How Ken maintains that orange tan.

Last night in a "What the hell am I doing, Everyone hates me, I suck worse than a Janet Jackson song" panic attack I ate half a bag of strawberry Twizzlers and even then only stopped because I felt like
a.)It might not be a good idea to be vomiting red licorice all over my new carpet, and
b.)This could be another brainwashing tactic and what if tomorrow I wake up liking Justin F#cking Timberlake who for all I know has a song titled "Gonna Have You Naked By The End Of This Package Of Twizzlers"?!

But the thing is I sorta, kinda like the new Janet Jackson song. I know, I know, it's sick and you should lock me up and throw away the key. I talked it over with my lawyer though and we're going to go with the whole "Brainwashing Via Boob At The Superbowl" defense. So I'm confident I can be out in say, 50-60 years with early release for good behavior, as long as I can manage to avoid getting into any brawls or knife fights over whose turn it is to do "special favors" for Bertha the prison guard and/or who peed in whose pee hole (which really isn't how it sounds. At all).

Oh and yes, I have been dodging your calls. By "your" I mean yours, and yours, and well, everyone else's. I know I no longer have the locked cell phone or the lost charger excuse, but unless you are calling to tell me that I won the lottery OR I am your baby's mommy OR I am your long lost twin sister OR your name is Barack Obama and you're calling to ask if I will become your First Lady (Let’s forget about Michelle for a minute, shall we? I SAID shall we! ). I just wasn’t in the mood for people, no offense (again, unless you're Michelle Obama, in which case, Yes, Offense! Offense!).

But I’m ok now though, as I have realized that if you drink a whole lot of Diet Coke combined with taking just the right sinus medication you will suddenly become somewhat like the Energizer Bunny, gain the ability to leap tall buildings in a single bound, beat a drum until your neighbors' ears bleed, memorize the periodic table just for fun, and realize that "Idaho" is a registered trademark of the Idaho Potato Commission. It has to be true! I read it somewhere. All I need to know now is how to get a job on the Potato Commission, because I can so see myself saying "Oh yes, I'm President of the Potato Commission, what do you do?". And with that all my troubles will be solved and I’ll finally have a real career.

That is, if the whole Mrs. Obama thing doesn’t work out.