To send in your burning question just email me at Ask Sister Autumn


Dear Sister Autumn,

Ever since FEST, I've been having a little bit of a problem with a certain sister of ours. I don't want to embarrass her publicly, so I won't use her real name. Let's call her "Princess" to protect her anonymity.

See, here's the problem. The Princess looks all innocent and claims that she's nothing but sweetness and light, but I'm the angelic one around here, and I think she's trying to sully my reputation. There are just some things that I think people should know about her so that they can protect themselves. I mean, she obviously has them all fooled, and Beer and Scooby only fed her delusions by making her the "Good Witch" in the Wizard of Oz.

First of all, she is not who she says she is. She confided in me at FEST that she doesn't really like Cheerwine anymore, she just wants to stay on Beer's good side. So she chokes it down, all the while wishing that she could have a Dr Pepper. Or whatever. Personally, I wouldn't trust her as far as I could throw her. I also have some circumstantial evidence from Lens that the Princess spent the majority of her weekend orchestrating elaborate schemes against innocent people.  Considering the source of the information, I'm almost inclined to give her the benefit of the doubt, but I'm not going to.

Next, not only does she own a pair of tap shoes, but I've been hearing rumors of her trying to start a tap shoe alliance in order to vote the rest of us off the island. Is a tap-shoe dictatorship with the Princess in a position of power really the answer?? Sure, some of the prancier tap-shoe-enhanced sisters will benefit from this alliance, but what about the REST of us?

Lastly, she's been known to brag that her tiara could kick Sparky's ass in Celebrity Deathmatch. She also thinks that it's all about her. I'm sure you won't stand for this.

Everyone thinks Paula is the evil one, but between you and me, I wouldn't want to run into the Princess in a dark alley.  And if she denies any of these accusations, she's a liar.  She's BOTH liars.

Looking forward to your words of wisdom,
Sister Anonymous the Perpetually Angelic

Sister Bossypants,

Ahem. You had me at least following along until you said "but I'm the angelic one around here" and then I realized you were completely living in some sort of fantasy world and all I could read was BLAH BLAH BLAH. Fact of the matter is that your reputation was basically shot to hell at FEST this year when after two years of sweetly taking photos and smiling Nanzilla appeared. So, while I do appreciate that the Princess can be prone to fabrication (liar is such a strong word), as long as she does that cute little smile while being evil her place in the Abbey is secure. It's not like she was named a HOOTER OF THE DAY or anything. You'd think you were bitter or something.

Dear Sister Autumn,

As you know, I have always been a generous, compassionate spirit, taking one for the team when necessary and generally supporting the welfare of my fellow sisters and brothers in St. Scully. However, this year at FEST, I may have inadvertently slipped and mentioned a certain name out loud for Hooter consideration when I fully intended to only think the name.  I was immediately sorry and I looked for redemption at the bottom of my Scullyrita glass. I found seeds and strawberry chunks, which I choose to interpret as a St. Scullyistic sign of forgiveness.

Regardless of TBO's assured good will, I think that the certain sister--let's call her Nurse Hooterpants--might be a leeetle less forgiving. In fact, I'm pretty sure she plans to do something horrible to me next year, like coating my tiaras with motor oil and using Kirby's glasses to start a campfire (I mention Kirby because she's always had it in for me too). I don't think that's entirely fair since I did apologize after I finished laughing. What should I do to stop her?

Shaking in my silver slippers, but not in a wussy way,



You might want to start hanging out in dark alleys and calling out "Here Hooter Hooter Hooter". I think you could take her. Just mention how nicely she filled out those triple D cups. Kirby, on the other hand, you should be afraid of. I caught her just the other day trying to shove an old soggy cigarette in Cherish's ear and screeching "I did Cats in Boca you ungrateful little CENSORED." I think she's close to the edge. Well, closer.

Dearest Autumn, Wielder of Sparky the Wonder Trout, She Whose Love Of Mango Margaritas, Britney Spears and "Party of Five" I Am Not Fit To Question Although Wondering About The Incongruity Of It All Does Keep Me Awake At Night Because I Thought OBSSE Was All About Scully:

This year at FEST I hypnotized seven other Abbey members into wearing Mardi Gras beads, alien party hats, floofy bow ties, red lipstick and body glitter while they pranced and sang with me.

I could not, however hard I tried, induce any of them into wearing sequins.

Where did I go wrong, and how can I improve my persuasive skills so that this little deficiency does not recur at next year's FEST?

