Firstly: for all you disgruntled readers who sent email to Justin back before Britney had boobs and still haven’t received a reply, it WAS NOT my fault! If anything, your dear webmaster distracted me with his celebrity lookalike pic and talk of working on a new project (and this time it wasn’t my bra clasp). I say, keep emailing him! Email 10 times a day if necessary, deep down he loves a jam-packed mailbox, despite what he may say!

Current Events: I stumbled out of bed this morning, bursting bladder and blurry eyes, and proceeded to stumble toward the bathroom. And what to my wondering eyes did appear? A freshly killed mouse laying selfishly across the center of the hallway. My brother was already at school, my roommate was sleeping off a night of bumping her headboard frantically into the wall between our two rooms – I was elected by default. I can handle stuff like assembling furniture and cleaning out a disgusting college fridge, but I’d rather plunge the toilet than deal with spiders or mice. My cat was the only witness to what followed; she sat smugly by and pretended to be dozing while actually carefully noting my reaction to her present. Then she watched through a window after I tossed her murdering ass outside. This is what she saw: one squeamish brunette plucking a fistful of kleenex from the bathroom, tiptoeing around the roadkill, and then dropping a tissue shroud over the entire mess. My roommate’s boyfriend cleaned it up once he awoke, which is no consolation for the noise he made last night, but makes him a real sucker nonetheless.

In nonrelated news, production on my website has grinded to a halt as a DNS error was brought to the attention of my host (mainly giving me another excuse to procrastinate). But, to combat ugly rumors that Will has been spreading about me being big and black, and mostly because I’m Justin’s bitch, I made a heyasl profile. No hatemail please.

My usual entertainment is locked up on an army post tighter than a virgin ass, so feel free to e-mail me.(unless you’re in the tristate area and would like to play Majora’s Mask all weekend with my brother and I, in which case, call me. My number’s posted in most of the good gloryholes around Manhattan.). Lastly, I pose this timeless question: Who’s your daddy? Yeeeah, that’s right.