My Misery Is Reaching Epidemic Proportions.

I Thought Research Would Be More Glamorous, Somehow. I'd Give The Librarian A Secret Code Word And He'd Give Me The One Book I Needed And Whisper The Necessary Page Numbers. Like A Speakeasy. With Books.

Agent Jones Switched To The Big Screen And A Grainy Video Of Momo Sitting At His Enormous Desk, A Swivel-hipped Elvis Clock Ticking Behind His Bewigged Head. 'death To The Capitalist Pigs! Death To Your Cinnamon Bun-smelling Malls! Death To Your Power Walking And Automatic Car Windows And I'm With Stupid T-shirts! The Republic Of Chacha Will Never Bend To Your Side-of-fries -drive -through-please-oh-would-you-like-ketchup-with-that Corruption! Momo B. Chacha Defies You And All You Stand For, And One Day, You Will Crumble Into The Sea And We Will Pick Up The Pieces And Make Them Into Sand Art.

My Platform's Called Don't Even Think About It. I Go To Schools And I Say, 'whatever Bad Thing It Is You're Thinking Of Doing, Don't Even Think About It. 'cause I Can See Into Your Soul, And I Will Hide In Your Closet And Come For You In The Night, And The Last Sound You Ever Hear Will Be My Sharp Teeth Popping Through The Flesh Of My Gums, Ready To Eat You.' Their Eyes Get All Big. It's Awesome. I Love Little Kids, Man. They're The Cutest

I Don't Know. Sometimes, I Feel Nothing, And I'm So Afraid. Afraid I'll Stop Feeling Anything At All. I'll Just Slip Away Inside Myself...i Just Need To Feel Something" A Great And Terrible Beauty, Page 177, By

Please Do Not Strain Yourself, Miss Doyle. I Won't Have My Girls Going Cross-eyed In The Name Of Art.