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Friday, March 19, 2004

Hey, ho, lovely Leticiaites! We're kicking it liiiive from somewhere in England (my undisclosed location), which I have now declared the People's Republic of Brielleistan, which shall be the sister nation of Leticiastan. From here, we shall conquer the world! A dildo in every home, I say!

So anyway, it took a plane, my mom's car, three trains, and a bus to get home, and I was up for a good twenty-six hours before finally crashing at my dad's Quaker National Headquarters. Seriously; this place (my undisclosed location) is Quaker City, a mansion complex in which I keep looking around to find George Fox's preserved brain, or perhaps the Quaker Central Hivemind. In any case, this place is lovely; everything is white and clean and boring, just the way I like it. Ah, Quakerness, religion of peeling paint and folding chairs.

Okay! So about the flight. I, Leticia Jeanette McKenzie, have seen my personal hell. My personal hell is as follows: I am on a plane. There are people on each side of me, attractive women that I will have to spend nine hours within breathing distance of and yet never getting to know their names. I will not be able to get out without making one of them pack up her nine-hour livelihood and stand in the aisle while I re-inflate myself and discover the joys of standing. The lights are broken, and despite the fact that I bought two Game Boy Advance games for the flight I will never get a chance to play them. And, I cannot go to sleep, because there is not enough space for me to put my head down because the kid in front is leaning back in his chair, playing HIS Game Boy Advance SP, WHICH HAS A LIGHT. It took all of my pacifist leanings not to beat his head in with a shovel. Oh, but it would have been fun. Then I would've just switched our Game Boys and hoped he wouldn't know the difference, accept his boyhood probably wouldn't have allowed him to play a pink Game Boy with sparkly star stickers all over it. I think his existence would've been negated. Poof.

(that is, a puff of smoke, not, you know, a poof)

Aaaaanyway, so the kind flight attendant with a goatee (and I deserve credit for not using my feminine charms to drag him into the bathroom to have sex with me, which would have been kind of sexy in a not-sexy kind of way. Airplane bathrooms are thrilling, in that you are peeing at 7000m in the air and could be jettisoned at any moment) let me play my Game Boy for a few hours while sitting in the coffee-making area, which is right next to the emergency exit, which gave me the thrill of playing Mario & Luigi when I could be sucked into deep space at any moment. (It also gave me the thrilling WHIRRRRRR of the world rushing past me, which drowned out any catchy music Sonic Advance 2 might have had. Sonic Advance 2, by the way, really kicks the llama's ass.) This was absolute bliss; I was given so much space that it was comparable to a bench on a bus (which might as well have been the Construct from the Matrix in comparison to the gerbil cages we were normally kept in), meaning I could actually extend my muscles and stretch for approximately half a meter without tripping the sexy flight attendants who were constantly passing me (oh yes). But it had to come to an end; one non-sexy flight attendant made me sit back in my gerbil cage and so I watched the Matrix Revolutions in Headrest-O-Vision for the rest of the flight.

To be continued with my impressions of London, based entirely on the train station, the heaping wads of advertisements taking over civilization, and the naked women. Dear Lordy the naked women. My masturbation fantasies are so tame by comparison. If you ran each and every one of my friends through the Magazine Machine you would NEVER have as many naked women as... okay, this is a dumb simile. But you get the point! Good night!

(Or, good morning, for me...)
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