It's been a hectic few days, O Hot Sauce of the Divine Enchiladas of Tiajuana IV! The Large-Jawed Woman suffered a colossal accident in the kitchen while cooking some of her medicine. I am afraid that yet another kitchen in one of her domiciles has succumbed to flames, but this time she herself and the elderly man known as "Jim" also suffered a certain amount of structural damage. Let me recapitulate. "Jim" arrived on the morning of the 23rd, as the Terrans Californians reckon the passage of time. He was nattily dressed, I must say, wearing a lovely shade of mint green in a style that is affected by the aristocracy of this world state, as the Large-Jawed Woman immediately said, "You're going to wear a leisure suit to the court?" (No doubt a planned visit to a local potentate!) "Jim" just grunted and tossed a small sack onto the battered pressed-wood end table. "It's the best I got, sweet cheeks, so put a sock in it and get cooking." The Large-Jawed Woman paused as though she wanted to say something, but then shrugged and twirled. "What do you think of my outfit?" Have I mentioned that she was able to find a white ensemboolay at the "Gently Used Scrubs" place a few blocks from here? She came home and drew a large design with a Sharpie on the front and then wrote the word "Urfy" underneath it. "Jim" squinted at it, but his eyes widened at the sight of her lime-green sneakers. "What the hell are those things?" At this, the Large-Jawed Woman's expression changed to one of extreme haughtiness. "Vogue says you should always have a splash of color!" "Yeah, right," "Jim" said. "How about you go out into the kitchen and cook up a splash of the good shit?" He sniffed a bit. "You been eatin' beans, honey?" "Yeah, sorry about that," the Large-Jawed Woman said brightly. "I may have overdone it a bit." "A bit? It smells like crap in here!" The Large-Jawed Woman suddenly giggled. "He who smelt it dealt it!" At this they both began to snicker, until the Large-Jawed Woman "let one rip", as I have heard her refer to the eructations from her posterior orifice. At that the two of them started laughing uproariously as they made their way to the kitchen. I could hear them turning on the stove --- "How the hell did you manage to pay the bill?" --- and then for a few minutes there were the usual clinks and bubbling noises as the Large-Jawed Woman began cooking up "the good shit." I returned to watching the televised entertainment. Just as Minion Maury Povitch was revealing that the sullen youth was in fact the Babydaddy, I heard the Large-Jawed Woman swear in the kitchen. "Shit, the stove went out! Get me a match, "Jim"!" The next moment, I heard the sound of a match striking simultaneously with her "letting one rip"! Mercy, O Onion Blossom of the Gods! Apparently the sudden contact of flame with methane ignited, causing the "good shit" to EXPLODE!!!! The next thing I knew, the Large-Jawed Woman and "Jim" were blown into the living room! The Large-Jawed Woman's eyebrows were on fire as she hurtled past me and smashed into the televising device, completely eradicating Minion Maury's face as the device perished in a welter of plastic and electricity! "Jim" bounced a couple of times before he rolled under the rug, which fortunately extinguished the burning fibers of his leisure suit. I upended the bottle of Sprite I was drinking onto "Jim", putting out the last lingering embers. Needless to say, they were not happy. "Jim" managed to pull her head out of the televising device, but their clothes were ruined. "Supreme Deity damn it," "Jim shouted, "you done went and did it again!" "Never mind that now," the Large-Jawed Woman yelled back. "What the hell am I gonna do about going to court? Look at me! My ensemboolay is trashed, and I have no damn eyebrows!" "So what? Look at me!" "You don't have to face the paparazzi like do!" There was a moment while the two of them regarded each other with (literally) smoldering looks. Finally the Large-Jawed Woman strode into her bedroom, only to return with an armful of clothing. "Here, you gotta go to court without me. Put this on." "What the hell?" "Jim" held up a pair of her shorts, you know the ones I have referred to as "Daisy Dukes", Your Suavity? "I ain't wearing this." "It's all I got, now shuck out of that suit and climb into them. And this." The Large-Jawed Woman held up an imprinted t-shirt. "It was Imperial's." What are Teen-Aged Mutant Ninja Turtles, O Glory of Theta? By now, "Jim" had unhappily clothed himself in the garments provided, and stood miserably in front of her. The shorts were a little big for him, so the crack of his globlak was showing in the back despite his frequent efforts to hitch them up. The Large-Jawed Woman kicked off her lime-green footwear. "Put 'em on." He did so. "Alright, you look . . . " Even she could not say that "Jim" looked good, so she simply pursed her lips. "It'll have to do." "How the hell am I going to explain you not coming with me?" "Jim" demanded truculently. In answer, the Large-Jawed Woman yanked a box out of the closet and began rummaging through it. There were letterheads from everywhere, including a televising device network and numerous hospitals. The Large-Jawed Woman scribbled a few words on a sheet with a hospital letterhead and thrust it into "Jim's" hands. He glanced at it. "Not again! No one is going to believe this shit again!" "Sure they will. They always do. Now git!" The Large-Jawed Woman opened the front door to the domicile and propelled "Jim" out of the room. "When you get home, Momma will have a batch of the good shit all ready and waitin'!" I heard a few grumbles from outside, and then she slammed the door. She leaned her forehead against the back of the door. "Oh Lord, it ain't easy bein' me." "Or even being around you," I offered helpfully.

