ya mama got jell-o feet w/ fruit in the toes.

coming up next week on channel 69:

in a weird twist of fate and abnormality, our heroine does not hate her job as she predicted and even--dare we say--kind of likes it. might this be proof that we are indeed living in the last days?

have the holy rollers stopped trying to foster her pseudo-spiritual growth by showering her with their oppressive good intent whilst besmudging her street cred in the process?

how long til she clocks franklin in the mouth for being an annoying little dustmite of a man?

how will her life change now that she has found salvation in the form of the $80 ceramic flat iron that makes her look near fresh out the salon upon each usage? MIGHT THIS BE THE END OF THE PERM?!

also: tracy? poetry? a reunion?
is someone smoking sherm?
mayhaps!

join us next week. or whenever i can get around to updating for real.

up next:

the man. the myth. those damn revolving doors.
Spyography presents: monster in a wheelchair.

goodnight... and good luck.

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