Hi :) I am considering buying my first wig. After being blonde and bleaching the hell out of my hair, I have ended up with a very short Bob and damaged hair. I don’t feel pretty at all with short hair and I also suffer from very bad psoriasis on my scalp with very big sores and flakyness ( dont know if that is a word)
Is it possible to wear a wig with psoriasis ? I am looking at Moramode modesty range, since I am not completly invested in paying several thousands on a wig, before I know if I Can learn how to wear, glue and all..
The people I have told that I am considering wearing a wig has started laughing, apparently here in Denmark, wigs are considered only for cancer and people with alopecia..
But my idea is to wear a wig and give my hair and scalp a complete break from styling and products.. Dont know if this is silly.
Do you have any recommendations on a beginner friendly wig? I am based in Denmark and here we dont have as many options and wigshops..
Hope my english makes sense 😂

I’m not officially out as gender-fluid, but people who I’m close to already know. I’ve never been one to actually say anything about sexuality, gender, etc. unless asked. I live in a small redneck town where people are judged about everything and I’m a very sensitive person. I like having my long hair but I want to cut it short like a men’s haircut so bad. I dislike wigs a lot and refuse to wear them, i’ve been thinking about dying my hair light blue and cutting it short but I think I would regret it afterwards. I’ve gotten a short bob like haircut before and I don’t think I like it on me. Any recommendations?

Wish that they could see Bob in a wig pretending to be Dorothy Ciner? Or what he looked like in his “very expensive mask” referenced in season 2? I love that Jarecki’s recreation footage came out looking like Karl Havoc though…

Just rewatched all of these and I absolutely love them. The music, plot and writing is just 10/10!
My current favorite is the Some Like it Bot mostly because I love seeing them in a different context and the attention to detail is so good. Like seeing Bot Tina take the same little outfit (clip clop and you don’t stop) and wig to disguise herself always gets me.
Ps. Wonder Wharf is honestly another perfect Bobs Burgers episode and one of my all time favorite/best episodes. The music and even the end credits and the whole plot. Perfect. This may have been discussed before but a small bummer for me was seeing the movie and feeling like it had a similar plot. I love the movie for many reasons but as a super fan I kinda wanted to see them in a different context. I understand it was more for a mass audience to give the basic feel of what the show is about but I kinda wish they had gone a different direction. Like a silly example I think of is the OG SpongeBob movie where we see the Krusty Krab etc but then follow the whole adventure somewhere else! (Yes I know SB is a lot more popular, just think something like this for Bob B would’ve been amazing)
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So heres the thing - as of right now, ive got short white hair (bob length) with layers. ive had the same hair for like more than a year now, and the problem i have is that every time i wear a long wig, when i take it off i feel so much uglier. i feel like i suit long hair more, but one of my closest friends claims i definitely suit short, light hair the most and gets really weird when i mention id like to grow my hair out.
obviously since ive got white hair its not the healthiest as it requires powerful bleach to get to this colour, so when i was starting to grow out my hair (it would be at that awkward length just touching the shoulders), you could see it was starting to thin at the ends more and my friend made me compare it to when i had the bob, and so i ended up cutting it off to that length again. once i did she would tell me how much better it looks and how i suit it so much.
my friend has long, dark thick hair, so the complete opposite of me, and she looks reallyy good, she gets lots of compliments from people and a lot of guys like her. when i wear my dark long thick wig i feel a little weird because we already have a similar make up style, so when i wear it i feel like people who know both of us will think i am trying to copy her, which im not, i just really like how i look like with that type of hair. i have shown her how i look like in it before, and she told me that its just because its something different thats why i like it so much, and she also said that even if i grew my hair out it wouldnt look like that, because i dont have that hair type and its a wig. thing is though, when ive worn it around other people they all say i realllyy suit it and it looks really natural, it really seems like its just her. i have also told her how i feel like when i take it off, feeling like my hair is so horrible in comparison and how id look so much better if i had healthy, long hair. she compared wearing a wig to wearing false eyelashes, how natural eyelashes could never look like that so theres no point comparing them and obviously you’ll feel more bald without them it’s the same as wearing a wig.
sometimes i find myself really contemplating on whether i should dye my white hair brown, as thats my root colour, and let it grow out until its healthy. when i told her about doing that and asked for her opinion to see if she’d be supportive she said “you can do whatever you want” but then i have that fear that i will regret it because obviously the colour is more boring (i would probably make it a darker brown than my natural colour, or red) and when i do it i wont be able to go back to white hair, and also knowing my friend will think it looks worse and i made a big mistake (she wont say that but it will be obvious thats what she thinks) and as you can tell by this whole post her opinion really influences me and i care about it a lot.
back when i had my long natural hair i will say i looked quite bad, but i was younger back then and i look a loot different now, like my make up style has changed completely i look like a different person so the only way i can see how i’d look like with long hair now is through wigs and i like it a lot more than short. i also feel like having long hair is the beauty standard, so i would look better to a lot more people as well, i dont really want to post pictures of myself on here to show how a long wig looks like on me versus my real hair, but based on everything if you’ve read this far could you give me some advice?

If so what style do you have (pixi, masc short etc)
It looks like i will have to keep my hair short Because i just can't stop pulling it out when it's long. I cut it short 2 years back (short on back and sides with a few inches on top) and it stopped my pulling completely. The only places i pulled from was my eyebrows/eyelashes.
But i have now grown it out into a long bob and i can't stop pulling. I spend hours everyday at it.
Only thing is i am quite naturally masculine looking (face wise) so short hair made me look like a guy, i wasn't too bothered by that. But it didn't make me feel pretty especially when i wanted to be
I'm 23 and i kinda want to give dating ago, but I'm worried no one would want to be with me because of how masculine i would look (if i were to go to back to short hair) also got judged alot by men when i had short hair (they thought i was also trying to be a man so no one was interested in me)
I don't know what to do
Cut my hair short and stop pulling from that part of my body. But feel constantly judged, and not feel like a woman on days where i actually want to look pretty and feminine
Or keep my hair long and cause pain/discomfort everyday, and end up with bald spots so I'd have to cut my hair anyway to stop the pulling. But I'd at least feel more womanly and won't be judged for how i keep my hair, and will feel sometimes pretty
I know i shouldn't place value in myself on my hair but it's hard not to.
I do enjoy short hair through, i loved it when i had it short. Just people's judgement and the way men looked at me kinda ruined it for me. Plus i did miss looking feminine
Sorry I'm rambling, i know what's best for me. It's just sucks that my face isn't feminine enough for short hair to still look feminine on me
I have thought about getting a wig so i can still have long hair when i want it, but i don't know brand of wigs are good 😅

I had always remembered my deeply rooted envy at a girl at my old high school. Alyssa Howard, Home Room 207. It hadn't been long since I graduated there. I was in Class of '22, in a homeroom that I simply didn't fit in. It was isolating since everyone in my homeroom was in groups of friends, everyone was their own designated groups. Alyssa was in the Choir group, consisting of 8 girls. They were girls that were a part of Choir Class, an elective that made no sense why I took it. Along with Alyssa Howard, there was Brianne Becker, Fiona Figueroa, Leslie Smith, Hannah Klidford, Emma Kelly, Mandy Lake, and... Karla Reyes. Karla Reyes was one of them I knew very well. In fact she is the reason why I'm typing this out.
Karla was my childhood friend, we met in 5th grade. Her family was from around Texas, and she recently moved to this small town of Meadows Dale. I didn't have friends at that age since most kids thought I was...well weird. I didn't comprehend why I was weird to them at the time, I just simply thought I wasn't cool enough. I remember vividly that I was walking far from the rusty playground, to a hill that pretty much if going more up north, you'll be at the Centennial Park of the town.
That sunny day in 5th grade felt like it was just yesterday. I was walking up a hill, my Elsa shoes making every step feel like a chore. I sighed, looking down at my shoes, feeling embarrassed that my mom had gotten them for me. All the other kids in my grade were wearing Converse or cool sneakers, and here I was, stuck with sparkly, princess-themed shoes. I flopped down on the grassy ground, feeling like the biggest outcast in the world.
I sat there, lost in my own thoughts, I noticed a girl with dark hair and tan skin walking towards me. She looked a bit nervous, fidgeting with her hands as she approached. I recognized her from my homeroom class.
"Hey," she said, trying to sound casual. "These hills look like a pair of butt cheeks, don't they?" She giggled, and I couldn't help but laugh too.
I signed back to her, using my hands to mimic the shape of hills and then making a silly face to show that, yes, they did look like butt cheeks. Karla laughed, and I was surprised. Not many people in my class knew sign language, and it was nice to have someone to communicate with in my own way.
"Do you know sign language?" I signed, curiosity getting the better of me.
Karla nodded, her dark hair bobbing up and down. "Yeah, my aunt was born deaf, so I learned to communicate with her."
I signed back, asking her if she thought it was cool that I knew sign language too.
Karla grinned. "Yeah, that's really cool! I'm Karla, by the way."
“Lily,” I signed my name, and Karla sat down next to me on the grass. We chatted for the rest of recess, discovering that we had a lot in common. We both loved DreamWorks movies better than Disney, and our favorite music group was Fifth Harmony. I was obsessed with them back then, and Karla was too. We both wanted to be like Camila Cabello when we grew up.
From that day on, Karla and I were inseparable. We'd sit together at lunch, partner up for group projects, and even started a Fifth Harmony fan club in our class. Karla would always lend me an earbud so we could jam out to our favorite songs together. Our friendship was effortless, and I felt like I'd finally found someone who understood me.
It was perfect until the start of Freshman year of Meadows Dale High School. I held my scheduler tightly in my hands as I climbed the stairs to the kitchen, my stomach twisted in knots. My heart sank as I scanned the pages, taking in the fact that most of my classes were designated for students with special educational needs. Homeroom and choir were the only exceptions.
I made my way to the living room where my mom was seated, tears brimming in my eyes. "Mom, why do I have to take these classes?" I signed, frustration etched on my features. "I don't need this kind of help. I can handle regular classes just fine."
My mom looked at the schedule, her expression sympathetic. "I know you don't seem to need help, sweetie, but the school requires you to take these classes. It's just protocol."
I sighed, feeling a wave of frustration wash over me. "I'm going to feel like even more of a freak than I already do," I gestured angrily, trying to hold back tears.
From the living room doorway, my father's deep voice cut through the silence. His ears perked up from the conversation. "Hey, kiddo, what's going on?" he asked, his voice gentle.
I signed again, rapidly gesturing my fingers "I don't want to take Special ED classes, Dad. I can do normal classes. I can hear the teachers very well!"
My dad walked over to us, his eyes scanning the schedule. "I know it's tough, Lily, but the school is just trying to help. Plus, You're not a freak. Not in our eyes, anyway. If anybody gives you trouble, I'll personally see to it that they regret it." His tone was lighthearted, but his meaning was clear. He was the sheriff, after all, and his reputation preceded him.
I rolled my eyes, signing, "Dad, please. You're only making things worse."
Ignoring my pleas, he ruffled my hair affectionately before leaving the room. I retreated to my bedroom, collapsing onto my bed in a heap of tears. The night passed in a blur, and soon enough, it was time for me to wake up and face another day.
I woke up to the sound of my dad calling me from downstairs. "Lily, time to get up! First day of school!" I groggily got out of bed, still feeling the emotional hangover from the night before.
