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!
I know that's not the greeting you're used to from me, but I'm practicing for my new undercover assignment. With all these middle-aged blonde terrorists getting caught failing at half-baked schemes to assassinate Scandinavian political cartoonists, the powers that be knew there was only one patriotic cougar in the national security business they could count on to prevent future evildoing.
Unfortunately, Valerie Plame retired after that whole big Bob Novak-Karl Rove political vengeance thing. So, the boys over in Langley decided to see what kind of investigative assets were available at the domestic agencies. Fortunately, the notorious Franco-Sicilian Marchette crime family has been inactive for years, so guess who is free to be the new go-to undercover MILF?
That's right. I'm trading in my usual Joan Collins-inspired trophy mistress sequined gowns for a hijab and going international. Luckily, minorbevniner.blogspot.com isn't on most Islamofascists' RSS feeds, so please don't blow my cover. I just wanted you all to know why I will not be around to provide safety tips and death-faking instructions: I am off to infiltrate the ranks of socially inept, lonely, white middle American women who, after their third or fourth failed marriage to an illegal immigrant, join terrorist Yahoo chat groups in a sad, misguided effort to belong, and wind up as co-conspirators in some harebrained attempt on Lars Vilks's life. Really, these sorry women just ought to try e-Harmony. I'm sure there are plenty of other people out there who are 29 dimensions of pathetic that they could be matched with.
Anyway, I'll be away indefinitely defending our rights as Americans, and Lars Vilks's right as a Danish guy to draw the prophet Muhammad as a dog without lethal reprisals from those who think they hate freedom but really just hate the fact that they've never put on a gown from Givenchy's 1991 spring collection and fallen in love with the convicted junk bond trader they were assigned to protect from the fictional mob. So please don't worry about me. I'll be fighting the good fight and winning the war on terror.
Antiterroristically yours,
Special Agent Christine Pettit
Federal Bureau of Investigation on loan to the Central Intelligence Agency
***EMERGENCY LAURA KINGMAN FAN CLUB ALERT BULLETIN***
To all of my rabid fans, I have terrible news. We have a "CODE BRENDA WALSH" type situation occurring. Today in my ward they let us watch "Access Hollywood," and let me ASSURE you the nurses will not be doing that again. In fact, we will not be watching anything, since I ripped the TV–chains and all–from its wall mounting in a fit of rage upon seeing the TERRIBLE news:
Brenda Walsh AKA PART STEALING BITCHFACE WHOREBAG is going to be on DANCING WITH THE FUCKING STARS!!!
Darling fans, you must remain strong through this difficult time. NEVER FORGET that I am the true star, and SUFFERING IN CAPTIVITY, all because of this devil-bitch from the land of 10,000 lakes. It is Brenda Walsh, not this supposed made-up diagnosis of "dissociative psychosis" bullshit that the so-called "doctors" here keep talking about, that is responsible for my imprisonment. She has convinced everyone that I am crazy, when we ALL know the real truth. My star power would so outshine hers so she has to keep me LOCKED UP.
Brenda is a USURPER. All she can think about is her jealous rage about what a wonderful actress I am, such a wonderful person to share a stage with. And I think mostly because I'm really indifferent to it. Isn't that right? Never had any anxiety about it. Just did it naturally, easily, slowly. Absolute confidence and complete calm...If I thought I would never be a star again, I would go down to the kitchen, and pick out the longest and the sharpest knife I could find and stick it straight into my heart!
Can BRENDA WALSH give a monologue like that? NO. All she can do is STEAL from me. She isn't an actress. She failed her audition. She doesn't hang ceramic drama masks on her door. She didn't perfect her craft by falsely reporting date rape so believably it inspired Lucinda "Ungatoken" Nicholson to lead the entire California University female student body in a raucous 30-minute Take Back the Night Rally. She hasn't WANTED it like me, and she doesn't have MY TALENT!!! And when I tried to play her game and steal my part back (except it's not stealing because I AM Maggie the Cat, and the part was ALWAYS MINE!!!!!!!), I was publicly disgraced merely because I spread the truth that she is A BIG ROY RANDOLPH QUID PRO QUO SEXUAL FAVOR-PROVIDING PROSTITUTION WHORE and asked Steve Sanders to help her have an "accident." I didn't mean KILL her! I just meant that he should tell her to break a leg, and then break her leg, or something like that. It would have been more effective than always calling Cindy Walsh and blessing her with a demonstration of my acting ability, which easily fooled her into thinking I was someone from the drama department and thus making Brenda late for rehearsal AND pissing off Roy Randolph. Too bad then she FUCKED ROY RANDOLPH LIKE THE BIG SLUTBAG SHE IS, and cost me MY shot at the BIG TIME. I never would have done that if she hadn't SCREWED ME (via Roy Randolph), and made me the lowly understudy while she took my RIGHTFUL place as Maggie the Cat.
That is why, dearest fans, we must not watch this Dancing with the Fame-Stealing "Stars." Actually, since I am currently sequestered from my adoring public, I can't fall back on my old tricks of getting revenge, pity, and attention by fabricating some heinous felony sexual assault or by threatening suicide with a stage sandbag rope-and-pulley contraption. I have been confined thanks to the vast conspiracy against me perpetrated by BRENDA MARIE WALSH WHO I HATE AND DESPISE!!!!!!
I need those of you who know the TRUTH about how much better I am to get out there. Start protesting! Show up at the DANCING WITH THE THIEVING BODYSUIT-WEARING FRAUDS set and distract this FIENDISH STUPID IMPOSTOR by pelting her with objects during her routines (maybe with copies of the CAT ON A HOT FUCKING TIN NON-BRENDA WALSH-BEARING ROOF!!! BY TENNESSEE HATES FUCKING BRENDA WALSH WILLIAMS!!!!!! script-lol). PLEASE CONSPIRE AGAINST BRENDA AS I HAVE BEEN CONSPIRED AGAINST BY BRENDA, and destroy her chances of stealing yet another triumph that should be MINE!
At least vote against her. I don't particularly care for whom (I know who you WOULD vote for if you could write in...maybe at my next hearing the mental health board won't say that treating my alleged "disorder" is "like watching an improvisational, never-ending version of the final scene in Sunset Boulevard," and that they've finally seen the light as to my superior skills as a queen of the stage, and let me out of here in time for next season, where I will FINALLY OUTSHINE THAT SNAGGLETOOTHED HOOKER-ASS TWATFACE.
Please hang some ceramic drama masks in your home or office, or from your car's rearview mirror in solidarity. One day I will be free!!! I'M READY FOR MY FUCKING CLOSE-UP, BRENDA!!!!!
