RAD-vice.

Oh! Hello, darling(s). How goes it? (Have we addressed how much I love/hate that saying? Probably. Before you judge, please know that I . . . (a) don't give a fuck; and (b) have already done so.) I know this will not come as a surprise to any of you, but I receive so much fan mail -- especially lately. The letters (and/or collect calls) I choose to entertain touch me so. Really, you all are getting so good with your subject/verb agreements and punctuation. Way to make Mama proud. Anyway, as I was saying . . . the few messages from you all that I decide to skim through (and by that I mean have Neville and/or my sister read to me in an English accent) have, as of late, been filled with inquiries seeking my thoughts, opinions and advice on how one should handle themselves (or someone else, and yes, I do mean that very literally) in different situations. Naturally, I can't think of a better person for you to consult and I've decided that some of them are good enough (by "some of them" I mean the answers I've come up with, let's be honest here) that I should spotlight said plights here, on the blowout. With the increasingly small global community we live in today, it's only fair that I attempt to help as many people as I can (while exerting no effort whatsoever, essentially).

I can't decide how I should do this new series of posts. I've obviously come up with a hundred different clever titles, though. You're welcome in advance. I mean, should I recreate the letter verbatim -- using exact names, places and self-degrading talk? Probably. There's only one way to solve a problem, little ones, and that's facing it head on and plowing through. Keep in mind, we're all in this together. For our premiere in this new segment, keep on . . .

Unlimited Worry, Strife and Broken Homes.

Yes, I'm okay! I know that, like each of you, the sanity and clarity of your world has totes been ruined today. I mean, I'm usually really good at seeing things that are heading my (or in this case, our) way, but the news this morning has really fucked me sideways (shout out to "United States of Tara" and/or Toni Collette - she's a bad bitch for sure) -- what about y'all? Please, don't do anything drastic -- like get a horrible and very obvious nose job or slum yourselves out to the first drummer of a "Top 40" (or, let's be honest "Adult Rock") you encounter with a jacked dye job. For the love of God, I'd hate to see you in the same position.

No, not the same position as me, duh, as Ashlee Simpz. (That, is obvi a horrible combination of the two horrible last names of Simpson and Wentz. Anyway, as I'm sure you've deduced by now, the punk-rock princess (or was that Avril? Either way this is her story ("herstory"), too) and her sk8er boi (shut the fuck up, you love it) have parted ways in the very permanent way of filing for divorce, fingers crossed. Like me, you've probs got a million worries crossing your mind, so let's address them until I get tired of doing so.

First, the children! Or . . . wait, its just one, right? The child! Isn't his name Brooklyn or some shit? That's what you get when you hate your children - a double "f-you" - you end up with a child named after the main character in "The Jungle Book" and you lose your soul mate. Damnit to hell! If I've said it once, I've said it a million times - stick with traditional, boring names. Make it easier on us all for a change.

Sprung, in every sense of the word.

Well, well, well! How goes it? (OMFG, I hate that saying, it ranks right up there with "LOL" and shit - ugh! Although, I will secretly admit that saying it makes me feel kind of old-timey and delightful so -- yes, let's just move on.) I know, I've been away for a while, and I know each posts starts out with the same salutation, excuse, denial, anger, and so on, etc. So fucking sue me! Things have been happening like crazy here -- and you have the nerve to ask me where I've been! Lil' Wayne may have gotten himself into solitary by sneaking in a BOOST Mobile phone, but he sure as hell didn't get himself sprung solo, ya dig? You're welcome on that front, because I'll tell you what . . . shit sure was dark up here with Weezy in lock-up. Its hard enough living in a country that allows Bristol Palin to remain on its most prestigious professional & D-list celebrity matc-up program, but calling myself a United States citizen when innocent men like Wayne Carter's locked up for 23 hours a day? More like American't. 

Anyway, let's try to ease back in to the blowout. Not that's its been a hard task, trust. (Big Ups to my Momz and Jesus for blessing me with the gift of being so motherfucking observant, socially aware and guffaw-eliciting! Thanx booz!) it just . . . I don't know, whatevs. Let's get back in it to win it. 

Speaking of easing (things) in, today is one of the best days of my year! Obvs, the Monday after Black Friday (or "Thanksgiving" for those out there reading who are annihilating, selfish (but always adorable, let's be honest) WASP's) is a favorite for many of us. 

Cyber Monday, eh? Well, I mean "I've never done this before . . . but . . .okay, I guess." (yeah right, hoodrat, we were all in middle school with AOL in its brand-newness once -- you're not fooling anyone . . . except the 55 year old man who just IM'ed 19/m/ma, perhaps.)

Don't worry, I'm not judging, just do you -- which is obviously the whole point of Cyber Monday.

Thank you America . . (try not to disappoint me again.)

Oh, and finally, can't believe I nearly forgot . . .

a/s/l?

So, as you're busy at "work" putting the "cyber" into "Cyber Monday" (and letting me know you're home alone and undressed . . . pervert) please enjoy one of America's golden boys(z) with one of his first two singles(z), "I'm Sprung" -- which really, given everything that's been happening and that's taking place now, is so damn appropriate.  You're welcome (lit/fig.)