My dad drove me to school in his police cruiser, which only added to my embarrassment. I remembered feeling weird being in the cruiser, with its flashing lights and sirens. As we pulled up to the school, my dad turned to me and said, "No matter what, you'll always have me and Mom, okay? We love you, and we're proud of you."
He hugged me tight, and I felt a lump in my throat again. I nodded, trying to hold back tears, and got out of the car. Finally me into the world of Meadows Dale High School.
The enormity of the building hit me hard as I stepped inside. The halls were bustling with activity, and the noise level was overwhelming. The classes flew by, and I couldn't help but feel like my Special ED classes were too easy for me. The teacher aides were sweet, but they were busy helping other students, leaving me to feel like I was just going through the motions.
As I walked out of my Literature class, I noticed a boy sitting alone next to a locker. He had ginger hair and was a bit overweight, and he was using a big headset to listen to music. There was something about him that drew me in, so I walked over to say hi.
He removed his headphones, looking up at me with a nervous smile. "Hi," he said, his voice a little shaky.
I signed back, "Hi."
He laughed, a little awkwardly. "Sorry if I'm a bit awkward. I'm not really used to talking to people."
I signed, "You're not awkward at all."
He smiled, looking relieved. "Thanks. I'm Matt Weston."
I nodded, signing, "I'm Lily."
Matt's eyes lit up. "Sweet. What's your homeroom?"
"207."
Matt's face brightened up. "No way, that's my homeroom too!"
I smiled, feeling a sense of excitement. "That's amazing!"
Matt stood up, walking towards a bookshelf. "Homeroom's next class. Want to walk with me?"
I nodded, following him as the bell rang. We exited the class, and suddenly we were swept up in a sea of students pushing and shoving to get to their next class.
We finally arrived at class 207, which was already filled with students. I saw Alyssa sitting in the back with her group of friends, looking like a star athlete. Matt went to sit in the front seat, and I sat next to him.
Just as we were settling in, one of the guys from Jr high football, Ryan Peterson, hit a football at Matt, saying, "Can't believe we got 'Butterball' in our class."
Matt rolled his eyes, saying, "At least I don't have a father who cheats and spreads gonorrhea."
Ryan's friend, Warren, said, "Ohhh sick burn,"
Ryan huffed, whispering to Matt, "Just because you're special doesn't mean everybody likes you."
I got mad, flipping Ryan the finger, which made him laugh. "You're lucky I ain't telling the teacher, because I don't want any issues with your old man!" Ryan walked away with Warren, leaving me feeling annoyed.
The homeroom teacher arrived, a young guy in his 20s with cedar brown hair and a pair of glasses. "Hello Students! Like that you are all sitting in neatly placed groups. My name's Mr. James and I'll be your homeroom teacher for Freshmen till Senior Year. Hope you excited as I am!"
Just as he was about to start writing on the white board, a beautifully dressed Karla emerged late, looking older and more mature with a lot of makeup on. I looked up, happy to see her, only for her to not notice me and sit down next to Alyssa's group.
Matt whispered to me, "Do you know that girl?"
I signed, "No."
Matt nodded, looking curious. "She looks familiar, but I don't know her name. Was it Kayla or Karly?"
"It's Karla," I shrugged, feeling a pang of disappointment. It seemed like Karla had moved on to a new group of friends, leaving me behind. I don't know how this change happened, since Karla and I went on a trip to Orlando, Florida, three weeks ago. I thought we had the best of our life's during that trip.
I was stumped, watching from afar as Karla chatted with Alyssa and her friends. I felt a twinge of jealousy and sadness as I realized how easily Karla had seemingly moved on and found a new group to hang out with. I mean, I thought we were best friends. It felt like Alyssa had stolen her from me.
I turned my attention elsewhere, not wanting to dwell on it. That's when I noticed a teenage boy sitting alone a few rows in front of me. He had jet black hair and there was something familiar about him, although I couldn't quite place it. I wondered who he was and why he was sitting alone.
"Hey, Lily," Matt said, following my gaze. "Do you know that guy? He looks kind of like a mini Detective Loomis."
I shook my head, signing that I had no idea who he was, but now I was curious too. Detective Loomis had been a family friend for years, and I knew he had a son, but I hadn't seen him in a while.
Matt chuckled nervously and waved his hand as if to dismiss his own question. "Just wondering. He kind of looks like him, that's all."
Just then, the boy turned around in his seat and our eyes met. He raised an eyebrow, clearly having overheard our conversation. "Yeah, that's my dad," he said, a hint of challenge in his voice. "Why?"
Matt shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly not expecting such a direct response. "Oh, um, no reason. Just curious, that's all."
The boy, Brandon Loomis, as I now knew him to be, nodded slowly, as if accepting Matt's explanation. Then, to my surprise, he introduced himself with a small smile. "Brandon Loomis. And you are...?"
"Lily Anderson. Nice to meet you, Brandon."
“I'm Matt by the way,” Matt chimed in.
A flash of something—was it pain?—crossed Brandon's face, but it was quickly replaced with a smile. "Nice to meet you both. Your dad's a good man, Lily. He helped me out a lot."
I could only imagine what Brandon had been through. I remembered hearing snippets about his kidnapping a while back, but I had no idea what he must have endured. No wonder he hadn't been in school until now.
"Well, I hope the rest of the year goes well for you," I signed sincerely.
Brandon smiled at me again, and I felt a warm glow spread through my chest. "Thanks, Lily. I hope so too."
As the homeroom continued, Mr. James had us all introduce ourselves and played some icebreaker games to help us get to know each other better. It was actually kind of fun, and it took my mind off Karla and her new friends for a while.
One of the things we had to do was share a fun fact about ourselves. When it was Matt's turn, he revealed that he was the son of Mayor Weston and a great friend of my dad's. No wonder he seemed so familiar! I knew my dad would be thrilled to hear that Matt and I had become friends.
Before I knew it, the homeroom was over, and Matt, Brandon, and I headed out into the hallway together. I was relieved to find out that we all had B lunch, so I wouldn't have to eat alone.
"So, where do you guys usually eat?" Brandon asked as we made our way down the crowded hallway.
"I don't know about Lily, but I usually just grab something from the cafeteria and eat outside," Matt replied.
I signed, "That sounds good to me. I like being outdoors."
Brandon nodded. "Yeah, me too. Although, I usually eat my lunch at Dillard's Diner since I work there after school. You guys should come by sometime. The food's pretty great."
"Definitely!" Matt said enthusiastically. "I love diner food. And hey, maybe we can even help you out sometime if you're short-staffed."
Brandon laughed. "Sure, why not? It can get pretty crazy on the weekends, so any extra hands would be appreciated."
As we made our way to the cafeteria, Matt started talking about his favorite band, Deftones. I had to admit, their music was a little too heavy for my tastes, but Matt was so passionate about it that I found myself getting drawn in.
"You know, you should check out their album 'White Pony,'" Matt said. "It's a classic. My dad actually introduced me to them, and I've been hooked ever since."
I signed with a smile, "My dad's always trying to get me into his favorite bands too. He's a big fan of The Beatles and Queen."
"Oh, those are classics," Brandon chimed in. "My dad's more of a country music guy, but I've definitely grown to appreciate some of the older stuff."
While we ate lunch, I pulled out my sketchbook and started drawing, something I often did when I was feeling nervous or needed a distraction. Matt and Brandon were curious and asked to see my drawings. I showed them some of my anime-style sketches, and they both complimented my work.
"Wow, Lily, these are amazing!" Matt exclaimed. "You're gonna be like Picasso one day."
I signed, feeling my face heat up with embarrassment. "Thanks, Matt. That's really nice of you to say."
Brandon nodded in agreement. "Seriously, you're really talented. I wish I could draw like that."
As lunch came to an end, Matt and Brandon suggested that they walk me to my next class. I was surprised but pleased that they wanted to stick together. My next class was Choir, and thankfully, it was just down the hall.
"So, Lily, do you sing?" Brandon asked as we walked.
I signed, feeling a little self-conscious. "A little. I mean, I really want to sing, but I'm not sure I'm any good."
"Don't be shy, Lily," Matt said with a grin. "I bet you have a great voice."
I felt my face flush again, but I was glad that Matt and Brandon seemed so supportive. As we reached the choir room, I took a deep breath and prepared myself for whatever the class might bring. I slowly pushed open the door to the choir room, unsure of what to expect. The room was dark, but as my eyes adjusted, I could make out the outlines of rows of chairs facing a small stage. The room had a strange beauty to it, with its blue and white color scheme and intricate design carvings. I made my way to an empty chair near the exit, wanting to keep a low profile.
Before long, a flood of girls began to pour into the room, chattering and laughing. I recognized many of them from the Meadows Dale Advanced Academic Program. My heart sank a little as I spotted Brianne Becker, one of the most popular girls in school, deep in conversation with Meg Peterson. They were giggling about some guy they both apparently liked. Brianne's eyes suddenly landed on me, and her smile faded. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, feeling self-conscious under her gaze.
Alyssa entered the room, and the atmosphere seemed to brighten. Brianne's face lit up, and she rushed over to give Alyssa a hug. "I'm so happy you're in this class!" she exclaimed. Alyssa smiled back, her warm hazel eyes shining. I felt a small sense of relief seeing her friendly face.
Following Alyssa were Mandy, Fiona, Leslie, Hannah, Emma, and Karla. They all seemed to be deep in their own conversations, and I felt even more alone. Karla was telling Fiona about getting her nails done, and Fiona was expressing her dislike for acrylics. I stood up and waved at Karla, trying to get her attention. She had been one of my few friends in middle school, but something had changed between us lately.
Alyssa, however, made her way over to me and offered a genuine greeting. "Hi, Lily! It's so great to see you in this class," she said, her eyes sparkling with sincerity. I felt a small smile tug at my lips. At least there was one person here who didn't seem to mind my presence.
Entering through the red velvety curtains of the stage, a woman with brunette hair, who looked to be in her early 40s, emerged from behind the stage. She had an air of enthusiasm about her as she introduced herself as Mrs. Becker, Brianne's mother. I remembered hearing that they were related, and at the time, I had thought it was sweet that a mother and daughter shared the same class.
Mrs. Becker instructed us all to take our seats and explained that this class was for girls only. She then asked each of us to come up on stage and recite the Do-Mi-Re-Fa-So syllables so that she could group us into sections of eight. My heart sank as I realized I would have to sing in front of everyone.
One by one, Mrs. Becker called each girl up to the stage. Some of the girls had okay voices, while others were truly talented. Then it was Brianne's turn. Her voice was like an angel's, a beautiful soprano that filled the room. Fiona and Emma also impressed me with their deep, rich alto voices. Mandy, Leslie, and Hannah had high-pitched, yet well-controlled voices that blended beautifully.
Alyssa and Karla were the last to go, and they both had perfect voices. Alyssa's voice was like honey, smooth and warm. But it was Karla who really stood out. She sounded like a pop idol, her voice clear and powerful. I found myself getting lost in the music, forgetting my worries for a moment.
Then Mrs. Becker called my name, and my heart sank. I nervously made my way up the stairs to the stage, my hands trembling at my sides. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. As I opened my mouth to sing, an awful, screeching noise escaped. My throat instantly sting, as the aftertaste of metallic overwhelmed my mouth. It was so bad that Mrs. Becker immediately cut me off.
"Why are you in this class, Lily?" she asked, a hint of annoyance in her voice.
I looked at her sadly and signed, "I don't know. I didn't choose this class."
Mrs. Becker softened a little, seeing my dejected expression. "Well, you better discuss these matters with a counselor about switching, because there are better candidates out there who want a spot in this class," she said bluntly.