It's me again, O Twinkle in the Left Eye of L. Ron. Our transmissions are being monitored by some Unknown, who keeps leaving threats at the end of them. I have advised the Unknown to cease and desist, and cited many cases of intergalactic precedents that buttress my request, but the Unknown seems unwilling to withdraw. Also, my transmission station is now being jammed with very strange pictures, even by the debased standards of the humans Californians. I am receiving multiple images of a scantily clad woman displaying vast quantities of epidermis, feigning coitus humanus with geological formations and in bondage. There have also been pictures of a human domicile festooned with framed art from the emporium known as Wal-Mart and occupied by what appears to be a large number of cats. Meanwhile, the Large-Jawed Woman dressed herself today in what she refers to as her "fall onsembelay", which apparently means putting a garment the Californians call a "hoodie" over a halter top, very short jeans that have been cut off at the thighs and named in honor of a Southern television heroine and boots that have normally been the attire of combat troops on this world. We drove down to a large store that offered "Good Will" to all who entered, and whose manager's name is Solly Warner. As we entered, I heard the Large-Jawed Woman ask him if he had a brother, and when he answered in the affirmative, she responded "Close enough." We are now looking through racks of clothing. Most of the dresses are regrettably covered in sequins, but they are very reasonably priced. She keeps tossing things onto my head, so I now look like a small moving clump of laundry. More as this develops, O Mexicali Rose of the Deserts of Dune! Your faithful minion, Illuminati.

I've managed to sneak out to an internet cafe, O Mighty Shovel. The Large-Jawed Woman lost her service for a few days due to the usual reason, although I have to admit that it didn't stop her. She just kept typing away, cackling like a hen, and I don't think she ever really noticed that when she posted on the internnet nothing happened. Things have been a little crazy otherwise, She has been living off ahuman Californian delicacy called Spaghetti-Os. It's so convenient! You don't even have to heat it up, and she eats it directly from the tin in which it is packed, much like our own gorbzed. We have rarely left the domicile, save only to make what the Large-Jawed Woman refers to as a "hooch run" before the elderly human known as "Jim" arrives. However, they don't always consume the liquid refreshment. Twice they have gone into the cooking chamber and emerged very happy after a brief session consuming something, but they can't do that anymore (there was a fire, the sort that always seems to occur in the Large-Jawed Woman's cooking chambers wherever she resides. So they have returned to liquid consumption, but only of the healthiest sort. The front of each bottle clearly labels it as being produced at "Boone's Farm", and honestly, Your Hip Hoppity-ness, what could be better for a human than something produced on a farm? After they have consumed mass amounts of the farm goodness, they frequently entertain each other with remembrances of their work with birds. Specifically, they can recall of lot of "pigeons" whom they "fleeced". I'm not sure what that word "fleeced" means, but it does go to show that when it comes to animals, the Large-Jawed Woman does in fact have a ventricle of aurum, doesn't it? As she said only last night, "All of my animals love me!" and "Jim" agreed, because he clinked his bottle with hers and said, "Especially the ones that done survived you!", which I think was a reference to her Recent Difficulties with Animal Control. After awhile, though, the two of them fall asleep from the effects of all that Boone's Farm goodness, and then the stillness of the night is only disturbed by their frequent belches and eructations from their nether regions. On nights when she has been hitting the Spaghetti-Os kind of hard, it can get a little thick in the room, so that's why I thought I would take the opportunity to report it from off-base. Your faithful Minion, Illuminati.

It is I, O Antimicassar of the Castro Convertible of the Inner Orbs, reporting in from Large-Jawed Land. She has had a quiet week, mostly spent drawing little square tags on white cloth and then signing the word "Irfe" on the inside with a permanent marking device, using a lot of fancy curls. Then she cuts them out and sews them into the backs of her tee shirts and shorts, right over the original maker's name, a Mr. Sam Walton. When she isn't doing that, the Large-Jawed Woman spends most of her time on her computer doing the usual cackling and typing. I myself have been sleeping a lot. After the unfortunate incident with the Large-Jawed Woman's offspring a couple of weeks ago, she retired her Asian disguise, and now only appears dressed in other disguises. This has taxed my inventiveness so that I don't stick out when I am with her as being unusual, so I have resorted to talking with an Australian accent and pretending to sell insurance. More than one person has commented that I look a lot taller than I do on television, but everyone just seems to accept it. Bruce has come by twice for a "dip in the pool" as he likes to call it. The other night he took me out for a few hours to a fellowshipping beverage hall filled with male humans who seem to worship the cow as a sacred figure, because every single one of them was wearing leather. I had left the Large-Jawed Woman in the company of the elderly human known as "Jim". He wanted to talk about how court had gone, and she just wanted to talk about a rich man. Jim kept trying to explain to the Large-Jawed Woman that the words "rich man" were a surname, and not a description of his economic status. This depressed her, of course, as she was already making plans to "Anna Nicole" him, whatever that term might mean. Jim just kept rolling his eyes, but then she began to show him documents and he went peacefully to sleep. As I left, she had retrieved a sparkly pair of trousers from the back room, muttering something about "Momma's gotta look good next time!" The trousers dated from the middle of the decade known as the 80s in human terminology Californian, and were riddled with small holes caused by insects who find the material edible (I tried it, but it lacks the sweet nectar of the packing pellets). So the Large-Jawed Woman is sewing small Korean flags over the holes. When Bruce dropped me off later, the house was dark, and I almost tripped over her when I climbed through the front window. She had fallen asleep over her work, sprawled on the floor, while the elderly "Jim" was snoring in the chair.

