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Oh Susan,
Time is a dark and dangerous world, where time is fleeting like the a janus bug, who flaps their wings and flitters around, only to never make a sound and die horribly. Susan, time is not my friend, I’m weak and not full of life. I have found a small berry plant and named it after you Susan. I call it, “Berry plant named Susan because it’s sour.” Oh…

Now, I have so much to tell you Susan and inform your spirit and soul. I know you’re lost and pretending to go on a quest. Susan, it’s over, fill your soul with the candy and sugar of those around you. They will fill you and allow you to reach your destiny. If I was there Susan, I would pet you like a kitty and nibble on your finger nubs, oh if only time wasn’t a cruelty and we live apart by the sea.

I would cradle your head after the quest because you will fail. Now Susan, we have so much to discuss. The Frenchman pulled out one of his sweaty armpit hairs and opened a portal to another dimension and now he’s trapped. He’s being held by a new human/amphibian hybrid named the GHRT who have chained him up and shaved his armpits so he can not pull our another of his sweaty armpit hairs.

The lanky one, who I keep seeing as dead but like a bad piece of cheese keeps bouncing into our lives, whispered into my ear. I know what you’re going to say Susan, “Wanda! You are perfect, leave him to rot in his own filth and use this body to create your missing poo baby.” Well Susan, I’m not that callus but all the same I do think he should take responsibility. No one wants a shaved Frenchman. People like a bushy pit.

I’ll probably figure out how to open a portal to the GHRT and save the Frenchman and maybe the ghost of the Lanky One will help. We’ll see. It’s just a bit much these days.

Now, a word of caution. The Mistral is a pointy beacon of horror. If you can, plunge a black stick into his shoulder and thrust it in and out. Everything revolves around the bohunk. He is a delight and will save the world from famine and disease.

I know what you’re going to say, “Oh Wanda, you are perfection and I will continue to love and cherish your every word and being.” Well.. yes.

Susan, I wrote a song for your failures.

Boom. Let’s sing it. Boom. Let’s sing it. Boom. Let’s sing it.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Wah Wah. I see you. Wah Wah. I see you. What is love, ask the Bohunk… What is love, Susan doesn’t know. No. No. Susan doesn’t know. But ask the Bohunk.

Boom. Let’s sing it. Boom. Let’s See it. Boom. Let’s rock out!

Wah, Wah. I see you. Grab the Bohunk and dance! Dance with the bohunk

Make the Mistrel play!

(This is where the Mistral plays a Mandolin solo and really rocks out. It’s quite impressive)

Play that song Minstral!

Susan, that’s my name, Susan, I like to play games. Susan, Can you say my name…. Why yes, it’s Susan. Ask the Bohunk.

I think we have a hit.

In other news, I continue to wear my poncho. I have never washed it and have allowed my women juices to permeate into the fiber of the poncho. I attract all kinds of men and vermin with it. It’s delightful. I am back to being a working woman, I know you don’t understand that but it’s a tough life out there for a woman of the world.

My ex husband tried to choke me to death but I fought him and got away with the help of some super glue shot into his manhood hole.

Susan, I know what you would say, “Allow men to do whatever, they’re always right!” Well Susan, if I could only smell your poncho and you could wear mine. We would be like sisters, staring at each other longingly from a distant world. Oh….

Remember, what I said about the Bohunk.

The water is rising and washing away my home. I have nowhere to live except the street.

Sing Susan and make it loud… I have killed a turtle, but it was rotten and living off waste.

Toodles and toshes