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.