Adina Appealed To The Sky.

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.

Writers Are Also Sort Of Like Vultures, But With Fewer Ethics.

So, Now I've Been To See A Drug Counselor Who Told Me I Need To Lay Off The Drugs And Talk About My Feelings, And A Shrink Who Heard What I Had To Say And Immediately Put Me On Drugs.

There Is Never Any Turning Back Gemma. You Have To Go Forward. Make The Future Yours.

No, I Call. Come Back. I'm Here, He Says. But I Can't See. It's Too Bright. You Can't Hold Back The Light, Gemma. I'm Here. Trust Me.