I felt my cheeks burn with embarrassment as I made my way back to my seat at the very back of the room. I could feel the eyes of the other girls on me, and I heard their stifled laughter. Karla's laughter rang out the loudest, stabbing me like a knife. Alyssa was the only one who didn't join in, her face a mask of disappointment. I wasn't sure if she was disappointed in me or in the other girls' behavior.
It was next week, I got out of my algebra class heading towards the office. I had to wait till Monday, since during the first few days, my assigned counselor was not available. I was already antsy of finally getting out of that Choir class, I couldn’t deal another day with a class I clearly didn’t fit in. My schedule in my hand, I pulled the door open, being greeted by the smell of freshly baked chocolate chip muffins. Nervousness ran through me, wondering what type of counselor Dr. Wells would be.
The door was wide agape, leading me into the source of that muffin smell. Sitting there on a working desk, was a man typing on his laptop. He looked a bit exhausted, almost to the point that he slumped on his chair. Tilting my head, I nudged on his shoulders, trying to shake him awake. I couldn’t help but feel warmth radiating in my cheeks.
“Huh? Oh, hello there Lily. What brings you here?” Dr. Wells jolted up, probably noticing how close I was to his face. I backed away, sitting down on a red couch next to him.
“I want to change classes please.”
Mr. Wells nodded off, scooting his chair back towards his mahogany desk. He searched up my schedule, turning his laptop to my view. “Oh, I see. In what class do you want to change?”
I nervously let out a breath, as I finally let out what emotions I was holding. “I don’t know why you assigned me Choir, but everyone in that class hates me. I really need that class changed, Dr. Wells.”
I saw my counselor's lip repeatedly twitched a bit, before he gathered his composure. Dr. Wells looked up from his desk, his kind face softening as he saw me. "Lily, I want to apologize profusely for putting you in that situation."
I signed, feeling a little comforted by his words. "It's okay. I did want to be in that class, but I just... I felt so out of place with all the other girls laughing at me."
Dr. Wells sighed and rubbed his temple. "I'm truly sorry, Lily. I was told you loved music and thought you would enjoy the class. But it's clear that it wasn't a good fit. Do you have another class in mind that you'd like to take instead?"
I nodded and signed, "Art class. I heard my friend Brandon is taking that, and I've always loved drawing."
Dr. Wells typed something into his laptop. “Consider it done. I'll have the change processed by tomorrow, if not sooner. In the meantime, help yourself to a muffin. The library teacher made them for me, and they're delicious."
I smiled and took one of the muffins, taking a bite. "Are you and the library teacher... a thing?" I asked, feeling a little bold.
Dr. Wells laughed, a deep, hearty sound that filled the room. "No, no, nothing like that. Just colleagues. She knows I have a sweet tooth, so she often shares her baking creations with me."
I felt a wave of relief wash over me. It was probably one of the few times I'd developed a crush on someone, and as usual, it was harmless and something I'd get over quickly. Dr. Wells was one of those crushes indeed. I stood up from my chair, feeling much better than when I arrived. "Well, thank you, Dr. Wells. I better head to class soon."
Dr. Wells smiled and placed a hand on my shoulder. "Of course, Lily. And remember, if you ever need someone to chat with, my door is always open."
Later that day, during lunch, I made my way to our usual table with Brandon and Matt. They were already deep in conversation about their morning classes.
"PE is a nightmare," Matt was saying. "All the athletes make fun of me because I'm not as fast or strong as they are. It's frustrating."
Brandon nodded sympathetically. "I heard you beat Ryan on the pacer test, though. That's impressive."
Matt shrugged, taking a bite of his apple. "It was just luck, honestly. Ryan got too cocky and sprained his knee on the seventy-ninth lap. I just kept a steady pace.”
I signed to Matt, "You should still be proud. I bet your dad was happy."
Matt smiled. "He was. It's not every day I get to impress him, especially when it comes to sports. You know how Mayor Weston was a star athlete back in his day."
I laughed, and then took a bite of my sandwich. "Speaking of impressing people, I have some news. I'm switching out of choir class and into art elective. Hopefully, I'll be in the same class as you, Brandon."
Brandon's face lit up. "That's great! I'm so glad you'll be joining us. Art class is a lot of fun.”
Matt nodded in agreement. "I'm happy for you, Lily. But why are you leaving Choir? I thought you loved singing."
My smile faltered, and I looked down at my lap. "It's just... it's not the right fit for me," I signed.
Matt frowned, chewing on his apple. "Is Mrs. Becker too mean? I've heard she can be hard on students who aren't part of the popular crowd."
"No fair," I signed, my eyes pleading with him to understand.
Brandon nodded. "It really isn't fair, Matt. That's why I prefer to keep a low profile. Popularity contests aren't worth the hassle.”
Just then, I felt a tap on my shoulder, and I turned to see Karla standing there, a sad look on her face. "Lily, can I talk to you?" she asked, her voice soft and hesitant.
I hesitated, signing, "Why?”
With a strand of hair tucked behind her ear, she leaned in and whispered, "I want to talk to you in private."
I glanced at Matt and Brandon, signing, "I'll be back, okay?"
Matt nodded, his eyes curious. "We'll be here. Take your time."
I followed Karla to the girl's bathroom, my heart pounding in my chest. I wasn't sure what this was about, but I sensed it was important to her. Once we were inside, Karla pulled out a juul vape from her pocket and took a hit. The sweet smell of watermelon filled the air.
"Want a hit?" she offered, holding it out to me.
I was curious, so I signed, "Sure."
I took a cautious drag, expecting to choke, but surprisingly, I didn't. Karla laughed, "I guess you already know how to smoke. Not so innocent after all, huh?"
I rolled my eyes. "I learned from watching Effy in Skins. It's not like I've never seen it before."
Karla laughed again, a genuine sound that seemed to break through the tension between us. "Look, Lily, I wanted to apologize for what happened in the choir. I shouldn't have laughed. It was mean, and I'm sorry."
I stayed silent, unsure of how to respond. A part of me wanted to accept her apology, but another part was still hurt by her earlier behavior. Before I could say anything, Karla cut in, "I know it doesn't make up for it, but I want to make it up to you. How about I take you to the skating rink this evening? It's one of our favorite places, remember?"
I hesitated, considering her offer. Finally, I signed, "Okay, I guess."
Karla's face lit up, and she gave me a quick hug. "Great! I'll text you the details. See you later, okay?" And with that, she left the bathroom, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I walked back to the cafeteria, my mind racing. Matt rushed over to me, his eyes full of questions. "How did it go? What did she want?" he asked.
"It went okay," I replied, signing as I continued. "Karla invited me to the skating rink this evening."
Brandon's eyebrows furrowed. "I don't know, Lily. Karla hangs out with those choir girls. I don't think we can trust her, especially after what happened."
I bit my lip, understanding his concern. "What if I sneak you and Matt in too? That way, if anything goes south, we'll be together."
Matt's eyes lit up. "That's a brilliant idea! I'm in."
A small smile tugged at my lips. "It's settled, then. We're going skating."
That afternoon, I waited on the porch for Karla to pick me up. The sun was starting to set, casting a warm glow over everything. My dad emerged from the house, dressed in his sheriff's uniform. "Why are you wearing your uniform on your day off?" I asked, curious.
He chuckled, patting my back. "Got called into work. Something strange is going on. Don't worry, I'll be fine."
I signed, "Be safe, Dad."
“I will, honey. Have fun with Karla, okay.” He smiled and gave me a thumbs-up before heading off. A minute later, a black Chevy pulled up, and I recognized it as Mrs. Becker's car. Karla leaned out the window and waved me over.
I took a deep breath and climbed into the back seat. Besides Karla, there were a few other girls from the choir class—Mandy, Hannah, Emma, Leslie, Fiona, and Brianne. Alyssa was noticeably absent.
Noticing my curious glance, Karla explained, "Alyssa had track practice. She couldn't make it."
I signed, "That's nice."
Brianne turned to Mrs. Becker and asked, "Can we get some McDonald's shakes? Please?"
Mrs. Becker smiled. "Of course, sweetie. Does anyone else want one?"
Everyone nodded eagerly, and Mrs. Becker placed an order for nine shakes. Emma and Leslie wanted vanilla, Brianne wanted the seasonal spice pumpkin flavor, Hannah and Fiona requested strawberry, Karla and Mandy chose chocolate, and Mrs. Becker asked about my preference.
"Mint, please," I said, making a gesture of a mint leaf.
Mrs. Becker smiled. "Mint it is. Anything for my girls."
I felt a warm glow spread through me. Maybe, just maybe, they were starting to like me. I took a long sip of my mint shake, savoring the cool, refreshing taste.
"Chocolate is definitely the best flavor," Mandy declared, taking a sip from her own shake. "Nothing beats the classic."
"Pumpkin spice is where it's at," Brianne interjected, taking a sip of her pumpkin spice shake. "It's got that perfect blend of sweet and spicy. It's like autumn in a bite."
"Are you kidding?" Mandy scoffed. "Chocolate is timeless. It's the ultimate comfort food. Pumpkin spice is just a fad.”
"Oh c'mon! Pumpkin spice is leagues better," Brianne retorted. "It's a limited edition for a reason."
The other girls joined in, each defending their favorite flavor. I snickered at their playful bickering, feeling a sense of warmth despite the earlier tension.
About ten minutes later, Mrs. Becker pulled into the parking lot of a magenta-colored building. The girls piled out of the car, and I followed them inside, curious about our destination. Mrs. Becker turned to Brianne and said, "I'll pick you girls up at 8 pm sharp. I need to head home and take care of your little sister."
Brianne gave her mom a quick hug and yelled out, "Okay! Love you, mom!" Then she joined the choir group, whispering something in Karla's ear that made her smile in an unsettling way.
Karla walked over to me and whispered, "Hey, Lily, I want to take you to our hiding spot. It's been a while since we hung out there."
I brightened at the idea, signing, "I've missed that place. We used to act like it was our studio booth."
“Uh-huh,” Karla led me to an abandoned janitor's closet that was blocked off with a "Do Not Enter" sign. She opened the door, and I slid inside, feeling a rush of nostalgia. I slid inside the small, dimly lit closet and sat criss-cross on the floor, my heart racing with anticipation. Karla joined me, and for a moment, we just sat there, our knees touching, the silence comfortable between us.
"I've missed you, Lily," Karla signed, her expression softening.
"I've missed you too," I signed back, my heart warming at the sentiment. "It feels like it's been ages since we really talked." I looked down, my smile fading slightly. "I've missed the old Karla. The one who was always on my side, no matter what."
Karla furrowed her eyebrows, her face a mask of confusion. "What do you mean? I haven't changed, Lily. I've just matured."
I scoffed, shaking my head. "Matured? Making fun of someone less popular than you isn't mature, Karla. It's just mean spirited."
Her eyes widened at my words, and I could see the hurt flash across her face. "I haven't been making fun of you, Lily. I—"
"Yes, you have," I interrupted, my anger bubbling to the surface. "I know exactly what you and your new friends have been trying to do. You've been pretending I don't exist, like I'm not even worth acknowledging.”
Karla's face contorted with frustration. "That's not true, Lily! You always have to make everything about your disability. If anyone's changed, it's you. You used to be so happy, always laughing and joking around. Now, you just cry and complain when things don't go your way."
I signed angrily, my hands moving frantically. "How can you say that, Karla? I don't mind if you want to be more popular, but you're acting like you don't even know me. You're trying to pretend we're not friends."
Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice shook. "Maybe I don't want to be friends with you anymore, Lily. Maybe you're too held up in the past, too stuck in your own little world. You're a sad, pathetic sap, and I—"
Before she could finish her sentence, I punched her squarely in the face. The force of the blow knocked her back, and she stumbled, her hand flying to her nose.
"I wish I'd never met you, Karla!" I angrily figured my fingers around, my breathing being audible in the small space. "I wish you'd never been my friend! I wouldn't care if you dropped dead right now!"
Karla's eyes widened in shock, and tears began to stream down her face. Without another word, she turned and ran out of the janitor's closet, leaving me alone in the dimly lit space. I trembled as I crouched down in the corner, my heart pounding in my chest. I had never hit anyone before, and now I wished I could take it back. It was rather immature of me to end that way with Karla. Especially when this was the last memory I had of her alive.
Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream pierced the silence, freezing me in place. It was Karla. My eyes widened in horror as I realized what I had done. I rose to my feet and ran out of the closet, my heart pounding in my chest. As I turned the corner, I came face to face with a masked man. He was tall and imposing, his mask was painted like a 1940s woman with green eyeshadow, vibrant red blush, and blood-red lips. His copper-blonde wig fell in sleek waves, contrasting with his all-black suit.
The man walked slowly towards me, his gloved hand reaching out. I kicked him in the abdomen, my fear fueling my strength. But he was too strong. He grabbed me by the waist, his gloved finger pressing against my lips.
"My little flower, I am so happy to see you." he whispered, his voice deep and gravelly.
Before I could scream or struggle, he covered my mouth with a rag. It took a while for the chloroform to finally take effect, as I remembered my last thoughts were about Karla. Sometimes I wished this encounter was just an elaborate prank played by Brianne. However it is never the case.
When I woke up, I woke up to the sound of a girl's voice, soft and melodic. My eyes felt heavy, my body sluggish as I tried to lift my head. The singing was familiar, reminding me of Karla. My heart stirred at the memory of my friend, and I tried to shake off the grogginess that clouded my mind.As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I realized I was restrained to a bed, my wrists and ankles bound. Panic surged through me, and I struggled against my bonds, my heart racing.
The singing continued, and I finally located the source—a television mounted on the wall across the room. My eyes widened as I recognized the singer. It was Karla, her face bruised and beaten, her eyes closed as she sang "Once Upon a December" from the animated movie "Anastasia." Her voice was shaky but serene, and tears pricked my eyes as I watched her performance.
I opened my mouth to scream, but only a weakened screech escaped my throat. I tugged at my restraints, desperation fueling my strength. I had to get out of here. I had to help Karla.
Catching me off guard, the door swung open, and the masked man from my encounter at the janitor's closet stepped into the room. My heart sank at the sight of him, and I shrunk back against the bed, my breath coming in short gasps.He carried a plate of applesauce, his gloved hands setting it down on a table by the bed. "Good morning, my little flower," he said, his voice deep and distorted by the mask. "Your friend has a lovely voice," he remarked. "Have you ever wanted to sing like that?”
I shook my head, my eyes never leaving his face. I mouthed the words, "Let her go.”
The Masked Man smiled sadly. "Your friend has been let go. Don't worry, she's no longer suffering.”
I wanted to scream, to demand that he release me, but my voice failed me. The masked man approached the bed, his eyes cold and unfeeling. He picked up the spoon and dipped it into the applesauce, then brought it to my mouth.
"Open up, sweetie," he cooed. "You need to keep up your strength."
I turned my head away, my body rigid with fear. I didn't want his help, I didn't want anything to do with him.
"Now, now, none of that," he chided, his gloved hand gently tilting my chin back towards him. "You need to eat. And one day, my little flower, you will sing too. And it will be the most beautiful voice anyone has ever heard."
Tears slipped down my cheeks as he forced the spoon into my mouth, the applesauce tasting bitter on my tongue. I choked down the food, my throat constricting with fear and anger.
The masked man set the plate down and pulled me into a tight embrace, his gloved hands stroking my hair. "Shh, my little flower. Everything will be alright. I'm here to take care of you."
I sobbed into his chest, my body shaking with grief and terror. I had no idea where I was, no concept of how much time had passed since I had been taken. All I knew was that Karla was in danger, and I was powerless to help her. The masked man held me until my sobs subsided, then gently laid me back down on the bed. "Rest now. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow."
With that, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I closed my eyes, my mind reeling. The next time I woke, it was to the sound of my mother's sobs. I blinked groggily, my vision blurry as I tried to focus. I was in a hospital room, my mother sitting by my bedside, her face wet with tears. Matt and Brandon, my closest friends, were also there, their faces etched with concern.
"Mom?" I raised one of my hands, my fingers weak and stiff.
My mother's head snapped up, and she rushed to my side, her hands grasping mine. "Lily, oh, Lily, you're awake!" She smiled through her tears, her voice shaking. "I thought I'd lost you.”
I placed my palm to touch her cheek, my throat too dry to speak. Matt and Brandon stood by silently, their eyes filled with relief.
I then asked the big question, signing, "What... happened?"
Matt nervously stuttered, "We... We found you inside an old shed near the skating rink. You were... you were unconscious, and we called for help right away."
Brandon added, "Before that, you were missing for roughly 33 hours. We searched everywhere for you.” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, unable to meet my gaze.
"You're safe now, Lily," my mother said, stroking my hair. "That's all that matters. There's nothing to worry about anymore."
I shook my head, my eyes flying open. Where was Karla? I signed, "Where's Karla?”
My mother's face crumpled, and fresh tears slid down her cheeks. "She's... she's still missing, Lily. We don't know where she is."
I closed my eyes, the weight of my guilt crushing me. If I hadn't fought with Karla, none of this would have happened. It was my fault she was still out there, alone and in danger.
The days turned into weeks, and Karla remained missing. The police conducted an extensive search, but there were no leads, no clues as to her whereabouts. I blamed myself, replaying the events of that fateful day over and over in my mind.Three weeks after my rescue, the news channel delivered a devastating blow. Karla Reyes, aged 15, had been found dead, her body buried near the Yellow Rock River. She had suffered multiple bone fractures, and the unsettling detail—she had been missing her vocal cords and larynx.
I recalled the day vividly, the sun shining brightly through my hospital window as the news anchor delivered the grim update. I had broken down, sobbing uncontrollably, the reality of what had happened hitting me like a ton of bricks. I remember wanting to just die, to pay for what I have done. If I hadn't had my friends Matt and Brandon, I wouldn't have been alive writing this. And yet, I never told anyone about The Masked Man or what had transpired that day—until now. Sometimes I wonder if Karla could hear my prayers, wishing that she deserved better than this, and I'm sorry for causing her death. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what I needed to say next.
Karla Reyes may have been the first victim, but she certainly wasn't the last. There were 7 more Choirs Girls left.

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PLAYBOY Interview With Conan O'Brien Interview by Kevin Cook For Playboy Magazine February 1998
A candid conversation with the preppie prince of "Late Night" about his rocky start, his show's secret one-day cancellation and how David Letterman saved the day.
He was polite. He was funny. He gave us a communicable disease.
At 34 Conan O'Brien is hotter than the fever he was running when we met in his private domain above the "Late Night" sound stage. A gangly freckle-faced ex-high school geek he is "one of TV's hottest properties" according to "People" magazine. The host of "Late Night With Conan O'Brien" has become his generation's king of comedy.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. Congested too, but O'Brien has far more to worry about than his head cold. A perfectionist who broods over one bad minute in an otherwise perfect hour of TV, he worries he might be anhedonic, "I have trouble with success," he says, "I was raised to believe that if something good happens something bad is coming." Sure things look good now "Rolling Stone" calls "Late Night" "the hottest comedy show on TV." Ratings are better than ever, particularly among 18- to 34-year-olds, the viewers advertisers crave.
But O'Brien only works harder. Despite his illness he taped two shows in 26 hours on three hours' sleep. He smoothly interviewed Elton John then burst into coughing fits during commercials. Later in his crammed corner office overlooking Manhattan traffic Conan the Cool gulped Dayquil gel caps. He coughed spewing microbes.
"Sorry, sorry," he said. Of course O'Brien can't complain. He came seriously close to falling to being banished behind the scenes as just another failed talk show host.
At his first "Late Night" press conference he corrected a reporter who called him a relative unknown, "Sir I am a complete unknown," he said. That line got a laugh, but soon O'Brien looked doomed. His September 13, 1993 debut began with O'Brien in his dressing room preparing to hang himself only to be interrupted by the start of his show. Before long his career was hanging by a thread. Ratings were terrible. Critics hated the show. Tom Shales of "The Washington Post" called it as "lifeless and messy as roadkill." Shales said O'Brien should quit.
Network officials held urgent meetings discussing the Conan O'Brien debacle. Should they fire him? How should they explain their mistake?
In the end of course he turned it around. The network hung with him long enough for the ratings to improve and the host of the cooler-than-ever "Late Night" now defines comedy's cutting edge just as Letterman did ten years ago.
Even Shales loves "Late Night" these days. He calls O'Brien's turnaround "one of the most amazing transformations in television history."
O'Brien was born on April 18, 1963 in Brookline, Massachusetts. His father, a doctor, is a professor at Harvard Medical School. His mother, a lawyer, is a partner at an elite Boston Law firm. Conan, the third of six children became a lector at church and a misfit at school. Tall and goofy, bedeviled with acne, he tried to impress girls with jokes. That plan usually bombed, but O'Brien eventually found his niche at Harvard where he won the presidency of the "Harvard Lampoon" in 1983 and again in 1984 - the first two-time "Lampoon" president since humorist Robert Benchley held the honor 85 years ago.
After graduating magna cum laude with a double major in literature and American history he turned pro. Writing for HBO's "Not Necessarily The News." O'Brien was earning $100,000 a year before his 24th birthday. But writing was never enough.
He honed his performance skills with the Groundlings, a Los Angeles improv group. There he worked with his onetime girlfriend Lisa Kudrow, now starring on "Friends." But Conan was not such a standout. In 1988 he landed a job at "Saturday Night Live" - but as a writer, not as on-air talent. In almost four years on the show O'Brien made only fleeting appearances, usually as a crowd member or security guard. His writing was more memorable. He wrote (or co-wrote) Tom hanks' "Mr Short-Term Memory" skits as well as the "pump you up" infosatire of Hanz and Franz and the nude beach sketch in which Matthew Broderick and "SNL" members played nudists admiring one another's penises. With dozens of mentions of the word that hit was the most penis-heavy moment in TV history. It helped O'Brien win an Emmy for comedy writing.
In 1991 he quit "SNL" and moved on to "The Simpsons" where he worked for two years. His urge to perform came out in wall-bouncing antics in writers' meetings. "Conan makes you fall out of your chair" said "Simpsons" creator Matt Groening. O'Brien's yen to act out was so strong that he spurned Fox's reported seven-figure offer to continue as a writer. He was driving for the spotlight.
By then David Letterman had announced he was turning shin - leaving NBC taking his ton-rated act to CBS. Suddenly NBC was up a creek without a host. The network turned to Lorne Michaels, O'Brien's "Saturday Night Live" boss. Michaels enlisted Conan's help in the host search planning to use him in a behind-the-scenes job. But when Garry Shandling, Dana Carvey and almost every other star turned down the chore of following Letterman, Michaels finally listened to Conan's crazy suggestion, "Let me do it!" Michaels persuaded the network to entrust it's 12:30 slot which Letterman had turned into a gold mine to an untested wiseass from Harvard.
