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