I'm sorry for the delay. It's been a while since I've written anything and there are reasons for it, such as me paying off the last of a bad debt, my mother going through her third divorce, and my asinine brother quitting his job before finding another, that you don't come here to read about. I try very hard not to share stuff like this online, because in 99.99999999 of the cases, people don't care; which I understand, and it's why I blocked someone at another webpage I frequent. But as long as the people with actual conditions/problems needing to vent are mature and not to mention approachable, it's OK once in a while. But when it becomes persistent whining, people are in their right to draw a line when they can't take it anymore. I wanted to say to this person: I don't care if you have cancer, or Asperger or whatever you're most likely faking this week; you don't nag about it online. Heck; I could be bleeding out of my ass right now and still an online audience would be the very last ones I'd tell. Now, that's what I call a relief.


Ludwig is the one of my siblings I trust the most. I trust him with my life, although not with my money. I let him and Lemmy take care of their part of the plan without any nagging.

Lemmy is in the kitchen, stacking stoneware into his little cart. He doesn't know that this is the part of the day when Mama Koopa comes down to the kitchen to with tonight's dinner menu. She opens the door to find him next to the stoneware hutch.

"Lemmy-sweetheart," she asks, "Why are you taking all of my hand-painted wedding china?"

Luckily, my brother has an explanation. "I'm playing tea party with Wendy. She's Mrs. Periwinkle, and I'm Mrs. Mauve."

Mama buys it; she loves it when we all get along. Priceless artifacts are a small price to pay for family peace; at least that's what she thinks.

"That's nice," she says with her tender smile, and in the same warm tone she adds; albeit with a crooked smile: "Don't tell your dad."

Ludwig sits on the counter in his lab. Because it's December, he has put sparkles and colorful lights on all of his Piranha Plants. They all cringe every time their small brains help them forget that they saw their reflections in the steel hygiene barrier, and see themselves again.

"Ah, very nice, little brother." Ludwig holds up one of the china cups, as if to inspect whether or not their counterfeit. "They will do nice for our little Christmas get-together."

Lemmy likes hearing that. "Get-together?" He asks happily. "Will there be pie?"

Ludwig ignores him. At least for the moment, as Roy enters the laboratory.

"OK, smartass; I got the tea from Kamek's potion cabinet just like you wanted." He slams a beautiful silver tin of Russian Earl Grey tea into the table.

"Did he catch you?" Ludwig inspects the tin, then the tea.

"Red-handed, but then Toadie's diaper caught on fire and I amscrayed. I dunno why he insists on keeping her around."

Toadie is a baby Toady whose egg was abandoned by her mother at the Koopa Troop's children's hospital. Toadies are Magikoopas, but without any other magical powers than the propellers on their heads. King Dad likes Toadies; they're very reliable and submissive; it's in their species' name and nature to assume minimal amount of power and most of the heavy lifting But he doesn't like having to deal with them himself, so he pawns them off on Kamek. At least Toadie is now over the Solo Toady – stage, where all they do is making diapers dirty, eat and scream.

"Excellent." When the others can't see it, Ludwig puts something in the tea. "I think I'll wear something extra nice this year."


There's Christmas spirit at Freaky Fred's too. Shelly and I are decorating a tree with sparkly paper cranes and child-proofed candy canes, while all the other kids are hanging paper poinsettias on the walls. Jerry the suicidal Magikoopa has hip lap full of anti-ligature glitter garlands, and the cleaning lady has put a little extra phenol in her cleaning agent in honor of the season. There's only one thing missing, but, as King Dad always says when being caught eating cookies before dinner, "all good things to those who steal them".

"Hi, dumbasses!" Koopie shows up, with her hair tied back and her shirt carefully tucked into her plastron. I don't know how she does it. I raise an eyebrow. "Koopie, why are you always so abusive towards us?"

She stands there like a question mark, eyeing me in a pretty rude manner. "You don't expect me to remember anyone's name, do you? "Dumbass" is just more convenient. Check this out. Hey, dumbass?"

Jerry wheeled his chair in the front of everybody. "Yes?"

"See?" Koopie says nonchalantly. "Convenient!"

I decide not to say more, as it is such a relief to see her as her normal, insufferable self again.

The doctors and nurses are having a conference, and have left us in the care of a few sleepy orderlies who didn't even care to lock the door to the white cell after disciplining Shelly for her latest tantrum. I nudge the latter as Koopie is handing out contraband unadulterated sugar cookies. "It's time."