Jean, Jean the prance machine

Oh, fer pandering to the judges


You're actually freaking pandering for a trout slap here. Unbelievable. The only deficiency you're going to have to worry about next year is how to remove Sparky from your ass if you keep on spreading these vicious lies about me. You should count your lucky stars you did not mention OriTay EllingSpay as well or the sequins at FEST next year would have been shooting out of a wood chipper.

Also, there is no way I'll ever believe Ant was wearing body glitter. Nanners sure, even Glasses, but not Ant.

Dear Sister Autumn,

How can I get people to stop making fun of me? I mean, they're always going, "Put on your pink pants, loa," and "Say 'It's all about me,' loa," and "Shake it like Autumn in those harem pants, loa!"  How do I make it stop?

Sister Does-Not-Actually-Own-Any-Pink-Pants.

The character slander continues.

I. do. not. own. pink. pants. Nor do I have a harem. The all about me part I will, however, cop to.

As far as getting people to stop making fun of you, the best way would probably be to get off that cruise on the river Denial and buck up and admit that they were doing it during the commercials. 








O' She Who Has Sat In The EI's "Rap Circle 'O Lurve,"

I need your help. It is well known that, among your many gifts, you have a fine eye for quality fan fiction. In honor of my sister, Kirby, I am composing a Scully/Survivor crossover epic. I know that I want the story to end with Scully and Gretchen teamed against Richard and Susan in an apocalyptic coconut battle, but I am having trouble starting the story. You see, Scully has to arrive on the island with a luxury item, and I can't decide what that item should be. I have short list from which to choose, and your insight would be most valuable. Which of the following items do you think she would take?

1. A blue beach umbrella. Not just any blue, but a sparkling blue, the same color of the Pacific Ocean to match her eyes that are the the same Pacific Ocean-like sparkling blue.

2. A jewel. What kind of jewel? A ruby. A bright ruby. You know--the brand new, factory fresh kind of ruby. Not the old, nasty, discarded kind of ruby that you would find at some old pasha's desert tent sale. I am thinking that she could make a laser beam or something with this ruby. Scully is a scientist, after all, and I'll just bet she knows how to do all kinds of scientific stuff like that. A laser beam would come in handy on the island, don't you think? Maybe they could use the laser beam to shoot a monkey out of the trees, then they could use the laser beam to make a fire and roast the monkey. Or, if they did not want to eat the monkey, they could make him a Tapioca Minion or, or their butler, or something

3. A bar of Ivory soap. A new bar of Ivory, though. Not the old kind that has been sitting on the tray in the shower and is all gooey at the bottom. It would have to be a bar that is as ivory as her skin. Her skin is like Ivory, you know, and not like peaches and cream. Which is a good thing, because those would not last long on the island. Plus, that's two items, and she can only bring one.

4. A big bottle of strawberry scented shampoo. She usually smells like strawberries, except for when she doesn't. When she doesn't, then she smells like Ivory soap. She likes to change how she smells to me, I guess.

Anyway, I am unable to make any progress with this story, and could really benefit from your sage advice.

Yours in quality fic-dom,


After watching the folks on Survivor eat bugs, rats, tree roots, eels, and way too much gummy rice all summer I'd have to say 5. None of the above. Scully should take a case of Slim Jims and frankly no one will give a damn what her hair smells like since they will be so busy sucking up to her for snacks.

Dear Sister Autumn, She Who Wields Sparky with Such Finesse and Who Braves the Onslaught of Little Pink Tickets with Unparalleled Grace,

May I borrow your whistle?  Or perhaps the handcuffs?  You can leave Dr. Sarah attached to them.



Dear She Who Is Mean on the Outside and Fluffy Soft on the Inside, Much to the Disappointment of Myself, Who Was Indeed Looking Forward to Reade Getting Her Ass Kicked at FEST for that Tori Spelling/eBay Nonsense Earlier This Spring,

It's been over four weeks since the toaster delivery arrived in the Abbey Wine Cellar. Why hasn't anyone come to pick theirs up yet? I really could use the space for tequila storage, considering the anticipated scarcity of our favorite liquor.

Heheheh, I said "come",

Sister Beer

Ixnay on the OriTay EllingSpay! I'm blocking it.

Just how many toasters did you order? I mean I know we make our fair share of toast here, but you really can't expect everyone to rush in all at once. Just send the extras over to the Festive Wing and we'll give them away as door prizes.