Things are a little quiet around the base camp today, O Hangnail of Horus! As you know, things did not Go Well in the courtroom, and the Large-Jawed Woman spent the other evening consuming mass amounts of cheesy snacks and drinking many cans of something the humans Californians refer to only as "PBR", which causes enormous eructations. I have to admit, thanks to a lot of garments called Spanxx, which she wore underneath her chosen outfit, the Large-Jawed Woman did not stand out in any way when she attended the hearing. There were two women in the hallways as she entered that I have seen before at these events, one dressed very well by Terran standards and the other a bit sad, and holding candle. The well-dressed one said audibly, "Mitz is gonna plotz, I think she's actually wearing a bra for once!", but we went in before I could hear anything else. Nothing really went all that well for the Large-Jawed Woman, however. The Judge kept rolling her eyes when the Large-Jawed Woman spoke, and finally ordered her to produce evidence that her life had been threatened, but not until next month, so I don't think the Judge thought the threat was imminent or anything. It was more like she had no choice after the Large-Jawed Woman suddenly blurted out that another human had told her he would kill her. Thank the Five Eyes of Thoth that she didn't get to talking about space aliens! On the way out a human handed her a paper summoning her to a hearing, but she didn't say anything until we were alone in the house. "Sumbitch!" was all she said before she crumpled it up and threw it against the wall and popped the first PBR. Anyway, that's the news, O Fanny Pack of the Divine Overlords. She's still in bed. The usual outfit, just those teeny pajama bottoms riding up to reveal vast amounts of buttocks (she did manage to peel the Spanxx off, although it took about an hour and I had to lend a claw). But from the sound of the snoring I think it will be awhile before she arises. Your faithful and unworthy Minion, Illuminati

The transmission to the Mother Ship headquarters has been hijacked, O Frijole of the Nine Worlds! I do not know who this "Unknown" is, but he/she/it is clearly jealous of the Large-Jawed Woman (as indeed so many are, O Enchilada of Doom!)and her manifold accoutrements, for he/she/it claims to possess rainment of equal beauty, which is clearly impossible, as it does not appear to be festooned with Korean flags! I have heard the Large-Jawed Woman speak of this many times, O 48 Ounce Slurpee of the Inner Rings! The world is filled with those who covet her perfectly enhanced primary mammalian characteristics, and as for her buttocks, well, don't get the Large-Jawed Woman started on how many envy those callipygian mounds. It is necessary to flood the internet with images of all of these bodily parts in order to satisfy the demands of the adoring public and papparazzi! Which is fortunately no problem at all for the Large-Jawed Woman, because there are lots of pictures to draw from. Of course, they are all from twenty to twenty-five solar rotations ago, but as she says, "the hicks lookin' at 'em don't know that for shit!" Still no decision upon her attire for the morning, O Moonpie of the Dark Reaches, but the Jim man gave up and left. It's alright, though. The Large-Jawed Woman is now doing the voices for herself, the stuffed beagle and the bag of sand. Your unworthy Minion, Illuminati.

Greetings, O High C-note in the Aria of the Spheres! It is I, your unworthy Minion, reporting in!I have a few tiklaks, as the Large-Jawed Woman is trying on various outfits for the court tomorrow. Every so often she comes back into the front room in a new ensemble, and twirls around for the old man called Jim, who is sitting on the floor with a stuffed beagle and a fifty-pound sack of sand. Jim looks pretty bored, especially when he has to do squeaky voices and pretend that the sand and the beagle are talking, but the Large-Jawed Woman doesn't seem to notice that it is actually Jim speaking when they do. The first thing she wore was this really short skirt and a blouse cut so low you could see what I think Jim called "stretch marks". Isn't that interesting? Humans, er, Californians must have the ability to elasticize their epidermal regions! Anyway, Jim asked her "where the hell do you wear that thing?" and the Large-Jawed Woman said, "what are you bitching about? I've worn this to church!" and Jim just sort of sneered and said, "what were you supposed to be? A bad example?" and the Large-Jawed Woman got really mad, swiped an empty beer can off the top of the television device and bounced it off the wall over his head. Then she pirouetted some more and said "what do you-all think?" and Jim kind of sighed and then made the beagle say, "No fucking way! You look fucking awful!!!" and the sandbag say, "It is not a good look for Ms. Large-Jawed Woman!" The Large-Jawed Woman kind of stamped her feet and went into the back room to change again. A few tiklaks later she came out in a long black dress with a dark black veil over her head, black gloves and a black handbag, along with lime green sneakers. "You look like an Eyetalian war widow, honey. Look, this ain't Goldilocks and the Three Bears. Pick something in the middle. Ain't you got anything back there that an actual human being could wear to a trial? I mean, this ain't your first trip to that rodeo!" And the Large-Jawed Woman glared at him (I think she did, the veil was really, really thick) until he finally gave up and did the beagle voice again. "You look like a fucking asshole!" and then the sand voice, "once again, this is not the best look for Ms. Large-Jawed Woman." So she went back, and the next time she came out of the room she was wearing this really fancy dress with a hat on her head with a veil, all covered with sparkly glass and Korean flags. This time all three of them, Jim, the beagle and the sack of sand, all of them said in unison, "no fucking WAY, not AGAIN!" And the Large-Jawed Woman just kind of huffed off. Finally she came out in what I believe the humans Californians call "Daisy Dukes" with no shirt to cover her primary mammalian characteristics. And may I say, O Queso Dip of the Gods, that these primary mammalian characteristics have clearly fallen victim to the unfairly heavy gravity of this world, er, state? And Jim said, "you're not even trying, honey" and she said "but I used to wear these all the time and guys did what I wanted!" and he said "what if the judge is a chick?" and she looked like she was considering it, and then she went back to change. Will let you know how it goes, O Grand Shovel. Your Unworthy Minion, Illuminati P.S. Nice work getting Minion Bronson reassigned to work for Minion Richard Simmons. Let's face it, he could stand lose a few liblabs!

