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.