Oh and I am not Fluffy Soft on the inside. That's another vicious rumor.

Dear Sister Autumn,

Where does toast come from?


Apparently the Abbey Wine Cellar.

Dear Not Only Did My Shoulder But Other Body Parts As Well Touch GA Autumn,

I am in a quandary.

As you may know, I was out in LA in February of this year to catch the Vagina Monologues because the very talented Gillian Anderson was reciting one of them. As you may also know, I had the fortunate privilege to TOUCH HER SHOULDER after her performance!

A-hem... where was I?

Oh, yeah - I was in a quandary.

What you may not know is that I have YET to wash that shoulder. Perhaps some sibliren at FEST noticed that, but I digress...

What I need imparted from your Infinite Wisdom (tm) to my Lowly Standing (tm) is this - what was it like to touch GA's other body parts??? (I recall you saying something about something at chat recently, but the cat's got my tongue on this one.) I guess what I really want to know is: have you even bathed your entire body yet since your recent return from your fabulous trip to Washington D.C.??

Thanks. Needing to know...

-Sis Tammy (now) 20 Seconds Perpetua

Dearest Lowly Shoulder Toucher,

Yes, I did indeed get the chance to chat with the lovely and talented Ms. Anderson. And yes she did hug me. I mean who can blame her. You should be asking her if she bathed.

Dear Autumn of the Swift Trout and Shiny Whistle,

My name is Jaina Abducted and I'm a yaje-olic.

When I volunteered to participate in Rania's 'unique' vision for talent night, I never expected it to be more than some goofy fun with my sibliren.  Yet, to make our act a truly interpretive dance, I had to study my character.  I had to understand its motivation, its fears, its hopes and dreams.  As I rehearsed over and over, I began to feel a certain connection with the mysterious yaje.  A kinship.

Since FEST, I have embarked one a quest: to become one with the yaje.  Thoughts of yaje are constantly in mind.  When faced with a moral crisis, I ask, "What would yaje do?"  Everything is yaje.  I am no longer content to pretend to be yaje; I must become one with the yaje.

Yet this conflicts with my vows of the Order.  How can I worship something other than Our Saint, especially something from a true crapfest of an episode?  Besides, TBO would never approve of hallucinogens.  I'm torn between this new fascination and what I know to be right.  How can I get past this?

Sister Jaina "Yaje Spirit" Abducted

If you really want to become one with some slimy yellow junk from a Shiban episode about killer cats on a stick, well, go in peace. Or you could just get a clue. Your choice.

Autumn, dahling:

This is a problem that only you can solve.

You see, there is a little boy who lives on my block, I'll call him "Timmeh," who needs my help. Timmeh is a handsome boy with shimmering, blond locks, sparkling blue eyes, and a winsome smile. Sadly, though, Timmeh has a bit less melanin in his skin than the other kids at school. Thus, he is unable to achieve the perfect tan.

I know this problem seems pale in comparison to other blinding ailments, but think about what life must be like for poor Timmeh, who lives in Southern California; where a boy without a tan is like a waiter without an agent.

As you well know, because everyone who knows me knows, I give generously to all of my local charities. Whenever boys like poor Timmeh come to my attention, I scribble an obscene, four-figure amount on a check (never mind where the decimal point is) and hope that I can, in some small way, ease some of the pain in his pathetic, lower-middle-class life.

This year, my plan is to send poor Timmeh and his entire family to a private beach in Maui, where he can work on his tan free from the ridiculing glances of his peers. This will not burden me financially, as I was able to fetch a handsome price on eBay for the pair of Reade's underwear that I bought last year for a song. It would have been selfish of me to keep them for longer than that, so I let them go for the sake of Timmeh, and all of the other unattractively white children just like him.

Autumn, I know how you try, dreadfully limited though your resources are, to help poor, sick babies like Timmeh. I also know that you have been to Maui a few times. I don't go there, myself, as it seems that they will let just anyone on that island these days, so I am wondering: Can you recommend a good hotel for Timmeh and his family?

Don't worry about excessive luxury, they live in a trailer, for heaven's sake! Wherever you usually stay will be fine, I'm sure.

Thanks for your input.


A Cheerful Giver

You know, I've recently been having tanning issues myself. Think we could work a deal? I could write you a receipt for your taxes. I'm so glad you seem to embody the true spirit of giving. Have you thought about auctioning Timmeh off at eBay as a tax deduction?

