I stopped doing the IWSG/Insecure Writer's Support Group long ago. But I missed the group and my alternatively factual interviews. Alex is so kind, I'm not sure he ever dropped me from the list. So all things considered, I brought back a biggie. He's 6'4". He's Dr. Phil. And he's here for an interview.
Dr. Phil hands his rifle to wife Robin and walks to center stage. "How ya all doin'? I said 'How ya all doin'?"
Robyn: Why do you always repeat yourself, Philanderer?
Dr. Phil: Look, I don't know what you're talkin about, little one. I said, 'I don't know what you're talkin about down there!'
Robyn: Excuse me, dude. You're not a real doctor. You gave up your license years ago. A questionable license it was, too. You'd hired a client to work as an employee. Hm. The station kept you on as "entertainment" while you pretend to do therapy. Unethical much? And you cheated on your first wife. And you steal quotes from others and pretend they're yours. Yet you don't have an insecure nerve in your body. How do you do it, Philayofish?
Dr. Phil: Look, it's time to get real about your life. I said 'It's time to get real about your life!' If you don't have confidence in yourself, nobody else will. I said --
Robyn: I heard you! I quoted you in my book too. I mean, you're not all bad, but you are an annoying egomaniac, Philosophical b.s.er.
Dr. Phil: Let me tell you, I've conducted an extensive study. It took years of research and the most highly trained professionals. We determined your needs. Our crew looked long and hard --
Robyn starts to salivate at the thought of her needs finally being met in a long, hard way.
Dr. Phil continues: We found the perfect intensive neuro so so psycho facility for middle aged sex starved women of abnormally short stature who are ravenously addicted to - shall we say? - treats.
Robyn's beaming. Oh yes, Phillycheesesteak. We shall say treats! Woohoo! Robyn partakes in fist pumping and frenetic dance moves.
Dr. Phil: Look, just go! I said 'Just go!' Dr. Phil signals two very big security guards to escort a hyperactive Robyn off the stage.
Robyn: Thank you, Philharmonic! Thank you! You're the best! I said 'You're the best!'
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On a different and very sad note, in my eight years of blogging, I've spoken to half a dozen blog friends by phone. One of them is Melissa Bradley. Melissa and I shared men bashing stories and other nonsense, and she'd make me laugh hysterically. When I spoke to her approx. two weeks ago, and she was in hospice, Melly told me: "You know what they served me for dinner the other night? Bratwurst! YOU DON'T SERVE BRATWURST UNLESS YOU DO IT RIGHT. And that means NOT WITH KETCHUP PACKETS!" How could I not laugh heartily? Melissa called me her bloggy sister. She was a feisty, saucy, hilarious, creative, heartfelt and very loving woman who fought a grueling battle with unfaltering gusto and optimism. Ultimately, cancer put an end to that fight this past Sunday. Among Melissa's final words to me were "I'll pray for you." That speaks to her selfless character.
I love you, bloggy sis. Your memory is forever a blessing. Thank you for all your gifts to literature, your loved ones, and the world. Rest in Peace, dear heart.
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Take gentle care, my friends.
I love you and life is precious.
Keep a smile. Better yet, laugh heartily. And repeat. And then some more.
