Donna Louise here. It rained a little last night. At first I thought someone had set off a major fireworks display with some BIG rockets and lots of little firecrackers. Turns out Mother Nature went to town for about ten minutes. At this time of year in the ‘hood, it’s difficult to tell what’s gunshots, what’s fireworks and what’s thunder. I guess it might be a revolution, but Americans are too apathetic to revolt against much of anything.

So there I sit in the back of a black SUV. Do government SUVs only come in that one color? Gruffy and Nice Lady tell me they don’t work for the Post Office. (Lying scum.) But, they do work for a super-secret division of Homeland Security, the Big Brother organization of all Big Brother organizations. They want to know why I’m receiving so much mail under false pretenses.

I refuse to answer any questions because I’m an American citizen and I want my lawyer present. They laugh. Under some provision of some law, they can hold me for an undisclosed period of time until I talk to them.

The way things have been going with the government since that little piece of crap, Shrub, took office in 2000, I don’t know what rights we have anymore, but I do know that they can waterboard me and basically I’m a coward so I told them I’d answer all of their questions.

They blindfolded me, put me on a plane, flew me somewhere far away if the amount of time we were in the air was any indication and then drove me to a building with no windows where they interrogated me. The people who questioned me seemed irritated with my answers and accused me of obfuscating. I didn’t know what the word meant. When I asked for a dictionary, they told me no.

I have since learned that obfuscation is the same as “beclouding” which I would have understood and could have told them that I obfuscate all the time because that’s the kind of world I live in:  an obfuscated one. I doubt they would have laughed.

 They brought in boxes addressed to “Little Donna Louise” and opened them to show me drugs and weapons. “Are you a terroristt? Why are people sending you guns and drugs in the mail?”

I told them I wasn’t a terrorist type. And, if I have trouble with the reactionary Republicans in this country trying to control women, women’s bodies and people’s sexual expressions, I would most certainly have problems with a bunch of Muslims who denigrate women. Really, the very idea pissed me off. If those bozos had done any research, like reading my blog posts, they would have known where I come down on women’s rights.

It took about a week for them to ask all their questions. I guess I passed as they blindfolded me and flew me back home. As they dropped me off, Gruffy said, “Keep you nose clean, Missy, or we’ll be back.”

“My name is Donna Louise. My nose is clean and you and your people can kiss my ass, figuratively. Now go terrorize some other good citizen.”

I know it’s not 1984, but it sure feels like that novel sometimes. No wonder the sales of  Nineteen Eighty Four by George Orwell have skyrocketed lately. Better get it before they pull it off the shelves.


Donna Louise here. Another lovely day here in the city with cool breezes and lots of sunshine. I’m thinking it could last another two months and I’d be happy. We could use a little rain here and there, but, hey, I’ll take what I get.

Let’s see…oh, yes, the Post Office police. They showed up at my door one morning and wanted to talk with the parent or parents of “Little Donna Louise.” This very gruff officer flashed his badge in my face. It meant nothing to me because he snapped it shut before I could really look at it. Do these government types think I’m a speed reader?

The second officer, a young woman, the good cop in the “good cop/bad cop” ruse said, “Are you her mother? We’ve heard so much about the sad circumstances of your daughter’s life. You have my deepest sympathy.”

I thanked her. “But, I’m not her mother and her parents are not here.”

Gruffy asked, “How can we get a hold of them?”

“You can’t.”

“Why not? I’ll track them down if you’ll tell me where they are.” Gruffy wanted information and he wanted it now.

“Her mother and father reside at 2700 Blueberry Road in Plattsburg, Missouri. I’m sure they’re home right now.”

Gruffy asked me to repeat the address, which I did, as I wanted to cooperate with them. He grabbed “Nice Lady” by the arm and walked down the stairs to a black SUV. They climbed inside.

I figured they’d be back within a few minutes so I didn’t bother to shut the door. The dryer buzzer had gone off so I went to the basement to pull out my dry clothes. While I was down there, I heard someone pounding on my door. I didn’t rush because I knew they wouldn’t leave.

Dropping the clothes in the spare bedroom, I strolled to the front door to find Gruffy and Nice Lady standing on the porch, neither one of them wore a smile.

“Yes, may I help you?”

“That’s a cemetery. Is that your idea of a joke?” Gruffy was pointing his finger in my face. “Because, if it is, I don’t find it at all funny.”

“You asked where Donna Louise’s parents were and I told you. You did not ask me if they were dead or alive or I would have told you they both were dead. You didn’t ask the right question.”

Nice Lady asked, “Are you Donna Louise’s guardian?”


“Her sister?”


“A relative.”


“Then who in the hell are you, lady?” Gruffy lost what little cool he had.

 “I’m Donna Louise.”

 Their mouths dropped open. Gruffy whipped out a pair of handcuffs. Nice Lady spun me around and Gruffy cuffed me. As they led me down the stairs, I saw Mikey out in his front yard. “Mikey, call my lawyer. These Post Office people are arresting me.”

 Mikey came running over, but stopped short of the SUV. Gruffy had pulled a gun. “No need to get involved in this crime. I’d hate to shoot you.”

Those post office people have NO sense of humor, but it turns out they weren’t from the U.S. Post Office.