"But I want a cookie!" she pouts.

"You can have all the freaking cookies you want when we get out of here. So many that I'll be your friend even when you become horribly, horribly fat."

She smacks me on the head for that one.

The white cell is open, and I can hear Lemmy snoring below in the pipe. I take off the chicken wire, and Shelly takes it as she goes to keep an eye on the orderlies from afar.

"Lemmy? Lemmy, wake up!" I knock on the warp pipe. I hear him gasp, and also some clanking noises.

"Sorry," he says sheepishly. "There was just so much stuff to do I didn't have time for my nap."

He climbs up the pipe, and takes a peek at us. "I have everything we need right here." He hands me a pillow case, and from the bulges and depressions in it, I can tell it's Mama's finest china.

"Awesome!" Shelly says as she inspects the booty.

"I know!" Lemmy squints happily. "I'm sorry for the wait, but I told Mama the china was for playing tea party with Wendy. And it made me feel bad, so I had to play with her a little."

No wonder why Roy and Ludwig lost their patience with him. I think Lemmy's consideration for others is kind of sweet, though.

"Iggy," Lemmy says shyly. "When you and Shelly get married, can I come to the party too?"

That's the explanation we served him. "Of course," I say. "We'll iron the extra napkin."

"And I'll send your invitation down the pipe this Friday," Shelly finishes.


Dr. Clawdia's eyes are tearing up. But from happy tears. Avaricious happy tears, but still, you know; happy tears. This is the very moment she's been waiting for all her life. She sits there in her pink plaid skirt suit and faux designer-label labcoat while the people from the company praise her depravities. I'm at her side, listening to it, while pretending to be a serotonin zombie.

"The trials at Elk Pastures Psychiatric have been so promising we're willing to offer a very generous settlement should you elect to let us continue to develop the formula This medication will revolutionize modern psychiatry."

Elk Pastures? They were dealing this poison somewhere else?

There are four representatives of different major pharmaceutical companies present in the conference room. Something's wrong with this picture. At least what I'm seeing can't be a completely legal picture. So I'm working very hard to make it look like the drug is rendering me incapable of questioning authority. Huh. The corporate messenger that's now talking to Clawdia shifts his scrawny self in the chair and hands her a piece of paper; possibly a check. Her eyes tear up to the point of bleeding mascara. I try not to hurl into the jug of water that's partially distorting her face.

"Oh, I don't see myself as a revolutionary, Mr. Khilbot. All I want is to help needy little ducklings – like this one." She pats me on the head, and I fight urges belonging to forces beyond me.

"See? He doesn't even try to bite me. I have changed his life."

The smug look on her face makes me want to bite her – but myself even more.


After dinner (mushy mac and cheese) Koopie, Koops, Goombella, Jerry and I go down to the rec area to make paper hearts for the ward's windows. I'm a little sad, because today was mail day, and my parents sent me a letter saying I couldn't come with them to our winter palace this year. I had to stay behind at the ward. Lemmy had added a Christmas card though; that read "Yure mai frend Iggy. I like cheesy puffs. Roy put this in mai bed, it was prettie so nao I give it to yu. Hugg fram Lemmy."

What Roy had but in his bed was a dead centipede. That was a considerate touch.

Shelly came back from her session with Dr. Clawdia fifteen minutes later.

"Can I talk to you for a moment, dipshit?" she asks. In that moment Koopie had another one of her angry outbursts; "Jerry, you're not supposed to eat the popcorn, you dumbass!"

"I don't think anyone will be spying," I say dryly. "What's going on?"

She hands me a wrapped present. "I know that letter made you sad, so I've decided to give you your shitty! - present a little early."

I unwrap the gift. It's a dog-eared, tattered issue of Reader's Digest. "Thank you," I say, as to not hurt her feelings.

"It's in the middle, numbskull."

Maybe she meant that one. I shake the magazine, and out comes a thin, lightweight, and deadly scalpel.

"Iggy, I've thought of something," She says. "If we kill Dr. Clawdia, we will never get out of here alive ourselves."

"Oh…" Bummer. But I perk up immediately. "Then we'll find someone else to do it."

"Who?"

I smile. I like to smile, even though I'm changing my face. I haven't really been afraid lately; it's been so nice to have something else to focus on. And besides, when you're at a mental facility for long and get to know the other inmates, your own disease is soon assimilated into theirs, creating a complicated, exclusive, and excluding subculture.

"Don't worry, Shelly. The one I have in mind is the one she must hate the most of all."


And who could that be?