I’m going to Denver without mom and I’m gonna smoke cigarettes. I might even smoke a cigar and drink cognac with the boys (or girls) (or girl-boys). I might drink something sexy, like a White Russian, but I don’t speak Russian. I know people who’ve been to Russia. Sarah Palin can see Russia from her toilet. In any case, I’m afraid of wolves and what they’ll do to me in Denver. Will they pull my hair? Make fun of my butt? Try to touch me appropriately? I’m gonna bring a hot poker to Denver, so that I can poke people in the butt, like Steve Fellner or Jeff Walt, both of whom I fear are rabid, or rabbits with rabies. Rascals. I hear Brent Goodman will be there too. And Maureen Seaton. And Megan C. Roth, who is not related to David Lee Roth, or the Rothenbergs. Other cool peeps like Andrew Wessels and Neil de la Flor will be there too. I hope they have teeth. I have teeth. Two feet. I have a wig that I’m gonna wear so no one knows who I am. Or was. Or will be one day.