My ongoing fascination with the nutjobs that roam free across the intarnets led me to Vivian here. I mean, she's nuttier than a packet of mixed nuts, and that's sad. But also hilarious. I only wish she had a real blog rather than a copy of frontpage.
It's hard to know where to start - on her index page she spins a fascinating tale of immigration agents at Heathrow trying to poison her asthma inhaler, weaving colleagues and acquaintances, politicians, and movie stars into a fascinating tale with her at the center.
The issues involving Prince William's demand of me to return to London are much more emotionally complicated. An admission that an investigation was necessary, could have led to the necessity that he must pay for my flight--his worst nightmare. He sends grapevine subliminal messages through friends and co-workers attempting to lure me with jewelry and other luxuries, while reminding me repeatedly that in five years I will be forty-years-old--over the reproductive hill. His pre-impregnation demand is that I tolerate his inability to handle my obtaining one of the jobs I have been offered in my field of anthropology. For me to obtain such status would threaten his masculinity. Because I do not accept his impregnation-prerequisites, I have been called a child-hater. He is unable to relate to me and to converse with me in any way. He insists I must chase after him. I prefer to go to work. He therefore classifies me as someone who places career before family. He believes he is doing me a favor by giving me this wonderful opportunity.
Attempted poisoning is an ongoing theme with Vivian. Recently an FBI agent broke into her house (it's okay, he does that all the time. Sometimes he moves small items, sometimes he rearranges her bathroom, and sometimes he has sex with her), and poisoned her Pepsi.
10:20 pm EST
Dear Ms. You-Know-Who-You-Are;
You have until midnight Eastern-Standard-Time to turn yourself into the FBI and explain:
WHO sent you to poison my Pepsi last night,
WHAT the poison was,
WHERE you are from,
WHEN you received the assignment &
HOW MUCH you were paid.
And the next time you trespass into my bedroom, I will spit my disease into your eyes.
[. . .]
The poison induced a heart attack. I remedied it with Solaray's Tart Cherry, Econugenics' Padma, and two birth control (i.e., estrogen) pills.
So that's how you cure a heart attack, huh? Good to know.
Subliminal messages are a recurring theme as well, with frequent messages from Donald Trump (who ruined her book deal with a vanity publisher), David Duchovny, (who has AIDS and cannot attain an erection without Vivian's subliminal help), and her dead mother:
Dear Mother;
I received your message--a file named GrandpaBo on my computer, with two images of a rectangle. These, of course, resemble the shape of the frame I selected for representation of the book written about Grandpa's lifetime of research as a urological surgeon.
[. . .]
I will try to finish it in time for Mother's Day.
Just when you think it's all yuks, you get to the good stuff - she spent most of 2007 fighting agains eviction, choosing, of course, to represent hereself, and basing her entire legal defense on the premise that the lawyers representing the plaintiff were doing so without the plaintiff's knowledge. We can all guess how that ended.
Monday April 07, 2008
I lost and have been given 41 hours to leave.
My father has suddenly turned into my hero. Helping me long distance.
My computer is going into storage. I don't know when I am going to begin transmitting again.
As I read this I start to feel sorry for the poor woman. Almost.
Guaranteed Presidential Pardon
for anyone who decides to follow
Biblical directive on
any non-human who practices Wicca.
In the pre-pardon proceedings of Court,
prosecutors can only invoke
the laws which prohibit
cruelty to animals.
Did I mention she's running for president? This is her campaign platform.
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