It is I, O Creamy Nougat Center of the Milky Way! Somehow the Large-Jawed Woman has discovered access points to the secret communications between us, you, the High and Mighty Digging Implement of Theta and I, your Unworthy Minion. Myself, I hate to point a tentacle, but I think Minion Bronson has gortekked up big time, O Fluffernutter Sandwich of the Seven Lords of Lycra! He fed her all of the information about Minion Third Class Bruce and the fight at the basecamp a couple of years ago. The Large-Jawed Woman no longer thinks that the alien surveillance is a hallucination! She is now aware of the off-planet observation under which she has been scrutinized for many years, and claims to have alerted the police officers to the fact that she is surrounded by people from another planet! And they have promised to help her! I think something was said about "getting a net for the poor dear"! I am the poor dear, Your Spherical Rotundity!!!! I don't want to be "put in the bin", whatever that might mean! I am now hiding underneath the couch on the front porch, O Grand Shovel. Minion Bronson has gone off with Minion Kirstee Allee for a "shitload o'donuts". The Large-Jawed Woman is hunched over her computer, doing that weird cackling and snorting thing she does. The police have gone away to get something that will "certify" the Large-Jawed Woman as "batshit", which I think refers to the fecal material produced by this world's flying rodents. No, I have no idea why she would be certified as such a substance. Any advice?

It was a pretty quiet night, O Hickey on the Throat of All Theta. The Large-Jawed Woman would stagger awake about every half-hour, scarf down another bite of greasy pseudo-pork goodness and promptly fall back on the floor. I nibbled on a couple of the discarded styrofoam boxes, so the whole thing was a win-win. This morning she decided to try a sortie out of the house, which now requires elaborate preparations. In addition to draping a towel over the license plate on the car, the Large-Jawed Woman took a bunch of black sheets and twisted them around herself until only her eyes were visible. The first time she tried it she kind of tied up her arms so that she was basically hopping around until she could get it untangled, but with a lot of effort she managed to get a sort of flowing, Middle Eastern effect going. I don't think she saw me hop into the back seat before she drove off. Anyway, we went back to that glass store I reported about before. You know, the one where Minion Bronson is now assigned? And incidentally, Your Pulchritude, you may want to have a word with the Mighty Garden Rake about MB's technique. He is working in disguise as a fire hydrant a few feet away from the front door, and dogs keep relieving themselves of bodily fluids all over him. The Large-Jawed Woman swannned into the store, and I slipped in after her, partially blocked from the old man who runs it by her robes. He looked up and said, "Can I help you?" The Large-Jawed Woman said, "It's me, Jim." The old man started to laugh so hard I thought his ventricles would collapse. "What the hell are you supposed to be?" "They're AFTER me!" she said in a nettled tone of voice. "I can't go out without disguise! Forget about it. Can I borrow ten bucks?" "Nope," the old man said shortly. "Not one more dime." "But this time I am going to sue and WIN! I will have all the money in the world!!! I can pay you back!!!" "The last time you told me that it turned out you were suing yourself, Peep-Eye." He paused, and looked out the store window. "Is it my imagination, or did that fire hydrant just kick that dog?" "Five buck, then. Come on, five stinking buck." "Not a dime, sister." "Would you like to buy a carousel horse, then?" "No. I still have ten you gave me three years ago." "What about a towel from a restroom in a real Palace in Russia?" "I use those to polish the carousel horses," Jim said in a flat voice. "Now take a hike, Fatima. And make sure the iguana goes with you."

Thank you for your prompt response, O Hostess Cupcake of Theta! The situation is a little better. Early this morning the Large-Jawed Woman began screaming "I want money!! I want MONEY" at the top of her lungs. I had been sleeping in my usual position on the ceiling, having hooked my tail around the light fixture in order to hang upside down. I was so startled that I relaxed control and crashed to the floor, but since I landed on the mattress down there that the Large-Jawed Woman sleeps on, there was no real damage. Just then there was a knock at the door. Usually this means a delegation of local police officers, and I tend to retract behind the couch during the Large-Jawed Woman's meetings with them. I don't want them to believe her when she claims that she is being stalked by space aliens, because she is really, really convincing at it. I don't know why the police officers never offer to search the house, and they stopped writing anything down about two hundred visits ago. Now they usually just stand there making faces behind the Large-Jawed Woman's back and rotating their index fingers next to their ears. It's very droll-looking, Your Lemon-Scentedness, but I am not sure about the cultural significance of the gesture. The Large-Jawed Woman lurched to the door, crushing a few scattered cheesy snacks beneath her bare feet, and threw it open. Imagine my surprise, for who should be there by my old friend Bruce! He had festooned his upper lip with strands of black hair in an attempt to disguise himself, but of course I could tell by the bulging muscles beneath his tight tee shirt and the very tiny cargo shorts that it was Bruce! "Wheels on Meals, ma'am!" Bruce said brightly. The Large-Jawed Woman peered at him, and at the white paper bag he was carrying with one of her holiest symbols on it, the Golden Arches! "Uh . . . what?" "We deliver meals to cancer patients, and your name is on our list, ma'am." He looked down at a piece of paper in his other hand. "Ovarian, colon, breast, brain, lymphoma, carcinoma and testicular, right?" She was peering into the bag. "You forgot throat and jaw cancer. What the hell is that, a McRibb?" "Yes, ma'am." He turned the paper over. "Sorry, it was continued on the other side. Anyway, this is for you." She ripped the sack open, and a number of styrofoam containers fell to the floor. I perked up, as it had been awhile since I myself had ingested nourishment. The Large-Jawed Woman chomped down upon the McRibb, whatever that is, and promptly collapsed to the floor. Bruce grinned. "Bronson gave me some shit to put in the food, Little Buddy! She'll be out for a coupla hours. C'mere!" He wrapped his arms around me and tightly hugged me. "Been missing my little lizard something fierce!" I could easily tell the last part. Some time later, Bruce sighed in contentment and stretched his arms high over his head and yawned. I was perched gingerly on the chair in front of the computer. Very gingerly. "Bronson said to tell you that you're gonna have to stick it out here, Little Buddy." The Large-Jawed Woman gently snored. "He's moving on to some glass store on the other side of town, he said. He's kinda pissed off at you, he says. He got in a lot of trouble with some kind of Grand Garden Rake. So now I'm on the job, although I dunno what that means. I have to take the rig down to San Diego tomorrow, though, so you'll be on your own for a coupla days." "That's alright, Bruce." I looked down at the prone Large-Jawed Woman. "By my calculations, there is less than 2% natural material in the comestible she is eating. Is that really a wise food choice for a Terran with cancer?" "Probably not, no. So if she ever actually gets cancer, I s'pose we're gonna have to get some different stuff to bring in. Bronson just wanted to make sure it was something she would want to push into her piehole." After a few more minutes of personal conversation, Bruce took a very affectionate farewell. And I squeaked my own goodbyes. Since then I have crawled back behind the couch. The Large-Jawed Woman is out like a light. Your faithful minion, Illuminati

