Semi-Daily Scribbles

I see what you've done. How clever to turn pain and repressed memories into a cottage industry. Now what? Do you expect the same old monster mash-ups to keep the mobs from breaking down your door? Which, come to mention it, lay off the ringer, will you? There is no invitation forthcoming. You will not enter my house. Is this heart-to-heart getting through? I know you lack atria, arteries, veins, and ventricles to make the pump go tick-tock. I don't hold all that against you, but I really must hang on to my ¢¢. They're all I've got while I watch you rake in donations from your fan club. There's an easy bunch if ever there was one, but then you did handpick each and every sucker, bloodless huckster that you are.