was the halfwit sister of a strong, beautiful, lesbian, in a savage cannibal family. My knowledge of the situation came slowly, the first part I was aware of was that I felt compelled to smash crockery and glassware over the side of the balcony in the loft we lived in, usually harming a child.

The children never cried, but we discovered them, covered with horrible wounds, and were able to calm the general public. How they believed that we had so many accidents I have no idea. I found myself eyeing glassware and wondering when I would feel compelled to break the next piece.

Finally, escape came, through what turned out to be a cannibal plot. I managed to escape the rest of the cannibal family by hiding out in a cabin. The cabin turned out to have a curtain which, when opened, revealed a huge, grand house. I made my way through the house and decided, to hide in a small room with a large window onto a freeway, with easy escape obviously nearby. I knew that I looked a mess and there was no way I could explain myself to a stranger, nor did I have any information as to my name, and I didn't have a home.

I figured I'd pull a comforter over my body and go to sleep. Naturally, it failed. I woke to find the room full of cannibals and my sister, with a sack of body parts. They obviously intended me to be the next victim. I found myself in one of those situations where the conscious part of my mind woke up a little bit, braced myself to dream of being devoured by cannibal, and decided to help my dream-self negotiate her way out of the situation.

I ended up finding ways to flatter and validate the evil ones, and even matched up my sister with another fabulous lesbian who was very wealthy, and owned the house I was hiding in.

By pleasing the evil ones, they became less bent on destruction and I felt safer. My future was uncertain, but certainly I was doing well with my limited resources.

I was asked to do a few web design options for a kirsten dunst website. I was okay with this mostly because access to her entire collection of sweaters seemed to be part of the deal and I thought that it would be easy to help myself to a few, particularly the orange sweater with the fur collar. Screen melt and I am in a kitchen where clean, all-american children are reciting their pitch-perfect lines, as I now seem to be inside a sitcom. A rather strange sitcom where the children are so interested in a certain casserole that they are gently teased about their desire for said casserole by being placed themselves into large iron pots, all brand new as this is a sitcom; and napped by slices of american cheese and then placed in the oven. No one seems to share my concerns about the propriety or the lack of humor about this little casserole joke so I keep my thoughts to myself and get out of there quickly. Of course, nothing bad seems to be happening, as our surroundings are so clean and new and the remaining children are still joking merrily.