I've been busy with a regimen of intensive behavioral therapy prescribed after the episode that occurred when I found out Brenda Walsh was staging a grand comeback on Dancing With the Stars, while I, LAURA KINGMAN, am trapped in this so-called "psychiatric hospital." Therefore, I haven't been stabbing at my Brenda Walsh voodoo dolls with my authentic Maggie the Cat pin as much as I'd like.
Thank heavens that the gods have heard my plea. For years people have been making suggestions that worshipping a pair of ceramic drama masks is pointless or insane. Well, LOOK WHO IS LAUGHING NOW, AND IT ISN'T BRENDA WALSH!
It's me! LAURA KINGMAN! Maggie the Cat is alive! I'm ALIVE!
That's right, America fell sway to the power of my voodoo masks, and BRENDA WALSH couldn't even beat Kate Gosselin, who according to one of the orderlies in my ward is one of the most unpopular shrews in America. The vile Minneapolitan role-stealing WHORE was voted off for SUCKING at jive dancing. I guess that since the evil and corrupt Roy Randolph wasn't on the judging panel, Brenda had nobody to do a DO-OVER private "audition" with. I guess Carrie Ann Inaba isn't as easily influenced by skin-tight black mock turtleneck mini-dresses as CERTAIN California University acclaimed visiting theater directors. NICE TRY, BREN.
Now that I've secured my archenemy's dismal failure (HA HA HA), I intend to increase my schadenfreude even more by praying in the name of Tennessee Williams to my revered masks that something like THIS will come true:
It's a pity that I can't make this happen with one of my patented fabricated rape accusations, but hey, a STAR LIKE ME can dream!
Down with BRENDA WALSHedly yours,
Laura Kingman
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