This is your faithful minion requesting immediate extraction, Oh Grand Hood Ornament of the Gods! The Large-Jawed Woman is about to blow, Your Immensity! And I don't mean that in the sense that it usually means with You Know Who! For the past three days she has been sitting in front of the computer playing a game the Terrans people from this quadrant of the global sphere refer to as "online poker". We had gone to our favorite dispensary of comestibles, the one that bears the numerical insignia seven and eleven in an attractive design, and while purchasing a sack of the cheesy fried snacks of the immortals, the Large-Jawed Woman somehow found herself in possession of the wallet of a Mr. Esteban de la Hoya Montego Martinez Blanco y Venezuela Rodriguez, who in his turn may have dropped it after his purchase of something called a 40. When we left the comestible dispensary it somehow was in her shoulder bag, and after the Large-Jawed Woman opened it she fished out a plastic card that the locals use to purchase goods, and I heard her say "Jackpot! Come to Momma!" And then we came back to our dwelling and she used the number to enter the poker game. But things haven't gone well at all, Grand Shovel! She has lost game after game of the "online poker", and each time she does, the Large-Jawed Woman screams about how she needs money, Supreme-Deity-damnit! And now she just keeps yelling at the computer screen about female dogs and pork-laden animals. I think she is losing her small spherical playing devices, O Beauty Mark of the Inner Asteroids. And I don't want to complain or anything, but Minion Bronson keeps hovering around and I think he is going to blow my cover. She now thinks that I am some sort of hallucination that only she can see. For some reason, she has taken to calling me "Harvey". However, Minion Bronson keeps peeking in the windows and making faces at me, and sooner or later the Large-Jawed Woman will see his reflection in the computer screen and the whole thing is going to take a significant turn for the worse. I thought that Minion Bronson had been recalled to the Mother Ship. And we've run out of cheesy snacks.

Greetings, Your Shake 'n' Bakeyness! It is I, your faithful minion and soon to be direct-to-video film star! We have finished shooting Forever Palmdale at last, and if I do say so myself, I think Mr. Spielburg may have discovered unknown talents within me, which is kind of coincidentally what Bruce used to say, too. There's talk of a sequel! The working title is Beyond Burbank --- Large Jawed Woman II, Electric Boogaloo! , but Mr. S. says we have to wait and see how we do against Smurfs 2 next weekend, but he's not worried. Anyway, on the last day of the shoot the Large Jawed Woman and Minion Bronson kind of got into a little bit of a food fight. Honestly, I don't mean to tattle on another minion, but it was really his fault. He tried to pry her hands off a donut, and he knows better than to get between the Large Jawed Woman and sugared comestibles. The next thing he knew, she had yanked him across the food cart and smashed his face into the onion dip. By the time that the grips were able to pull her off him, poor minion Bronson's face mask had slipped a little bit, so to protect his identity he stuck his head into the Frito bowl until it was covered with delicious corn treats, then took off running as fast as his multiple legs would carry him. Now that the movie is over, they've closed down the concession cart, so the Large Jawed Woman has returned to our latest hideout domestic residence. I'm a little worried about her. She's back to spending hours at the computer, talking to herself in different voices. I know, same old, same old, but she has also tacked a photograph of some bare-chested bald guy on horseback to the wall. She'll stare at it for hours, muttering things like "I'll be with you soon!" and "Oppress the gays for me, my love!" Any instructions? Your faithful minion, Illuminati

