If only we could keep her from coming back down

And use real nails. Someday when I no longer live in fear of being beaten to death and kosher butchered by Kablahblah thugs I’ll share some of my Madge stories. Trust me, they’re appalling. And they may offend some of our highly sensitive politically correct gay readers, not to mention all you NPR listeners who can’t take a friggin Muslim joke. God knows I’d hate to lose you. (And by the way, all you defenders of the crescent and star, that’s a woman desecrating a cross. I’ll hold my breath waiting for you to write in and complain.)

But back to Madge. Truth is, she’s beyond awful. Like remember the time we hired her to do the vid-cam linkup? First of all you wouldn’t believe what we had to pay her. Plus the list of riders on her contract, like making us hire some special friggin rabbi and pay him forty thousand bucks to sprinkle goat’s blood around her studio or something. And what’s the deal with that gap in her teeth? And that fake English accent, like she’s Mary friggin Poppins or something? Honey, I know it sucks to grow up in Pontiac, Michigan, but deal with it. Now she’s writing kids books. “Tommy is Transgendered,” is the next one, I’m told. Man, don’t get me started. Oh, and one last thing. She’s got bad breath. Really, really bad breath. Like she’s been eating dog shit. And she knows it. I swear she does it on purpose just to bum people out. She always leans in really close when she talks to you, to make sure you get a nice big whiff of it. Almost makes you puke. No lie.