O'Brien was working on one of his last "Simpsons" episodes when he got the news. He turned "paler than usual," Groening recalled. The Conan moseyed back to where the other writers were working, "I'll come back with the Homer Simspon joke later. I have to go replace Letterman," he said.
NBC executives now get credit for their foresight during those dark days of 1993 and 1994. They snared the axe and now reap the multimillion-dollar spoils of that decision. In fact, the story is not so simple. We sent Contributing Editor Kevin Cook to unravel the tale of O'Brien's survival, which he tells here for the first time. Cook reports:
"His office is chock-full of significa. There's a three-foot plastic pickle the Letterman staff left behind in 1993 - perhaps to suggest what a predicament he was in. There's a copy of Jack Paar's 'I Kid You Not' and a coffee-table book called 'Saturday Night Live: The First 20 Years.' His bulletin board features letters from fans such as John Watters and Bob Dole and an 8" x 10" glossy of Andy Richter with the inscription: "To Conan - Your bitter jealousy warms my black heart. Love and Kisses Andy."
"Of course it's all for show. From the photos of kitch icons Adam West and Robert Stack to the framed Stan Laurel autograph, from the deathbed painting of Abraham Lincoln, to the ironic star taped to Conan's door - they're all clever signals that tell a visitor how to view the star. Lincoln was his collegiate preoccupation: stardom is his occupation. Somewhere between the two I hoped to find the real O'Brien.
"As a Playboy reader he wanted to give me a better-than-average interview. I wanted something more - a definitive look at the guy who may end up being the Johnny Carson of his generation."
"Here's hoping we succeeded. If not I carried his germs 3000 miles and infected dozens of Californians for no good reason.
O'Brien: Yes, this is how to do a Playboy Interview -- completely tanked on cold medicine. I'll pick it up and read, "Yes, I'm gay."
Playboy: We could talk another time. O'Brien: (coughing) No, it's OK. I memorized Dennis Rodman's answers. Can I use them?
Playboy: You sound really sick. Do you ever take a day off? O'Brien: No. The age of talk show hosts taking days off is over. Johnny Carson could go to Africa when he was the only game in town -- "See you in two weeks!" But nobody does that now. I will give you a million dollars on the first day Jay takes off for illness.
Playboy: Do you ever slow down and enjoy your success? O'Brien: If anything, the pace is picking up. Restaurateurs insist on giving me a table even if I'm only passing by, so I'm eating nine meals a night. Women stop me on the street and hand me their phone numbers.
Playboy: So you have groupies? O'Brien: Oh yes. And other fans. Drifters. Prisoners. Insomniacs. Cab Drivers, who must watch a lot of late night TV, seem to love me lately. They keep saying, "You will not pay, you will not pay, you make me happy!"
Playboy: How happy did your new contract make you? O'Brien: Terrified. The network said, "We're all set for five years." I said, "Shut up, shut up! I can't think that far ahead." Tonight, for instance, I do my jokes, then interview Elton John and Tim Meadows. We finished taping about 6:30. By 6:45 my memory was erased and my only thought was, Tomorrow: John Tesh. And I started to obsess about John Tesh. Sad, don't you think?
Playboy: Not too sad. You got off to a rocky start but now you're so hot that People magazine recently said, "that was then, this is wow." O'Brien: I try not to pay much attention. Since I ignored the critics who said I should shoot myself in the head with a German Luger, it would be cheating to tear out nice reviews now and rub them all over my body, giggling. Though I have thought about it.
Playboy: Tell us about your trademark gag. You interview a photo of Bill Clinton or some other celeb, and a pair of superimposed lips provide outrageous answers. O'Brien: We call it the Clutch Cargo bit, after that terrible old cartoon series. They saved money on animation by superimposing real lips on the cartoons. I wanted to do topical jokes in a cartoony way -- not just Conan doing quips at a desk. TV is visual; I want things to look funny. But we're not Saturday Night Live; we couldn't spend $100,000 on it. Hence, the cheap, cheesy lips, You'd be surprised how many people we fool.
Playboy: Viewers believe that's really the president yelling, "Yee-haw! Who's got a joint?" O'Brien: It's strange. You may know intellectually that Clinton doesn't talk like Foghorn Leghorn. Ninety-eight percent of your brain knows the president wouldn't say, "Whoa Conan get a load of that girl!" But there are a few brain cells that aren't sure. When Bob Dole was running for president we had him doing a past-life regression: "My cave, get away." And then back further, "Must form flippers to crawl on to rocky soil," he says. There may be people out there who believe that Bob Dole was the first amphibian.
Playboy: Do you ever go too far? O'Brien: The fun is in going too far. It's a nice device because you get Bill Clinton to do the nastiest Bill Clinton jokes. We'll have Clinton making fart noises while I say "Sir! Please!"
Playboy: Are you enjoying your job now, with your new success? O'Brien: Well, there are surprises. I hate surprises. Like most comics, I'm a control freak. But I am learning that the show works best when things are out of control. Tonight I ask Elton John if he likes being neighbors with Joan Collins. He says he isn't neighbors with Joan Collins. He lives next door to Tina Turner. So I panic -- huge mistake! But Elton saves the day. "Joan Collins, Tina Turner, it doesn't matter. Either way I could borrow a wig," he says. Huge laugh, all because I fucked up. Later he surprised me by blurting out that he's hung like a horse. The camera cuts to me shaking my head: That crazy Elton. What can I do? Of course, I'm delighted that he went too far.
Playboy: That "What can I do?" look resembles a classic take of Jack Benny's. O'Brien: There's an old saying in literature: "Good poets borrow; great poets steal." I think T.S. Eliot stole it from Ezra Pound. Comics steal, too. Constantly. When I watched Johnny Carson, I noticed that he got a few takes from Benny and Bob Hope. When a comedy writer told me how much Woody Allen had borrowed from Hope, I thought, What? They're nothing alike. Then I went back and watched Son of Paleface, and there's Hope, the nervous city guy backing up on his heels, wringing his hands and saying, "Sorry, I'll just be moving along." Now look at early Woody Allen. You see big authority figures and Woody nervously saying, "Look, I'll just be on my way." Of course Woody made it his own, but he must have watched and loved Bob Hope.
Playboy: Who are your role models? O'Brien: Carson. Woody Allen. SCTV. Peter Sellers. When Peter Sellers died I felt such a loss, thinking, There won't be anymore of that. There's some Steve Martin in my false bravado with female guests: "Why, hel-lo there!" And I won't deny having some Letterman in my bones.
Playboy: You were surprise as Letterman's successor. At first you seemed like the wrong choice. O'Brien: I didn't get ratings. That doesn't mean I didn't get laughs. Yes, I had a giant pompadour and I looked like a rockabilly freak. I was too excited, pushed too hard, and people said, "That guy isn't a polished performer." Fine! But it isn't my goal to be Joe Handsomehead cool, smooth talk show host. Late Night with Conan O'Brien is supposed to be a work in progress, and now that we've had some success there's a danger of our getting too polished and morphing into something smoothly professional. Which would suck.
Do you know why I wanted this show? Because Late Night with David Letterman played with the rules and it looked like fun. Here was a place where people did risky comedy every night for millions of people. We had to keep this thing alive. There should be a place on a big network where people are still messing around.
Playboy: How bad were your early days on the show? O'Brien: Bad. Dave left here under a cloud: his fans and the media were angry with NBC. Then NBC picks a guy with crazy hair and a weird name. And the world says, "Harvard? Those guys are assholes." I sincerely hope that the winter of December 1993, our first winter, was the worst time I will ever have. I'd go out to do the warm up and the back two rows of seats would be empty. That's hard to look at. I would tell a joke and then hear someone whisper, "Who's he? Where's Dave?"
Playboy: You had trouble getting guests. O'Brien: Bob Denver canceled on us. We shot a test show with Al Lewis of The Munsters. We did the clutch cargo thing with a photo of Herman Munster. Unfortunately, Fred Gwynne, who played Herman, had recently died, and Al Lewis kept pointing at the screen, saying, "You're dead! I was at your funeral!"
Playboy: For months you got worried notes from network executives. What did they say? O'Brien: They were worried. The fact that Lorne Michaels was involved bought me some time. But Lorne had turned to me at the start and said, "OK, Conan. What do you want to do?" Now television critics were after me and the network was starting to realize what a risk I was. Suggestions came fast and furious. I kept the note that said, "Why don't you just die?"
Playboy: Did they suggest ways to be funnier? O'Brien: They were more specific and tactical. The network gets very specific data. Say there was a drop in ratings between 12:44 and 12:48 when I was talking to Jon Bon Jovi. I'll be told, "Don't ever talk to him again" Or they'll want me to tease viewers into staying with us: "You should tease that -- say, 'We'll have nudity coming up next!'"
Playboy: You did come close to being cancelled. O'Brien: We were cancelled.
Playboy: Really? You have never admitted that. O'Brien: This is the first time I've talked about it. When I had been on for about a year, there was a meeting at the network. They decided to cancel my show. They said, "It's cancelled." Next day they realized they had nothing to put in the 12:30 slot, so we got a reprieve.
Playboy: Were you worried sick? O'Brien: I went into denial. I tried hard not to think, Yes, I'm bad on the air and my show has none of the things a TV show needs to survive. We had no ratings. No critics in our corner. Advertisers didn't like us. Affiliates wanted to drop us. Sometimes I'd meet a programming director from a local station where we had no rating at all. The guy would show me a printout with no number for Late Night's rating, just a hash mark or pound sign. I didn't dare think about that when I went out to do the show.
Playboy: Are you defending denial? O'Brien: How else does anyone get through a terrible experience? The odds were against me. Rationally, I didn't have much chance. Denial was my only friend. When I look back on the first year, it's like a scene from an old war movie: Ordinary guy gets thrown into combat, somehow beats impossible odds, staggers to safety. His buddy say, "You could have been killed!" The guy stops and thinks. "Could have been killed?" he says. His eyes cross and he faints.
Playboy: How did you dodge the bullet? O'Brien: There were people at NBC who stood up for me. I will always be indebted to Don Ohlmeyer, who stuck to his guns. Don said, "We chose this guy. We should stick with him unless we get a better plan." He was brutally honest. He came to me and said, "Give me about a 15 percent bump in the ratings and you'll stay on the air. If not, we're going to move on."
Playboy: Ohlmeyer started his career in the sports division. O'Brien: Exactly, his take was, "You're on our team." Of course, it wasn't exactly rational of Don to hope I'd be 15 percent funnier. It was like telling a farmer, "It better rain this week or we'll take your farm away."
Playboy: What did you say to Ohlmeyer? O'Brien: There wasn't time. I had to go out and do a monologue. But I will always be indebted to Don because he told me the truth. Wait a minute -- you have tricked me into talking lovingly about an NBC executive. Let me say that there were others who were beneath contempt -- executives who wouldn't know a good show if it swam up their asses and lit a campfire.
Playboy: Finally the ratings went your way. Hard work rewarded? O'Brien: Well, I also paid off the Nielsen people. That was $140,000 well spent.
Playboy: Ohlmeyer plus bribery saved you? O'Brien: There was something else. Just when everyone was kicking the crap out of the show, Letterman defended me.