Greetings, O Bejeweled Truss of the Hosts of Horvath! It is I, your faithful minion and soon-to-be star in Stephen Spielburg's latest opus, Forever Palmdale: The Life and Adventures of the Large-Jawed Woman. Well, to tell the truth, perhaps "star" is an overstatement. I actually am only featured in one scene as a houseplant, but I am integral to the plot! The character based on the Large-Jawed Woman is just about to water me when she notices that a crystal meth fire has broken out in the kitchen, and she throws the water meant for me onto the fire! It's very exciting! And while I'm not making much money, Mr. Spielburg has been really good about keeping me supplied with those Styrofoam pellets you know I love. It's kind of hard on the poor old lady playing the Large-Jawed Woman, though. Some how the real Large-Jawed Woman found out about the picture, and Mr. Speilburg lets her come on set and watch just to shut her up. In the beginning she was upset because she wasn't playing herself, but Mr. Speilburg had to tell her that she just photographed too old to credibly play a 50 year old woman. As far as I can tell, the film is a sort of hommage (that's French, Your Spiffiness, you know, what they speak on our home planet where we come from!) to a movie about Margaret Thatcher where Merrill Streap played her as an old lady and they told it in flashbacks! I think the real problem with the Large-Jawed Woman was that whenever they started the camera rolling she did weird things. Like once she lit a small fire out of Mr. Spielburg's director's chair and started jumping over it and waving to people, once she took off all of her clothes and lay on the floor with her back arched, and there was a really unfortunate moment when we were filming outdoors on location next to a large rock. The crew is still talking about that! But it turns out that the reason the Large-Jawed Woman is following us around is because she doesn't feel safe at her house. Apparently something called a "process server" is making her life miserable. Of course, another reason is the meal cart. Mr. Spielburg is on kind of a limited budge with Forever Palmdale, so all there really is on the cart are snacks, but the Large-Jawed Woman manages to eat her weight in onion dip every day. It's kind of sad. At one point the guy manning cart asked her for a couple of bucks to kick into the general Snack Fund, and the Large-Jawed Woman just managed to say "I'm bankrupt, dude!" around a masticated lump of Fritos. Then she goes back to criticizing the actor playing her in the movie. I have to say, she really kind of looks like the Large-Jawed Woman after they pad her up a bit. I think she was on Terran Television awhile back. Minion Bronson introduced me to her (he's the guy manning the food cart. Is he still working for us?)Her name is Rosann something. Oops, I am needed on set. It turns out that there is a crystal-meth-sets-the-kitchen-on-fire scene in every flashback!

Part One. Wouldn't you kill for a Vegemite Sandwich? G'day, mates! Crikey! I'm coming to you today, Your Koala-ness, from a land down under! Let me explain. In my last transmission, I told you that we had headed out into the desert. The Large-Jawed Woman maintains a small camp there to which she retreats in times of stress, always assuming that you define stress as your landlord kicking you out. The failure of her offspring to provide the small pieces of papers that Terrans exchange in order to get food had left her in a quandary. While it is true that she has several months worth of delicious cheese snacks stockpiled in the abandoned missile silo we currently call home, I am not sure that she would be able to survive only upon those. So time is critical! The next day we went to Kinko's again so that the Large Jawed Woman could wait until someone using a computer left before his or her allotted time was up. In order to be inconspicuous, I was in a large, very old Dolce and Gabbana shopping bag that I quickly gnawed eye holes into the side so that I could see. First the Large Jawed Woman made her usual rounds, which include this very transmission site, Your Pulchritude, as well as a site that seems to be dedicated to her. She then did a search under her name, and this is where the trouble started. Apparently something that popped up on the screen disturbed the Large Jawed Woman. "Australia?!!?" She growled. "Who the four letter Terran word for coitus have I conned in Australia?" The next thing I knew she had hoisted the shopping bag and started out of the Kinko's. Unfortunately, the bag was old, and my weight caused the bottom to tear loose. I quickly covered by using my rear appendages to waddle alongside her, the rest of me covered by the paper bag. It would have looked unusual anywhere else, a woman accompanied by a walking Dolce and Gabbana shopping bag that is, but the staff at this Kinko's are so used to the behaviors of the Large Jawed Woman that none of them even batted an eye. Once we were in the car, she gunned the motor and we headed for LAX, the principal venue for flying transport vehicles. She screeched to a halt as close to a terminal as possible, grasped the handle of the bag, and we set off into the crowds, abandoning the car. The next thing I knew we were standing in line at TSA. Of course I had no idea how the Large Jawed Woman would handle the security personnel, but luck was with her. Just ahead of us was an older Terran. The guard stopped him. "You forgot to take off your belt, Mr. Gibson." "Did I, Sugar Tits?" "Excuse me?" "You're a Jew, aren't you?" "What?" "You people control everything!" By now the altercation had increased in volume to the extent that all of the other TSA guards were milling around Mr. Gibson, leaving one young woman alone at the head of the line. The Large Jawed Woman stalked past her. When the young guard attempted to stop her, the Large Jawed Woman passed her hand in front of her face. "Excuse me, ma'am, but I need to see your papers, passport and a license for the . . . for whatever that thing is," the guard said. "You don't need to see our papers. These are not the droids you've been looking for." "What the hell are you talking about, lady? I need to see your ---- oh, shit!" The young guard turned her head in time to see Mr. Gibson, now without pants, being chased around by a covey of TSA guards. "You two wait here." Our guard took off in hot pursuit of the pack. By this time Mr. Gibson had climbed to the roof of the Cinnabon and was screaming, "which one of you bitches want to have my baby?" The Large Jawed Woman yanked me out of the shopping bag. "Run for it, E.T.!" She said fiercely, and took off sprinting down the concourse. I followed as best I could, but at more of a waddle than a run. She skidded to a halt in front of the Qantas desk, and rapidly scanned the crowd of passengers waiting to embark. As soon as a mother stood up to take her young daughter to the Waste Elimination Area, the Large Jawed Woman grimaced at me, and we followed them into the chamber. Five minutes later we emerged. The Large Jawed Woman was now dressed in orange capri pants and a flowery top, and was wearing the other woman's hair, which happily could be removed in one piece, revealing a completely different color beneath it. I was wearing sparkly sandals that hurt my feet, and a Hello, Kitty top, really cute, if I do say so myself. And ten minutes later we were on the plane, off at last to Melbourne!

