Dear Daun:

I swear to Heaven, our Dear Creator has lost it. LOST IT. First, she goes and gets her kids Transformers for their birthdays, and she actually thinks the things won’t break apart (the toys, Daun, not the kids; sheesh) and make her little guy bawl and her big guy all frustrated and banging his fist against the walls. Then she goes and cuts her hair short. (No, not Britney short.) Now she’s thinking about getting contact lenses.

Sweetie, I think she’s having a midlife crisis. It wouldn’t shock me to see her blowing her kids’ college funds on a sporty little car or some shit like that.

It’s the promo, I’m sure. You know about that, right? The big “Hit the ROAD” campaign she’s launching in August?

Oh, that’s right. You don’t know. That’s because she loves me more. Neener neener.

She’s going to have these two contests, one for people who preorder her book — the new one, THE ROAD TO HELL — through October 30, and a bigger one for those who buy her book between November 6 and November 10. I saw the prizes. They’re cool. I’m thinking about stealing them when she’s not looking.

Then again, that may send her over the edge completely. She might run off and join a convent. One without Internet access. And where would that leave us?

So I’m going to try to convince her to unstress. Decompress. Fantasize about Matt Damon dipped in chocolate. That sort of thing.

Her new hair’s cute, though. Maybe I can get her to take a picture and post it.

So, how’s everything in your neck of the woods? Still burning your way through the West Coast? Are you leaving ANYONE untouched? Come on: keep it limited to the evil humans, sweetie. You know the rules.

Me, I’m bored. Dear Creator hasn’t set up any interviews for me yet. I mean, yeah, she started. Then this promo thing stole her attention. I feel like the middle child. Humph. Maybe I’ll give her naughty dreams about Anthony Wiggle again. Or, heh, the White Ranger from the Mighty Morphing Power Rangers. That’ll teach her. “I won’t be ignored, Jackie!”

Nah. She might like the dreams. Warped. Totally. She needs help.

Anyway, I’m going to try to keep busy while she busts her ass on this campaign. She’s seriously thinking about starting a new exercise program. Maybe I can convince her to take a pole-dancing class.

Miss you, want you, grope you…

Smooches,
Jezzie