From the Desk of the Lump

Dear Friends of Kitschin Logic:

It is me, The Lump. I thought I’d take the time to address you, the readers of my hostess.

I don’t like you people.

I don’t like that Kitschin Logic found me so easily. I had hoped to hide for months, until I grew bigger than her head. But that bitch found me. I blame it on the nerve. I was tired, it’s hard work to attempt to take over a body, and leaned against the nerve. I just wanted to puff on something carcinogenic for awhile. The nerve threatened to make a fuss. I said, “Shut up nerve, or I will grow around you and squeeze your mouth shut!” But that damn nerve is braver than I thought and damned if it didn’t shout out “I hurt!”, allowing Kitschin Logic to find me so easily. Too easily.

I have to admit, it was hysterical to watch K-Lo get all worried and pissed and become a nuisance to the medical community. Man, did those fools scramble for her, getting her in right away; finding me and taking photographic evidence of my location. What really gets my lump panties in a bunch is how you readers have calmed her down. Damn! What fun is it being a lump if you can’t scare the shit out of a person?

Also? I fucking hate lemon meringue pie!

You’ve all had weak lumps so now, K-Lo has decided that I am a weak lump, too. Do you know what happens when a person has positive thoughts? Their body fights lumps. This is not fun for me, the lump.

I haven’t decided whether to stay and fight or to quit.

You are a bunch of supportive fuckers and I hate you.

Sincerely,

The Lump