Playboy: Letterman had signed off on NBC saying, "I don't really know Conan O'Brien, but I heard he killed someone." O'Brien: Then I pick up the paper and he's saying he thinks I am going to make it. "They do some interesting, innovative stuff over there," he says. "I think Conan will prevail." And then he came on as a guest. Remember, this was when we were at our nadir. There was no Machiavellian reason for David Letterman, who at the time was the biggest thing in show business, to be on my show.
Playboy: Why did he do it? O'Brien: I'm still not sure. Maybe out of a sense of honor. Fair play. And it woke me up. It made me think. Hey, we have a real fucking television show here.
Of six or seven pivotal points in my short history here, that was the first and maybe the biggest. I wouldn't be sitting here -- I probably wouldn't even exist today -- if he hadn't done our show.
Playboy: The Late Night wars were hardly noted for friendly gestures. O'Brien: How little you understand. Jay, Dave and I pal around all the time. We often ride a bicycle built for three up to the country. "Nice job with Fran Drescher!" "Thanks, pal. You weren't so bad with John Tesh." We sleep in triple-decker bunk beds and snore in unison like the Three Stooges.
Playboy: You talk more about Letterman than your NBC teammate Leno. O'Brien: I hate the "Leno or Letterman, who's better?" question. I can tell you that Jay has been great to me. He calls me occasionally.
Playboy: To say what? O'Brien: (Doing Leno's voice) "Hey, liked that bit you did last night." Or he'll say he saw we got a good rating. I call him at work, too. It can be a strange conversation because we're so different. Jay, for instance, really loves cars. He's got antique cars with kerosene lanterns, cars that run on peat moss. He'll be telling me about some classic car he has, made entirely of brass and leather, and I'll say, "Yeah, man, I got the Taurus with the vinyl." One thing we have in common is bad guests. There are certain actors, celebrities with nothing to say, who move through the talk show world wreaking havoc. They lay waste to Dave's town and Jay's town, then head my way.
Playboy: You must be getting some good guests. Your ratings have shown a marked improvement. O'Brien: Remember, when you're on at 12:30 the Nielsens are based on 80 people. My ratings drop if one person has a head cold and goes to bed early.
Playboy: Actually, you're seen by about 3 million people a night. Your ratings would be even higher if college dorms weren't excluded from the Nielsens. How many points does that cost you? O'Brien: I told you I'm an idiot. Now I have to do math too?
Playboy: Do you still get suggestions from NBC executives? O'Brien: Not as many. The number of notes you get is inversely proportional to your ratings.
Playboy: What keeps you motivated? O'Brien: Superstition. We have a stagehand, Bobby Bowman, who holds up the curtain when I run out for the monologue. He is the last person I see before the show starts, and I have to make him laugh before I go out. It started with mild jabs: "Bobby, you're drunk again." Bobby laughs, "Heehee."" Then it was, "Still having trouble with the wife, Bobby?" But after hundreds of shows, you find yourself running out of lines. It's gotten to where I do crass things at the last second. I'll put his hand on my ass and yell, "You fucking pervert!" Or drop to my knees and say, "Come on, Bobby, I'll give you a blow job!"
"Ha-ha. Conan, you're crazy," he says. But even that stuff wears off. Soon, I'll be making the writers work late to give me new jokes for Bobby.
Playboy: Did you plan to be a talk show host or did you fall into the job? O'Brien: I was an Irish Catholic kid from St. Ignatius parish in Brookline, outside of Boston. And that meant: Don't call attention to yourself. Don't ask for too much when the pie comes around. Don't get a girl pregnant and fuck up your life.
Playboy: Were you an alter boy? O'Brien: I wanted to be an alter boy, but the priest at St. Ignatius said, "No, no. You're good on your feet, kid," and made me a lector. A scripture reader at Mass. He was the one who spotted my talent.
Playboy: What did you think of sex in those days? O'Brien: I was sexually repressed. At 16 I still thought human reproduction was by mitosis.
Playboy: How did you get over your sexual repression? O'Brien: Who says I got over it? My leg has been jiggling this whole time.
Playboy: What were you like in high school? O'Brien: Like a crane galumphing down the hall. A crane with weird hair, bad skin and Clearasil. Big enough for basketball but lousy at it. My older brothers were better. I would compensate by running around the court doing comedy, saying, "Look out, this player has a drug addiction. He's incredibly egotistical."
I was an asshole at home, too. My little brother Justin loved playing cops and robbers, but I kept tying him up with bureaucratic bullshit. When he'd catch me, I'd say, "I get to call my lawyer." Then it was, "OK, Justin, we're at trial and you've been charged with illegal arrest. Fill out these forms in triplicate." Justin was eight; he hated all the lawsuits and countersuits. He just cried.
Playboy: Were you a class clown? O'Brien: Never. I was never someone who walked into a room full of strangers and started telling jokes. You had to get to know me before I could make you laugh. The same thing happened with Late Night. I needed to get the right rhythm with Andy and Max and the audience.
Playboy: So how did you finally learn about sex? O'Brien: My parents gave me a book, but it was useless. At the crucial moment, all it showed was a man and a woman with the bed covers pulled up to their chins. I tried to find out more from friends, but it didn't help. One childhood friend told me it was like parking a car in a garage. I kept worrying about poisonous fumes. What if the fumes build up? Should you shut off the engine?
Playboy: For all your talk about being repressed, you can be rowdy on the air. O'Brien: The show is my escape valve. When I tear off my shirt and gyrate my pelvis like Robert Plant, feigning orgasm into the microphone, that shows how repressed I am -- a guy who wants to push his sex at the lens but can only do it as a joke.
Playboy: Aren't you tempted to live it up? O'Brien: I always imagined that if I were a TV star I would live the way I pictured Johnny Carson living. Carousing, stepping out of a limo wearing a velvet ascot with a model on my arm. Now that I have the TV show, I drive up to Connecticut on the weekends and tool around in my car. I could probably join a free-sex cult, smoke crack between orgies and drive sports cars into swimming pools, and my Catholic guilt would still be there, throbbing like a toothache. Be careful. If something good happens, something bad is on the way.
Playboy: Yet you don't mind licking the supermodels. O'Brien: At one point a few of them lived in my building, women who are so beautiful they almost look weird, like aliens. To me, a woman who has a certain approachable amount of beauty becomes almost funny. It's the same with male supermodels. They look like big puppets. So while I admire their beauty I probably won't be "romantically linked" with a model. I'd catch my reflection in a ballroom mirror and break up laughing.
Playboy: The horny Roy Orbison growl you use on gorgeous guests sounds real enough -- O'Brien: Oh, I've been doing that shit since high school. It just never worked before.
Playboy: Your father is a doctor, your mother an attorney. What do they think of their son the comedian? O'Brien: My dad was the one who told me denial was a virtue. "Denial is how people get through horrible things," he said. He also cut out a newspaper article in which I said I was making money off something for which I should probably be treated. So true, he thought. But when I got an Emmy for helping write Saturday Night Live, my parents put it on the mantel next to the crucifix. Here's Jesus looking over, saying, "Wow, I saved mankind from sin, but I wish I had an Emmy."
Playboy: Ever been in therapy? O'Brien: Yes. I don't trust it. I have told therapists that I don't particularly want to feel good. "Repression and fear, that's my fuel." But the therapists said that I had nothing to worry about. "Don't worry Conan you will always be plenty fucked up."
Playboy: When a female guest comes out, how do you know whether to shake her hand or kiss her? Is that rehearsed O'Brien: No, and it's awkward. If you go to shake her hand and her head starts coming right at you, you have to change strategy fast. I have thought about using the show to make women kiss me, but that would probably creep out the people at home. I decided not to kiss Elton John.
Playboy: Do you get all fired up if Cindy Crawford or Rebecca Romijn does the show? O'Brien: I like making women laugh. Always have, ever since I discovered you can get girls' attention by acting like an ass. That's one of the joys of the show -- I'm working my eyebrows and going grrr and she's laughing, the audience is laughing. It's all a big put-on and I'm thinking. This is great. Here is a beautiful woman who has no choice but to put up with this shit.
But it's not always put on. Sometimes they flirt back. Sometimes there's a bit of chemistry. That happened with Jennifer Connelly of The Rocketeer.
Playboy: One guest, Jill Hennessy, took off her pants for you. Then you removed yours. Even Penn and Teller took off their pants. O'Brien: Something comes over me. It happened with Rebecca Romijn -- I was practically climbing her. Those are the times when Andy and the audience seem to disappear and it's just me and this lovely woman sitting there flirting. I keep expecting a waiter to say, "More wine, Monsieur?"
Playboy: Would you lick the wine bottle? O'Brien: It's true, there's a lot of licking on the show. I have licked guests. I have licked Andy. Comedy professionals will read this and say, "Great work, Conan. Impressive." But I have learned that if you lick a guest, people laugh. If I pick this shoe off the floor, examine it, Hmmm, and then lick it, people laugh. I learned this lesson on The Simpsons, where I was the writer who was forever trying to entertain the other writers. I still try desperately to make our writers laugh, which is probably a sign of sickness since they work for me now. Licking is one of those things that look funny.
Playboy: Johnny Carson never licked Ed McMahon. O'Brien: We are much more physical and more stupid than the old Tonight Show. Even in our offices before the show there's always some writer acting out a scene crashing his head through my door. A behind-the-scenes look at our show might frighten people.
Playboy: One night you showed a doctored photo of Craig T. Nelson having sex with Jerry Van Dyke. Did they complain about it? O'Brien: I haven't heard from them. Of course I'm blessed not to be a part of the celebrity pond. I have a television show in New York, an NBC outpost. I don't run with or even run into many Hollywood people.
Playboy: You also announced that Tori Spelling has a penis. O'Brien: I did not. Polly the Peacock said that.
Playboy: Another character you use to say the outrageous stuff. O'Brien: Polly is not popular with the network.
Playboy: You mock Fabio, too. O'Brien: If he sues me, it'll be the best thing that ever happened. A publicity bonanza: Courtroom sketches of Fabio with his man-boobs quivering, shaking his fist, and me shouting at him across the courtroom. I'm not afraid of Fabio. He knows where to find me. I'm saying it right here for the record: Fabio, let's get it on.
Playboy: Ever have a run-in with an angry celeb? O'Brien: I did a Kelsey Grammar joke a few years ago, something about his interesting lifestyle, then heard through the network that he was upset. He had appeared on my show and expected some support. At this point my intellect says, "Kelsey Grammar is a public figure. I was in the right." Then I saw him in an airport. Kelsey didn't see me at first: I could have kept walking. But there he was, eating a cruller in the airport lounge. I thought I should go over. I said hello and then said, "Kelsey, I'm sorry if I upset you." And he was glad. He looked relieved. He said, "Oh, that's OK." We both felt better.
....See my other post with the last third of the interview

Parts 1-18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32
Part 33
“Psst! Psst! Mr. Hard-Sell! Wake Up!”, I heard Bob say, waking me up.
I groggily opened my eyes, and lifted my head off the pillow, to see Bob and the Seeker standing side by side in front of my dresser.
I quickly rolled on my back, and sat up, turning my head to look at them
I then looked to my left to see Donna still sleeping.
I looked back, and asked, wiping my eyes, “Bob? What are you two doing in our bedroom?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hard-Sell! It is time!”, Bob said coldly.
The Seeker just smiled.
I then took a look at my arm… 14 minutes, 37 seconds, and counting.
I put my hands over my face, and let my body fall back onto the bed.
I knew this day would come, I was just hoping that with all the wild and crazy adventures we had together, they forgot. They didn’t.
I guess the sudden jolt of the mattress, jarred Donna awake.
“Michael! What’s wrong?”, she asked, half asleep.
