Oprah. She sat down, on the shagged floor at the back of the van. I eyed her suspiciously in the rearview mirror, I half pondered telling her "Ass, Grass, or Cash, nobody rides for free," but then thought against it, as I knew she didn't have a cash, surely smoked all her grass, and I definitely didn't want her to offer up some of her ass, so I opted to say nothing. Oprah turned the wheelchair so that she was facing Courtney and we continued for a few miles in silence. Then Courtney whips these pictures of tortured animals out of her purse and shoves them in Oprah's face. I don't think anything of it, until she starts going on about how great PETA is, then I knew she was a complete nutter.

"See, and they hook them up to electrodes and put lipstick in their eyes." Courtney was saying. I could see Oprah in the rearview mirror staring at the pictures rather intensely. "And the chickens," Courtney continued, pulling out another stack of pictures, "You won't believe what they do the chickens."

"Harpo hungry." Oprah said, but this seemed to excite Courtney, she started to giggle and bounce on the balls of her feet like a monkey getting ready to fling poo.

"Yeah, yeah, and they boil them alive." Courtney added.

"Harpo hungry!" she bellowed. "Want Popeyes!" For some reason this excited Courtney further. She was practically frothing at the mouth when she pulled a knife out of her bag and cut herself across the palm of her hand. I never knew she was a cutter, but somehow, wasn't surprised.
"Yeah, yeah, you like that?" Courtney said, waving her hand around, getting blood all over the wall carpeting.

"This is a rental, you cow!" I screamed, pulling over to the side of the road yelling for her to get out. The side door slid open and Courtney nearly fell from the van. As I peeled away, she jumped up and down, rubbing her bloody hand along the side of the van.

"Harpo want Popeyes!" She continued to yell.

"Yes, yes, as soon as I see one, we'll stop." I tried to calm her.

"Want Popeyes now!"

"Fine," I yelled, and pulled off the road. We were definitely in the middle of nowhere, but I guess you, dear reader, gathered that when I said earlier that we were in Texas. I hoped out of the van, and I'll be damned if I didn't smell fried chicken.

"Harpo want out, find Popeyes." she said calmly. I set up her ramp on the side door and wheeled her down out of the van. She pointed off down a dirt path that was on the side of the road. I told her that I would go get some and bring it back, but she demanded her chicken hot out of the deep fryer and that I push her there.

We were about half a mile from the road pushing though a thicket of several short dead trees when a man wielding a chainsaw jumped out in front of us. His face of leather hung loosely from his skull. The skin damaged and decomposed. As he raised his chainsaw, Oprah took off like a shot, running back to the van, leaving me with the leather faced man

[Next: Part 2: Electric Boogaloo]

Avast...

I was waiting in line at the Coffee Bean this morning [Frau does not do the Starbucks, even though they opened one in backseat of my car just last week] when I over heard a pair of overly affected voices lisping away behind me. At first I tried my best to ignore it, focusing on the rather phallic looking stack of Rice Crispy treats neatly displayed on the countertop, but for some reason that didn't help at all.

"Oh girl, if you saw that outfit up close you would have died!" the voice squealed.

"Oh, you are such bitch, I love it!" his friend added.

"You know I'll give it to you straight, girl!" he said, then they both snickered as if assured that they were the cleverest queens in the southland. "And you should have seen Hayden Panettiere's dress! Save the cheerleader's dress, save the world, maybe!" he minced on, but I couldn't take it anymore, nobody fucks with my Claire [she can throw herself out of a window and live! That's one tough broad!].

I quickly turned to face the offenders. I was not at all surprised to see the Queerest of the Queers, Ryan Seacrest and his little lackey Al Roker. "

Its talk like a pirate day, not talk like a butt-pirate you little wanna-be homo!" I spat. Al quickly cowered behind Ryan, hoping that his product filled hair would serve as a shield from my wrath.

"And who are you supposed to be, the fashion police?" Ryan sassed.

"At least I have enough sense not to wear crocs out in public."

"It's the new 'metrosexual' thing to wear," he tried to justify.

"Metrosexual your ass!" I yelled and grabbed one of the Rice Crispy treats off the counter and shoved it in his eye. He went down like he was hot for a popsicle, if you catch my metaphor. Once he hit the floor, it was Seacrest out. Al cried and pledged his allegiance to me if I would spare him. I told him to get this trash out of my sight, kicking Ryan in back of the head as if I were one of the Jena Six. Then I ordered a Vanilla Ultimate, damn those things are goooood!

Something smells fishy

So I went to the Beverly Center yesterday to do a little shopping. I swear I walked up and down that place looking for the fucking Target, but I'll be damned if I couldn't find it. After about and hour, I worked up quite a thirst, and had a craving for an Orange Julius... mmm... it just isn't a trip to the mall without an Orange Julius! I was making my way to the food court, when I heard somebody quietly calling me. I looked around but didn't see anyone, but then, out of the corner of my eye, I spied movement behind a group of potted plants.

Naturally, being a lone woman, I went to investigate further, after all you never know, it could be somebody handing out puppies! And who wouldn't want an adorable little puppy?!?! That's why I always say, a stranger in a white van is a friend with who will help you move that you just haven't met yet! Sadly, I was sorely disappointed, as it turned out to be Bobby Brown. He was crouched behind the plants licking the grease off a discarded KFC box.

"Is it safe to come out?" he asked.

"Out of what? A Career Coma? I suppose, but that's your prerogative."

"No, I'm hiding from Osama Bin Laden. He is looking for me because he wants to get with Whitney. I'm sure that he wants to kill me."

"Something tells me that there are a few Baby-Mommas that were in line before him. That aside, I really doubt Osama wants to get with some cracked out whore. Besides, aren't you divorced or something?"

"That's not the point, he wants to kill me!"

"Sure sure," I glanced around for an exit strategy. Exit Strategy, now there's a funny term. "You know, I think I saw him in the Macys over there. I'll pop in and have a look." I said as I walked towards the entrance. I turned and gave him the thumbs up before going in. Freaking nutter. When I turned back around I was assaulted with a fine mist of alcohol sprayed right into my eyes.

"I had to have it!" exclaimed an overly perky Sarah Jessica Broderick.

"Then keep it to yourself next time, you silly kooze!" I yelled, while wiping the tears from my eyes.

"No, you don't understand, that's the catch phrase for my perfume."

"I don't much care what it is. It smells like ass and makes my eyes burn. Do I have to call upon the power of Isis and give you an ass whoopin'?"

"Just give it another try," she said as she went to sprits me again.

"OH MIGHTY ISIS--" I began, fingering my oversized amulet necklace.

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry..." she conceded and slowly backed away, knocking over a display of "White Diamonds" in the process. Oooo, Liz is going to be pissed!

"That's right," I said scowling, not taking my eyes off of her, until she disappeared behind a rack of grandma panties. Generally annoyed, I gave up on the Orange Julius and went on my merry way, smelling of alcohol and flowers.