Happy Belated Mother's Day, O Breath Mint of the Seven Mouths of Arcturus! I had flowers sent to the test tube in which I was created and charged them to the expense account. I hope that was acceptable? Things have been hopping here. I am no longer disguised as One Hung Low, nor is the Large Jawed Woman attempting to pull off her identity as Oma Hanoi any longer. It turned out that potential landlords weren't really interested in renting property to someone with a mop on her head named "Hanoi", so she has reverted to her normal alias as she plots how to trick her way into a new rental facility. In the meantime, we are living in the back of the car. Actually, she is. I am sent into the trunk during the sleep period, and at several other times when the Large Jawed Woman is entertaining company. "Just enough to keep us in Cheetos," she always mutters before locking me away. The same thing happens each time. The entire car begins to rock for a few minutes, and I am shortly released to discover her behind the wheel, thumbing one dollar bills. On actual Mother's Day, the Large Jawed Woman was visited by several people. Most of them were imaginary, or at least I assumed they were because I could not see them despite the fact that the Large Jawed Woman conducted long, rambling conversations with several of them. One of them was a small child apparently born in Russia a few years ago, and another a toddler with two heads. Of course, on Theta it would be considered an honor to have a child with double the cranial capacity, but somehow the sight (visible only to her, of course) of this offspring did not seem to afford the Large Jawed Woman parental pleasure. There was a long meeting with her imaginary friend and his imaginary family, including his imaginary Russian daughter, during which the Large Jawed Woman did all of the voices. It got a little confusing and hard to follow, and by the time she was crouched on the hood of the car cursing at an imaginary person she called Bob, she had begun to attract attention from people passing the parked car. Suddenly she gunned the engine, and we sped off down the road until we reached a side street that led us to a small building that advertised itself as a provider of glass products. She cracked the driver's door and stepped out. "You stay in the car, ET," she said without turning her head. "Jim? Jim? Where the hell are you?" A wizened old man came out of the front door. "What the hell are you doing here?" he barked. "I told you no more money. Nada. There ain't nothing left!" "Yeah, even if I believed that was true, and I don't, that ain't why I'm here. Nicky said he left a package for me with you." The old man grunted. "Stay out here." He disappeared into the store, and the Large Jawed Woman settled her Daisy Dukes on the hood of the car, wincing a bit as her posterior came into contact with the hot metal. In a moment, the old man had returned. He thrust a small brown parcel into her hands. "See for yourself, it ain't been opened." The Large Jawed Woman began shredding the brown wrapping paper. "I hope to God there's money in here, that's all I can say." The old man hooted derisively. "Where the hell is the kid gonna get money?" "He has a damn job, doesn't he?" She tore open the small box, which was filled with those delicious styrofoam pellets. I almost sobbed aloud when she turned the box over and they fell out, scattering in the dust of the street. "What the hell?" Tiny square packets cascaded out of the box and covered her lap. It seemed like an assortment of something, because from where I sat I could read different writing on each packet: "Ribbed!" "Astroglide!" "Trojan", "Eureka!" and "Love Thrust!" For a moment I thought I had seen the "Love Thrust" packet before, perhaps on the dashboard of Bruce's truck, but before I could examine it more closely the Large Jawed Woman had kicked it, and all of the other small square packets, all over the street. "Damn it, what the hell am I supposed to do with these?" The old man crouched and began scooping them up. "I think that's kind of obvious, girl." He fished out a white envelope from beneath a heap of styrofoam pellets. "Here." She snatched it from his hand and tore it open. "Happy Mama's Day! These was all over the office at work today, and I knew'd as you could use them. Don't want you to be a mama, Mama! Ha ha ha!" The old man snickered as he leaned into the driver's window and dumped a handful of packets on the floorboard. "I guess if he worked at the supermarket, you'd be getting apples or pears or shit." He caught sight of me. "What the hell are you doing driving around with a damn iguana in the car?" Ignoring him, the Large Jawed Woman shoved him out of the way and spun out of the parking space in front of the glass shop. To be companionable, I hissed at the old man. And we drove off into the desert.

O Mighty and Most August Fanner of the Flames of Fanrath and Fluffer to the Stars, In the Pursuit of Which You Can Earn 17-22 Dollars Per Hour (which is a lot more than minions get for performing essentially the same services, if I may be so bold, O Dangling Preposition of the Horns of Tiburon), The Large Jawed Asian woman and I are circling the courthouse for some reason. Every so often she slows down and scans the premises with a toy pair of binoculars that she fortuitously discovered while tearing through a box of Terran snacks --- very delicious snacks; it contained both peanuts and popcorn slathered with a lovely combination of chemicals. When she wasn't looking, I ate the empty box --- as though she is hoping to see something. I am also startled by the ease with which she has accepted me, Your Infinitude. True, there was a bad moment when she opened the trunk at Kinko's to dump the empties she had consumed while driving, but after I explained that I had accidentally fallen into it because "my Engrish so bad I thought was public lavatory", she tossed me onto the sidewalk and instructed me to stand guard over her. So I reared up on my tail to make myself at least eye level. There was a moment of panic, but then when she noticed two Kinko's customers running off at the sight, I could tell she was relieved to have me at hand. I think it is partly due to my minion skills, but then I figured out that if anyone would accept a glowing yellow creature with a lampshade on his head and a tail as a small Asian, it probably would be someone who has been living the hallucinogenic fantasy that the Large Jawed Woman has immersed herself in since she was a young girl. I probably make as much sense as anything else to her. There was a small monent when she actually entered the store itself, a sort of collective moan from the Terr--- people, I mean people, who work there, when she slapped the collection of paperwork she wanted copied on the counter. "This again, " I heard one of them mutter. "Twice as long as Mein Kampf and only half as funny." We are slowing down again, so I will seize the opportunity to dispatch this message and snork down some empty Doritos bags I see in the back seat. Cool Ranch! My favorite! Your faithful minion, One Hung Low

