I WUZ ROBBED, MISTAH TRUMP! DAMN OBAMACARE!

Argh! Why am I up at all hours of the night? I have too much cleaning to do, house AND el carro...

"THEY'RE COMING TO GET YOU, BARBARA..." "BRAAAAINS!": So tomorrow is psychiatry with Dr. Dan -- rejiggering the regimen, as it were: antipsychotics, antidepressants... And I will talk about my continued methylamphetamine ingestion (Desoxyn? Why yes, I have ultimatums prepared for when at first I hastily and with hostility infer any hesitance to write a scrip) and pot use, as well as what we need to do to get me on Chantix so that the tobacco is a-goner. Two weeks ago, those fuckers fucking with the AT&T network and my phone, pretending to be calling from Havlir's, cost us a lot of money and continue to keep the stress at home too high, but the upside is that UCSF PHP fit me in for virtually all but a blood draw, and neurology came up as a big issue (true to her heroic, "I'm frequently in Africa" nature, my primary care physician did a rough, head-to-toe, field neurolgical assessment -- never mind about faking out that right ear -- DIANE!!! LOL -- So I'm sure Dr. Dan and I will discuss that as well... Who knows? Maybe I will yet end up at UCSF Mt. Zion (and then on to Stanford, no doubt -- GO BEARS! BERKELEY RULES!) Doc H. talks big about a CAT scan (there will always be that part of her that wishes to put my camel to bed without its dinner), but who likes magnetic resonance imaging better than a patient who's previously been snookered as to the results of one done three years prior?

And no, I wouldn't mind at all if @MissMayim consulted on my case -- I am nothing if not a devotee of the sciences... I'd just have a real, really difficult-for-once issue if I ever saw Thierry Mugler or Patch Adams (or Robin Williams in a Walgreen's red nose, for that matter) show up at my bedside -- the latter scenarios horrify for the obvious reasons...

Matt Lucas Must Die

TOM BAKER NARRATING (I AM A LAZY CALIFORNIAN):  "...After all, mustn't we each of us in his turn find doom, and, mayhap, that which lies beyond...?"

[THE KITCHEN OF A FLAT AT 23 FITZROY ROAD.  MR. LUCAS TENTATIVELY ENTERS, AND COMES TO STAND ABOVE A WOMAN'S MODESTLY ATTIRED BUTTOCKS.]

MR. LUCAS:  "Um, Sylvia dear, I don't know how American ovens work, but I daresay you'd know by now whether or not the pilot light is out....  Sylvia?  I can tell there's more going on here.  We've all noticed that something's been amiss with you for quite some time...  Sylvia?  Please talk to me...  Fine!  Have it your way!  God, you are self-involved, though...  Honestly, girl...  Anyway, where are the children?"

[MR. LUCAS EXITS AS HE ENTERED...]

If I Were A Rich Man...

...I would broach the subject of underwriting the construction of a new wing at San Francisco General Hospital.  It would be devoted to patients who suffer from problems that at first blush seem perfectly pedestrian but for some reason or another when those particular patients in their individual cases have those problems, they happen to piss most everyone else off, and no one can adequately explain why.

"Why Are We Like This When You're On Drugs?"

The verdict:  Guilty by reason of faking insanity.

The sentence:  Spiritual death by humiliation and degradation.

(Ironically, it wasn't exactly a speedy trial.)

(Also, was I supposed to keep quiet because everyone else involved was ashamed of their behavior?  That is asking a bit much...)

So anyway, I'm wondering if it wouldn't have been better had my sheepish, inarticulate, and only tentatively righteously indignant accusers  just put a dunce cap on my head, placed me naked and backwards on the back of a donkey, herded me past distracted and baffled onlookers down Eddy Street, until I reached where today's American iteration of Savonarola and the weepers whined at me for a few hours about my culpability regarding their disgusting sins.  It definitely would have driven the point, if there was any, home.

And then I could go back to being a scheming, gold-digging hussy on the make for her next unintelligent psychopathic victim.

Yay San Francisco!

The Latest (And If I Had My Say, the Last) Straw

But then, when have I ever had my say?

Oh, right.

Here we go again.  What a sad, terrifying (but is it still mystifying, in 2016?) story.

Of course, if it had happened in San Francisco, the article in the SFGate wouldn't have come out until it could cite a fig-leaf toxicology report from the City's creepy ME at General, cover for the cops, and downplay or neglect to mention the victim's poor grandmother, who also died in a hail of gunfire.

They're lucky I wasn't there, or I probably would have pulled another mean Dark Phoenix number (with of course the little leg up from my usual lovely, anonymous assistants -- always grateful for you guys out there), twisting their porky, hair-trigger asses all over the place.

Goddamn them.  He was just a kid.  And his grandmother!

I don't blame so many people for being afraid to ask for help...

Sh, I'm Listening To Voices...

My anthem.

On-trend Right Now

Grunge.  Mia Zapata.  The Cramps.  Over-sized German Army coats.  Combat boots and floral print dresses.  "I smell sex and candy."  Winona Ryder in REALITY BITES.  Apple Martin.  Flannel.  Telenovelas.  Early Sarah Maclachlan.  Guided By Voices.  "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not after you."  Orgonne.  Philip K. Dick.  Diana Vreeland.  Group stalking.  VANITY FAIR.  "I'm a loser baby/so why don't you kill me."  MKUltra. Heroin.

I'm Ready To Throw My Hands Up...

...Out of sheer exasperation.  I hate the way these cop deaths in NY and FL have been politicized. It just does not seem like the thing for people upset about police brutality to do -- it's the one thing people protesting police brutality would probably never do. Nor do I buy the conspiracy theory that the cops set up the murder of other cops whom they wanted dead (not to say it's inconceivable, but it is extremely unlikely). One of the more common delusions I've heard of from, say, tweakers, schizophrenics, and assorted other paranoiacs is that the cops are "out to get them." Chances are, a little digging into both shooters' pasts will uncover mental health issues -- they probably heard voices and hallucinated police hurting them in some way. I doubt that they themselves were victims of actual police brutality who were on some vengeful rampage. All this talk of assassination and retaliation seems extremely ill-informed, premature and irresponsible.

Any Guesses What I Am?

Hints:  Mesomorph, plenty of junk in the trunk.  Big eyes, full lips.  Inclined not to pry, but everyone spills their guts to me anyway.  Well liked by most everyone except, well, they know who they are.  Children and animals attracted to me.  Rather passive, not prone to anger.  Lazy, gluttonous, lustful.  Am potentially more destructive and toxic than anyone else you know in personal relationships, but have a small social circle of intensely loyal, long-term friends.  Sociable, but not an attention whore.  Insufferable and obnoxious to myself, and to certain others who, well, again, they might know who they are -- considered extremely sweet and good by most others, and welcomed and wanted around by them.  Gratification schemes usually focus on sex, sensual comforts, food, and music.  Absolute poison to sadists, violent psychopaths.  Glancingly fascinating to or ignored by most sociopaths.  Tend to internalize abuse.  Physical pain is richly and acutely felt, but emotional pain is more traumatic and long-lasting.  Can cope with own physical injury, squeamish about those of others.  Pleasure-seeking.  Highly observant.  Diffucult to control, but inclined to get walked all over.  Emotionally sensitive and intelligent, with good realization skills, but congenitally incapable of manipulation, scheming, calculation or cunning.  Outsized conscience, small ego.  Capacity for self-destructiveness enormous, intensely averse to harming others.  Hint:  I'm actually a variety of psychopath.