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.