We are on the move, O Mighty One! The Large Jawed Woman, or as I must now refer to her, Ms. Hanoi, has driven off from her domicile on the way to Kinko's for yet another of her efforts on their computers (her own has suffered much damage of late because of Cheetoh dust clogging up the keys). But, Your Loveliness! She has cleverly disguised herself so that she cannot be recognized as the Large Jawed Woman. Well, she can still be recognized for her large jaw, but now she looks like a Terran from the eastern hemisphere. This morning I observed her carefully taking strips of Scotch tape and pressing them to the sides of her eyelids to force them into an upward slant. Then she began dabbing ochre makeup across her face until she was the color of a slightly baked snack of the sort that she prefers. Finally, she removed the head of a mop, dipped it into black shoe polish, and when it dried, placed it over her own greying tresses. The final touch was to don a pair of black pajamas and put a pair of flip flops on, and breep-o, O Mighty Shovel! Where once stood the Large Jawed Woman, now stood the Large Jawed Asian Woman! Meanwhile, I followed her lead and disguised myself as well. I am now calling myself One Hung Low, and you would not recognize your faithful minion! I managed to find a small can of yellow paint in one of the sheds, and doused myself in it pretty thoroughly. The only drawback was that it turned out to be phosphorescent, so I now tend to glow in the dark. At the moment, as I make this report to the Mother Sh --- I mean, to headquarters --- I am in the trunk of the Mercedes. It's a little uncomfortable because the bottom of the space has rusted out (to say nothing of the small skeletons of cats and dogs that are rattling around in here with me), but thanks to the glow of my skin, I can see well enough to type. The only thing I could do with my hair, or really my lack of hair, was to grab one of the lampshades and stick it on top of my head. It looks like a sampan hat, or at least that will be my story if anyone questions me when I climb out of the trunk at Kinko's once we arrive. There was a bad moment as she backed out of the driveway. The towel she normally hangs over her license plate had dropped off, and when she got out to secure it more firmly, a man came up with a piece of paper in his hand and attempted to speak with her. "Miss H?" he asked. "No Miss H! Miss H no here!! Me Missy Hanoi, longtime same no see Miss H!!! No Miss H!!!" The Large Jawed Woman was alarmed, and tried to get back into her car. Unfortunately, when she slammed the door, it dropped off its rusted hingers and onto the poor Terran's right foot. "Shit!!" He began hopping up and down on one foot. "So solly! Miss Hanoi so solly!! Miss Hanoi go now, all same solly!!!!" I had to hold onto the walls of the trunk with all four limbs and my tail as she spun the car into reverse and roared off down the street, leaving behind a trail of empty McFlurrie cups and half-eaten fried pies. Your faithful minion, One Hung Low

O Grand and Glorious One, Sorry for the long silence on my end, Your Flatulence, but I have been deeply undercover now for months, and mercy me, O Harbinger of Hilarity, six of my nine eyes have been permanently damaged by the experience. Oh, the sights I have seen! I spent most of the winter disguised as a sofa cushion on the Large-Jawed Woman's covertible bed outside on the front porch of the Littlerock dwelling, and let me tell you, it was rough. Not only did I have to endure her rather enormous asspharti descending upon me at regular intervals, and the occasional Cheetoh rammed up my nose when she accidentally dropped them during a feeding frenzy, she also hid the bodies of small felines and canines behind the sofa in an effort to keep the forces of Animal Justice from uncovering them during their regular visits to her domicile. Actually, though, I think the Large-Jawed Woman was grateful for the attention. She would swipe cages that they brought to remove her animals and stuff them down her jeans. Later she would sell them, thereby purchasing the electrical current she needs to maintain her computational device and the never-ending war with her enemies. The numbers of which increaseth daily and droppeth like the dew from above. She has now succeeded in annoying the ASPCA in the neighboring five counties, all of her neighbors upon her former street, and some poor Terran who approached her outside of Kinko's to ask the time, and whom she drove before her screaming about how she was the victim of stalking. All he could say was "Geeze, lady, lady, please, lady, I just wanted to buy some paper clips!" but the Large-Jawed Woman would not be mollified. And now here we sit in a cave out in the desert. It's not bad, it reminds me of Denbar VIII and the happy times I spent there with Minion Tom Cruise under the Rings of Roombath. I am now disguised as a rock, but frankly, O Mighty Shovel, I could probably sit in front of her with Christmas lights around my neck and she wouldn't even notice. All she does is wear a tinfoil hat and throw darts at pictures of Terrans. They are labeled with names like "Mitzi" and "Huiko" and "Blake". She kind of laughs to herself a lot too. To tell you the truth, I'm a little afraid. Can I come in from the cold now? Your faithful Minion, Illuminati