I just sighed, and pointed toward the dresser.
Donna then raised her head, leaned up on her arm, and looked in that direction.
“Bob? Old Man?”, she said surprised, pulling the blankets up around her neck, “Why are you in our bedroom?”
“Donna Dear! I’m afraid… it is time!”, Bob answered again.
“Time for what?”, she asked confused.
“You didn’t tell her, Mr. Hard-Sell?”, Bob inquired.
“Tell me what?”, Donna asked worried.
I just sighed, sat back up, and looked at Bob.
“Tell me what?”, she asked again, more intense this time, and pulling on my arm.
I turned to look at her, as she let go of my arm.
“Um! You see, Babe. Um! Seven years ago, I met the old man in the bathroom at the mall. I was wearing that jacket of mine that you like so much. He asked me if I would sell my soul for Rock and Roll like the jacket said.
I foolishly said yes, thinking he was just some random old man fucking with me. He wasn’t. He was, and still is, a Soul Seeker.
I inadvertently sold my soul, which allowed me to get anything I wanted for the next seven years, but at the end, I had to spend eternity in Hell.
There’s a counter on my arm that tells me how much time I have left.
I wanted to become a Rock Star, and I did, but now my time is up.”, I said, “I have to go to Hell now! Well, in 9 minutes and 42 seconds.”
“I don’t see anything on your arm?”, Donna said almost in tears.
“You won’t, only Bob and I can see it.”, I answered.
I then turned to Bob, and asked, “Why didn’t you just let the timer count down, and take me while I was sleeping?”, I asked
“I like you, Mr. Hard-Sell, I really do. I do not want to do this, but a deal is a deal.
I normally would have done just that, but like I said, I like you. I feel I at least owe you the opportunity to say goodbye, after all you have helped me do!”, Bob answered.
I then turned to Donna, who was fully in tears at this point
“No! I don’t want you to go. What about the baby? I wish this wasn’t happening!”, she said, through falling tears, with her hands covering her face.
I put my arm around her to try and console her, but she pulled away.
I couldn’t really blame her.
Her words were tearing through me, like a Langolier through time past.
But it also got me thinking, “Want? Wish?”
“Wait a minute… maybe there IS a way out of this”, I thought.
I closed my eyes and whispered, “God! I hope this works!”
“I have 2 minutes and 7 seconds left, I can still get anything I want, and you still owe me a wish!”, I said pointing at Bob.
His eyes grew wide, and a smile loosely formed on his face, like he knew where I was going with this.
I quickly began listing off all the things I wanted, in rapid fire style.
“I want to grow old with Donna . I want our baby to be healthy.
I want to keep all the money.
I want to keep the house.
I want to keep the cars.
I want to keep the ability to get anything I want.
I want to own the bus that Mr. Bellington gave me.
I want Ricky and Tony to be successful.
I want Derek and Corey to succeed.
I want Stephen to find happiness.
I want Rebecca and Donna to remain best friends.
I want Edgar to learn how to play the keyboards.”
I then hesitated, breathing heavy.
15 seconds…
I then took the deepest breath I could.
“AND I WISH I HAD MY SOUL BACK!”, I yelled, and looked down at my arm.
10 seconds...
“You can’t do that!”, the Seeker yelled.
“A wish is a wish! Now grant it!”, I yelled to Bob.
Bob just stood there.
5 seconds…
“You owe me that wish!”, I yelled.
3 seconds…
2 seconds…
1 second…
That loosely formed smile then formed into a happy one, as Bob snapped his fingers.
In mid snap, time ran out, as flames began bursting up from the floor.
I then heard Donna scream.
I turned to look at her, as her face and body quickly began melting into a large pile of a flesh colored goo on the bed.
I screamed, and looked at Bob and The Seeker. They were just standing there, in the midst of the flames.
I then felt the bed give way underneath me.
I felt my body falling… falling into the firey pits of Hell.
I felt every molecule in my body slowly breaking apart, starting with my hands and feet, floating like embers at a campfire, right in front of my eyes, just like it did, when Bob transported Tony and I from the basement to the alley.
The pain was immense, and the heat was unbearable.
I could hear flames crackling, and blood curdling torturous screams from below, as my body disintegrated.
I screamed again.
Suddenly, a huge bright white mist, resembling the one that the Seeker sucked out of me, when I first went to hell, and he took my soul, appeared out of nowhere, and was barreling at me fast. It slammed hard into my chest, just as my upper torso was beginning to break apart.
Everything went black.
The next thing I knew, my body slammed back together again, and I was ascending upward through the flames, engulfed in the white mist.
I closed my eyes.
The moment I did, I felt my body slam down hard on the mattress.
I bounced off the bed, and onto the floor, still screaming.
“Michael! Are you ok? What happened?”, I heard Donna say.
At least it was her voice.
I opened my eyes, as I got up on my hands and knees.
I then looked at my arm.
There was nothing there.
I stayed there, on my hands and knees, thinking.
“I’ve always heard that Hell is a repetitious loop of the one thing that you fear the most.
Mine was losing Donna and the baby.
Am I going to relive that moment over and over again for all of eternity?”, I thought, “Is that my Hell?”
I closed my eyes, sighed, and opened them again.
When I did, I saw the tips of Bob’s Black wing tipped shoes come into view.
I then looked up.
“Ta-da!”, Bob said… “Well played, Mr. Hard-Sell… Well played!”, as he extended his right hand to me.
I hesitantly grabbed it.
He then helped me to my feet.
The bedroom was completely intact.
“Am I in Hell?”, I asked Bob.
“No, Michael! You are here in the real world, in your house, with Donna, and your unborn child.”, he replied smiling.
Donna then came running, well, briskly walking, 4 months pregnant, remember?
Anyway, she came around the side of the bed, in her nightgown, and bear hugged me, almost knocking me over.
I hugged her back.
She then let go of me, and punched me in the arm, hard.
It hurt a little, reminding me not to piss her off again.
“You are an asshole, Michael! Don’t you do that to me again!”, she said, then kissed me.
After the kiss, I touched her face, to see if she was real. She was.
I then looked at Bob.
“You called me Michael!”, I said, “Why?”
“That is your name!”, he replied.
“You have called me, Mr. Hard-Sell, for the last 6 and a half years, no sense in stopping now.”, I retorted.
“Very Well! Mr. Hard-Sell it is.”, Bob said smiling, “Now, Let’s talk!”, he said.
“Can we get dressed first?”, I asked.
“Absolutely! Do you have any Red wine?”, he asked.
“No, Bob! We don’t drink!”, I answered.
“Very well then!”, Bob said, “I shall meet you in the dining area! Which way is that?”
“Down the hall, down the stairs, make a right, and you’ll run right into it.”, Donna answered.
“Thank you!”, Bob replied, and walked out of the bedroom door.
We both then got dressed, and walked downstairs to meet Bob.
We arrived to find him, sitting at the table, twiddling his thumbs.
I then looked out of the dining room window, to see our bus, sitting in the driveway, next to my Mustang.
I smiled.
I then turned to Bob, “Where’s the Seeker?”, I asked.
“He was upset, that I gave you your soul back, and used some rather distasteful words, directed at me, so I gave him a few go rounds on my little rollercoaster. That’s should calm him down.”, Bob answered.
“Okay, Bob! Um! What’s up?”, I asked, sitting down, while Donna went to make a pot of coffee.
“Mr. Hard-Sell! I am so glad it ended up this way. I did not want to do that to you. But let me ask you this, Did you know what you were going to do with that wish when you said you would, and I quote, I’ll reserve my wish for another time, end quote?”, Bob asked.
“No! Not really! I just knew it would be good to have in my back pocket, but I didn’t know what I was going to do with it, until today!”, I responded.
“You know, Mr. Hard-Sell, through all my many years of existence, there have only been two people to ever beat me at my own game… the first was Jesus Christ, and the second was you!”, he said, “Not to say that you are Christ-like, because you are not, but I am glad you succeeded in getting your soul back.
Donna then returned, “Coffee’s going!”, she said, as I got up, pulled out the chair next to me, for her, then sat back down.
Bob then continued, “Now, as I have said numerous times before, I like you, I really do, so I assure you both, that you’re little girl, yes, it is a girl!”
Donna then smiled from ear to ear.
“Yes!”, she said.
“Your little girl, will want for nothing. If you can not provide it for her, Good ole Uncle Bob will. I promise you that.”, Bob said.
“Thanks, Bob!”, we both said in unison.
“I’ll go check on the coffee!”, Donna said, getting up and walking to the kitchen.
“Is this the end, Bob? Will I ever see you again after this?”, I asked.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Hard-Sell, and, No, it is not the end. I plan to keep a close eye on all of you! I will not interfere with your lives, but I will always be there, if you ever need me!”, he answered.
Donna then returned with three cups of coffee, a pitcher of cream, and a bowl of sugar, with a spoon.
“Would you like some coffee, Bob?”, she asked.
“Is it hot? I like hot!”, he asked.
“Yes”, she replied.
“Then, Yes! I have never had coffee before. But there is a first time for everything!”, he said laughing.
“How do you make it?”, he asked.
“We have a coffee pot! You know what a coffee pot is, right?”, I stupidly asked.
“Yes, Mr. Hard-Sell, I have equipped many different vehicles with one for your enjoyment, and watched you make it many many times.”, he answered, “I meant, how do you prepare it?”
“Oh! I put a little cream, and 2 sugars in mine!”, I answered, “Donna likes it black with sugar!”
“I’ll take it like that!”, he said.
Donna then prepared my cup, her cup, and his cup, and placed them all in front of us.
Bob then took a sip.
“Oh, this is most excellent! I love it! It burns, and is soothing at the same time!”, he said, “I’ve done the music business, now I think I’ll get into the coffee business. But what to call it! Help me here!”, he said.
“Um, Hell’s Brew!”, I said.
“For a songwriter, you are bad with words. No, nothing Hell related! I Got it! Keurig, which means excellence in Dutch. What do you think?”
It’s catchy!”, Donna said.
“I can create my own machine, offer single serve portions, in little plastic cups, I think I will call them K-Cups, charge an outrageous price for them, humans will go crazy to get them, and every coffee company in the world will copy my cup design, and offer their own brand of coffee to be used in my machine, for a price that is. It’s brilliant.
Oh, I must get started on this right away. I really must be going. Thank you for the coffee. I bid you both ado”, then he left.
How did he leave?… C’mon, you remember!… Keep thinking!…That’s right!…
He snapped his fingers, and disappeared into a cloud of gray smoke.
I knew you’ve been paying attention.
Two weeks later, human time, I saw the first Keurig commercial on TV.
Anyway, Bob gave us an endless, lifetime supply of K-Cups, any flavor, gets us all the new machines, as well as let’s us be the taste testers for any and all new coffee blends. It’s great.
Donna likes the iced coffees, I prefer it hot.
Anyway, Donna gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl, about 5 months later.
We decided to name her Robyn, after Bob, who’s first name is actually Robert, remember?
Robert… Robyn… Get it. Good.
Everyone was there at the hospital, except Derek and Corey, obviously, and Stephen, who was off touring the country.
Edgar and Rebecca informed us that they too were going to have a baby, and that Bob was a proud grandpa.
They decided to name her Calypso, meaning she who hides.
We brought Robyn home about a week later.
About 6 months after that, human time, there was a knock on the door. I opened it up to see Edgar and Rebecca standing there, with Rebecca holding a 3 month old, human time, bouncing baby demon succubus girl.
