Dear Madame Talena,

It's a nice day for a white wedding. It's a nice day to start again. So, I'd like to invite you to take a gander at my humble little site that will one day not only be the most visited site in all of Europe, but will also have it's own syndicated television show. The address is http://dolphin-skull.tvheaven.com. You should take a look at it now, while I'm not yet considered a psychotic idiot to you. It's a Kittie website. Well, not so much a website about Kittie as a website about my inane fascinatin with Kittie that could very easily be the subject of a Talking Heads song. What a great intro that was. I'm getting so much better at this talking to people who aren't there thing. Which might not be a good thing ten years down the road; but for right now: Rock on, my funk soul brotha.
I e-mailed Fallon but she hasn't responded yet. This could be due to the fact that I sent the e-mail only two minutes ago. But, by golly, that's more than enough time. Unless she's sleeping, there's no excuse. Well, having a REAL social life would be another good one. And not wanting to deal with my blatant idiocy and self-pity would be another. Although that last one doesn't crop up unless I want to mention that I'm an ugly loser. Which, surprisingly, tends to happen quite a bit. Is it a pity thing? No. Is it a lack of anything better to say thing? You betcha. On, and this e-mail is probably going to be long and incoherent at times, but don't worry, reading my e-mail doesn't cause any serious mental deformities. NOT reading my e-mail, however, will cause you to grow into a large, pink hippo who sounds like a chipmunk on helium. Honest. It's happened.
My web site has been endorced by 3 out of 4 Mikes. And the Mike that didn't like my site doesn't even exist. Also, the fact that I'm #8 on the Top 50 Kittie Sites list doesn't hurt my reputation, either. However, I seem to be stuck at #8. Which surprises me because my banner has Regis Philbin on it. And we all know how many people like him. See, it's a pun. My site is titled, "Kittie- They're a Million" and Regis hosts "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire?" I thought it was clever. You, however, don't seem to be amused. You're also not here, so that doesn't help my case any. Unless you delevoped a very low voice and started singing "Mony, Mony." Or you turned into a black guy in a pink jumpsuit doing aerobics. Neither of which seem plausible.
So, you know Kittie rules, right? Good, just making sure. The other 800 e-mails you get a day will confirm my statement. Because if they don't, THEIR FAMILIES WILL DIE!!! Or just break out in a really, really itchy rash. Which is just as bad.
I've been telling everyone I've e-mailed for the past two days a quote by Gary Coleman that I saw in Entertainment Weekly. If you've heard this all ready, skip this paragraph. Or, better yet, don't. It wrecks the flow of the e-mail. And then chaos would result. Not anarchy, mind you. Just chaos. And it would be all your fault. And since I'd rather not blame the apocalypse on you (or Fallon, for that matter), read on, ethereal Alice. So, Gary Coleman rejects an off to do a television special for his old show, "Dif'frent Strokes." When asked why, he said, "Dif'frent Strokes must die, and it must die soon . . . I don't care if it's a bloody death, I don't care if it's a quiet death, just as long as it dies." LOLOLOLLOLOLOLOOLROTFLMFARTFO sammy davis jr had a glass eye Tom cruise is having an affair with ricky martin click here for naked pics of jenna elfman
"Someone's building candy castles for my sweet sixteen, someone's building candy houses to house her in. Someone's building candy castles for my sweet sixteen, someone's built a candy brain and filled it in."
Ah, Billy Idol. He has a universal amount of uses. I once went to a bookstore where this Persian guy in a turban was reading the poetry of Jim Carroll. Once he saw me, he stopped reading and left. I felt bad. Like I had driven him away. Then I remembered I had a t-shirt that said, "I Like To Kill Foreigners."
Okay, so the shirt thing is not true. But I did feel bad for driving him away. He looked so happy and then, boom! He leaves. Although, if I were to meet him again, I'd yell at him for making me feel bad. The fiend!
Anyway, way to play the bass! It's neat. And I saw on your appearance on "Later." When the camera focused on only you during the part in "Charlotte" where it's only the bass and drums, you freaked out. It was probably my favorite part of the show. Not because you panicked, but because it shows the human qualities that you've kept even through stardom.
Ah, hell, it really was because you freaked out.
But that's not a bad thing, mind you! I'd do the same thing. Except my panic would involve bodily fluids and a dark stain on my pants. And I wouldn't be playing the bass, since I have no musical talent what-so-ever. I'd just be banging on my bongos. "Bop bop ba doo, daddio. Starbucks fevor up in this crazy scene, you dig? I feel the need for a beatific fix for my poetic habit, bee bop bop gar roo!" Everyone would laugh at me. Then I'd give them the finger and throw chairs at them.
Or just cry and run off stage. Either one. One thing I noticed, though, is that the four of you seem to share clothing. Why? Aren't you afraid of ringworm? Or lice. That's a big political issue up in Canada, isn't it? Some guy from the Barenaked Ladies was eaten to death by lice. And since Britain is oppressing you politically, the only thing your "government" can debate is what will go on the menu at the chain fast food restaurants.
Not that that's a bad thing, either. I'm just saying, is all. There's nothing else to do but watch cheesy b-movies. And these are the bad smut ones, not the good kung-fu ones. Not that I have anything against smut; but this stuff is horrible!
"Did you order a pizza?" she says.
"No," he says. "But come in anyway."
"Okay," she says. "Now that I'm inside, let's make love on top of this pizza."
Sheesh. If I were directing b-movie smut, I'd let the pizza make love to the girl. I just have to figure out how. Then, with the pizza, you'd have at least one good looking person in there. Billy Idol should do b-movies. Think of the titles: "Rebel KILL KILL KILL KILL KILL!!!!" "Death Wedding." "Dancing With Your Corpse." "Eyes Without a Face (Because I Cut You To Little Pieces!)."
You know, if you ever made a solo album (because you probably wouldn't do b-movies, but then again that's an assumption I'm making based on what I've read on the internet), you should title the album, "Talena Up Your ***." Just for no reason.
You stopped reading this a long time ago, didn't you? Shoot. That last thing was really funny. And it's rare that I type something that's funny. Well, I enjoyed it, at least. Well, since you aren't reading this, hang on a second while I get a soda.
All right. Now that I'm armed with my surrealist-inducing caffeine, I can talk about how the smiles of the homunculus wither in the bionic time-space continuum of Gaea. Or how the Ginswumps are after me. Or how I'm wasting my life away behind this keyboard. Poop. I'll end here and go watch Dragonball Z.
On second thought, I'll end . . . . . . . . . . here.

Have a nice day,
-Trent