I don’t know how old she was in Hell time.
With them were two humongous Great Danes. Edgar explained that they were Hell Hounds, and were specifically trained to protect their person, or persons.
One was named Bill, and the other was named Janice.
Donna and Baby Robyn then joined me at the door.
“Rebecca!”, Donna yelled.
“Bestie!”, Rebecca yelled
They then ran to each other and hugged, trying not to squash the babies in between them.
When the hugfest was over, Donna, Rebecca, and the babies went inside, leaving Edgar, myself, and the two dogs, standing on the front steps.
I asked Edgar why the dogs had people names instead of animal names.
He said, “Imagine you are at home alone! Someone breaks in, and threatens to kill you. If you call out, Demon, or Hellion, they are going to know you’re calling dogs, and they will prepare for dogs. But if you call, Bill, or Janice, followed by their “GO” word. They are going to think that you’re scared and calling your overweight uncle, or your petite little girlfriend, and blow it off. They won’t be expecting 2 200 pound pissed off Hell Hounds coming at them”
It kinda made sense.
He then told me that they were a present from Bob to the two of us, and Robyn, as he leaned up, cupped his hand next to his mouth, and whispered in my ear, “Their “GO” word is OPPUGNATIO, which means attack in Latin. Remember that word… OPPUGNATIO! I don’t want to say it too loud. I don’t want them to hear it, and kill us all.”
I mouthed the word to myself, and said, “Thanks! I’ll tell Donna later.”
I then asked who was going to protect him and Rebecca.
He said, “If anyone breaks in, Rebecca will use her seduction abilities to draw them near. When their guard is down, I will rip their heads off, and feast on their flesh, chewing and chomping their bones, inner organs, muscles, and fatty tissue, until there’s nothing left of them, but a burp!”
He got real intense at the end there. It scared me a little, especially when he laughed.
“Oh! At least you have a plan!”, I responded.
“Yeah! We’ve been talking about it for a while. Here you go!”, he said, handing me the leashes.
One of the dogs then barked, I think it was Bill, followed by a tiny puff of gray smoke exiting his mouth.
“Thanks Bob!”, I whispered.
I then invited Edgar inside, leading the dogs in as well.
We found Donna and Rebecca sitting at the dining room table, and the babies in the play pen nearby.
The dogs sat in the corner watching us.
We then resumed our conversation.
“What about Axel?”, Donna said, looking at the dogs, “Won’t they kill her?”
“No! Hell Hounds do not see cats as a threat, like normal canines do. They will probably get along really well!”, Edgar responded.
And they did.
Bill and Janice were very emotional the day that Axel passed, and even to this day, lay out by the tree we planted over the spot where we buried Axel.
Axel is still around though.
Occasionally, we’ll hear that little bell that comes on most cat toys ring, or hear the sound of a cat meowing as we’re eating dinner, or walking down the hallway.
Now, I know what you’re thinking, “It’s probably just a cat outside!”
And that could be possible, when we hear a cat meow while eating dinner.
But I seriously doubt, if we’d be able to hear a bell from outside, or be able to hear a cat meow from outside, while we’re walking through an upstairs hallway, with no windows in it, and all the doors shut.
Explain that one!
Plus, Bill and Janice have been seen on multiple occasions, chasing “nothing” around the yard, or staring at the tree.
They know she’s here too.
Anyway, Edgar said all we had to do, was feed both dogs a tiny drop of blood, from each one of the three of us, just once, and that will tell them who their person, or persons are.
Now, before you go thinking that we stabbed Robyn to get her blood, or something crazy like that.
The hospital gave us a small vile of her blood, when Donna and Robyn were released. Why, I’m not really sure, but this town is a little different then most, if you haven’t heard.
Donna and I finger pricked ourselves, and dripped a little on their dog food, as well as some from Robyn’s vile, when we first fed them, and they have been loyal to us ever since.
In case you’re wondering, the Hell Hounds only eat Royal Canin Dog Food, from France.
Axel ate Royal Canin cat food, from that day on, until the day she passed.
Bob sends us a monthly shipment, even to this day.
Now, according to Rebecca, succubus births are almost immediate.
No contractions!
No epidural!
No Pain!
Nothing!
One second you’re pregnant, the next second it’s plopping on the floor. Don’t worry, the baby is protected by a Heavy duty, Gel-like webbing, when it comes out, so the baby doesn’t get hurt when it falls.
There is no time to gather family and friends, so we didn’t even know about the birth, until they showed up on our doorstep.
Now, before you start thinking that Bob freaked out, and threw them out of hell, that was not the case.
Apparently, Edgar and Rebecca, were staying with Bob, in one of his spare rooms.
Bob has a mansion in Hell, being he’s the devil and all.
They had gone out to spend time together, leaving Bob to babysit.
Now, I don’t know what there really is to do in Hell, but apparently there’s something that interests them.
Anyway, Edgar had installed surveillance cameras in their room, unbeknown to Bob, to keep an eye on the baby while they were occupied with other things.
They both checked the footage when they got home, and saw Bob dancing around in a diaper, with a bonnet on his head, and a pacifier in his mouth, trying to entertain the baby.
I cried with laughter when Edgar told me that.
Anyway, Edgar blackmailed Bob with the video, saying he would show it to everyone in Hell, if he didn’t allow him, Rebecca, and the baby, to live in the real world, and lead normal lives, also so that Rebecca could hang out with her bestie Donna.
He agreed, and even bought them a house three houses down from ours.
Rebecca got a job at the Hooters in the next town over. Sales went straight through the roof. It was always packed, and still is to this day.
The food is good, but Rebecca is the main attraction. Guys from everywhere, and a few ladies, mostly truck drivers, come to see, well, excuse my language, but… “Tits and Tail”, as they say.
She makes a killing in tips.
There’s a sign posted when you walk in, that reads, “No Tail Touching! Offenders Will Be Whipped.”
Rebecca said that she has only had to whip a couple overzealous patrons, with her tail, a couple times, in the past 30 years, and that some guys even offer her money to whip them for no reason.
She always says “No!”
Ricky gave Edgar a job at BB & T Music, as a stock clerk. He got to be really good friends with Tony, and they even perform together, Tony on the accordion, and Edgar on the keyboards, every Sunday Night, at the store, from 8 until 9, with Ricky and I sometimes joining in on guitar, but we don’t want to take the spotlight away from them. We had our time. This is theirs.
It’s amazing how many people actually show up to see them.
They decided to call themselves Accordaboard.
They do 80’s Metal covers on keyboard and accordion, just like Apocalyptica does with Cellos.
Bob offered them free use of his studio to record a demo tape, if they ever want to try and go professional.
Now, I know what you’re thinking, “Why doesn’t Bob just sign them to Hellfire Records.”
Well, you see, as I mentioned before, Bob is now in the coffee business, and has no interest in returning to the music business, as far as I know.
Hellfire Records is closed until further notice.
Robyn has grown up to be a very caring, loving woman. She’s now in her early Thirties, and working at the local ASPCA. She loves animals. She is also dating a guy named Jimmy, who works at the ASPCA as well.
Calypso had to be home schooled, for obvious reasons, and is now in her thirties as well.
She is very mild mannered, not flirtatious at all. She likes being single, and intends to stay that way.
She assists Robyn at the ASPCA.
Robyn believes all the cats and dogs accept Calypso, as one of their own, because she has a tail, just like they do.
Robyn and Calypso share an apartment together, in the next town over, and have been best friends since infancy.
Tony joined The Richard Simmons Workout Club, back when he teamed up with Ricky. I don’t know the real name of it.
Anyway, he appeared in one of Richard’s “Sweatin’ To The Oldies” Videos, and has lost over 130 pounds.
He’s kept the weight off, and goes to the gym 4 nights a week now.
Bob stops by every now and then, to check up on everyone, and to say Hi!
Business is going good, Hell business that is, as I’m sure you can figure that out for yourselves, with the way the world has been going lately.
The coffee business is going good as well.
I never saw the old man again though. Bob said he’s still upset about me ruining his perfect track record.
Donna and I are still going strong.
She never worked, because I could afford her not to.
She does volunteer work at the local homeless shelter, now that Robyn is grown.
A few years back, she became very obsessed with something she calls, “Pioneer Woman”.
The whole house is decorated in “Pioneer Woman” stuff.
She has a massive collection, collecting multiples of each thing.
Numerous Rolling pins, numerous salt and pepper shakers, numerous plate and dish sets.
She’s even got “Pioneer Woman” towels in the bathroom, and has every comforter and sheets set that there is to offer.
Right now she has a “Vintage Floral” Comforter and sheet set on the bed. It’s her favorite design of hers.
It’s really not my style, but it’s her house, so she can do with it what she wants.
I haven’t really used my “gift” too much over the past 30 years, except for in the moment kind of things. If I’m too tired to get up and make a cup of coffee, I’ll “want” a cup of coffee, or if I don’t feel like going to the gas station and filling up the cars, I’ll “want” a full tank of gas, things. like that.
I started writing again a few years back, not songs this time, but stories, some true, some not.
This one is 100% true.
I discovered a forum called Reddit, and have been posting my stories on various subreddits there.
Damn… Someone just knocked on the door… hold on a second. I’ll be right back…
Hey ya’ll. I’m back. That was Bob!
He just showed up, in an even longer limousine this time.
Now! Have I got some good news to share with you.
Bob just informed Donna and I, that 80s Metal is making a comeback, as multiple bands from our era have started touring again, and that they are selling out each show.
Def Leppard, Guns & Roses, RATT, Motley Crue, well, Motley Crue never stopped touring, but you get the idea, Right?
Anyway, He said he wanted, no pun intended, to see if we would be interested in touring again, and possibly recording another album, at Hellfire studios, if the tour goes good, since he has people to run his coffee business, and that he kinda missed the old times.
“Hell, Yeah!!”, we said in unison.
Bob promised, no soul sucking box behind the drum kit this time.
He also said that he already talked to Edgar and Rebecca, as well as Robyn, Jimmy, Calypso, Tony, and Ricky, my old friend Ricky.
Bob got his phone number when he came to play on the album.
Bob said that the original Ricky said No, saying that his Pops was now in his 80’s, has had some major health issues, and that he did not want to leave alone him in that condition, but promised to keep us all informed.
We all completely understood.
I hope everything is okay, Mr. Bellington.
Anyway, everyone else agreed, and are all waiting in the limo for us.
Jimmy is Robyn’s boyfriend, in case you forgot.
Anyway, He also said he contacted Stephen, I don’t know how, and that he’s all in as well, but only if Cindy can come along for the ride.
Apparently, Cindy is the name of his girlfriend.
Bob agreed, everyone else did too, including us.
We’re heading to Kansas to pick them up, as soon as I’m finished here, then we’re off to Washington DC, to try and find Derek and Corey. It won’t be hard, as long as I “want” to find them.
Wish us luck anyway!
Yeah, Baby! We’re getting the band back together. I’m so excited.
I’ll tell everyone you said Hi.
Rock and Roll!
I threw up the horns when I said that.
I’ll let you know if anything interesting happens.
Oh, Hey Janice.
Shit! The dogs! What are we going to do with the dogs?
Are any of you interested in watching the Hell Hounds for us while we’re gone?
Never mind, we’ll take them with us. I don’t think anyone will mind. Their good dogs!
C’mon Guys. Bill! Janice! Let’s go bye-byes.
Are you ready, Babe?… Here, I’ll take that.
I gotta go y’all.
Axel! We’ll be back.
Later, Dudes And Dudettes!