Dear Sister Autumn, Maven of Minnesotan Merriment

Hi, it's Brother RJ again. If the was any second you were wondering why this humble servant of St. Scully couldn't make it to the OBSSE FEST 2000, well, it was because I

<Sister Autumn snips about 80 lines of the usual RJ burning issue of WHATEVER THE HELL IT IS THIS MONTH - I mean at this point does it really matter anymore? - to cut to the chase>

Is there anything, and I mean ANYTHING I can do to rectify this sinfully, evil, naughty, and totally accidental verbal faux pas? Nothing is too low, too degrading, too painful, too punitive or too Trout-related for me to attempt to amend my hideous public transgression. 

I await your wise and fair judgment, no matter how horrid it may seem to others.

On his hands and knees before you,
     Brother RJ

Your punishment - and I expect you to follow it for the good of the entire Abbey - is that you may now only write to me ONE (1) uno time a quarter (1/4) quarto and then said letter may not be more than THIRTY (30) dreißig lines in length. Only then will you be forgiven by St. Scully, me, and the rest of the Abbey folk. And believe me they won't see it as horrid at all. 


July 2000

Dear Dr. K,

Sorry to have taken so long to reply to your last "letter."  I guess it's still called a letter even if it's written in crayon, right?  Anyhoo....

FEST was wonderful this year.  Lots of people asked where you were, and I told them both all that you had gotten mixed up in an unfortunate incident involving pool floaties and genuine Canadian maple syrup, which I was completely sure would be straightened out soon, and that if not, the hospital staff would certainly be moving you off the locked ward in time for next year's FEST.

Oh, that's the big news!  We prevailed upon Autumn to agree to another FEST, though she did insist that it take place in Beaver Village again.  I don't know why she likes that town so much... something deep-rooted, I imagine.  Anyway, her conscious reason had something to do with the quality of minions there.  I must say that it's hard to imagine the Denver Area Minions topping the performance of the Scary Minnesota Girls (TM), but I have learned never to underestimate the creative potential of each and every OBSSE member.

I arrived early on Thursday, naturally, so that I could grab the best bed in the cabin meditate and then secure a good vantage point for taking my Little Notes (TM).  This paid off handsomely when I first got a seat right down in front for Sister Tammy "20 seconds, because I've matured" Perpetua's latest production, which was splendid as usual.  Later, I managed to place myself strategically near to our own dear Singing Nun, Sister Meredith, for Campfire Vespers.

By the way, the OBSSE has added a new sacrament to the Vespers ritual, involving a holy trinity of snack foods:  graham crackers, toasted marshmallows (or Peeps, among the cognoscenti), and of course chocolate. Clearly, the chocolate represents Saint Scully (being the most holy of snacks), but the meaning of the graham crackers and marshmallows remains a mystery to me.  Though I was not able to ascertain the exact origin of this custom, I believe that Sister XeNanchita, Snack Warrior Princess, was once a Girl Scout.  Or was it that she once dated a Girl Scout?  I confess that I'm unclear on that detail.

There also seemed to be a new element to the liturgy, something about "The Bottomless Pit of Kentucky."  It was complex and rather hard to follow, which is probably why there was so much repetition involved.  This was delivered by Sister Tammy, who many times during the weekend took charge of the OBSSE flock, delivering parables and homilies for their enlightenment.

I'm afraid I can't tell you much about Friday, as I had a dreadful reaction to the "Die Bug Die" lotion I had slathered on prior to the campfire, and so spent most of that day in bed.  However, I gather that there was boating, and bait shops, and leeches were somehow involved, so maybe it's just as well that I wasn't around.  I do seem to recall Sister Janelle making an odd "sproing!" noise at certain intervals.  At some point, Sister Sick!Chickie was discussing Janelle's latest fashion statement, and remarked, "I LIKE being the center of attention.  Where are my pants?" Other than that, the afternoon was a antihistamine-filled blur.

I did rally for the evening festivities, which involved:

  • teasing the locals ("oh yah, we're a sex pervert club") 
  • being teased by the locals (what was that hazelnut in the daiquiri thing all about?) 
  • further fundraising, e.g. the petting of Kirby ("I'm gonna get me a job shaking my moneymaker") 
  • the ritual adornment of the holy plastic icons 
  • presentation of the plaques. 

I must say more about this last event.  Sister Lens-of-Science was awarded a plaque for being the Elder of Minion Relations.  In response to Sister Autumn's admonition that this did not mean Lens should have relations with all the minions, Lens sheepishly remarked, "too late!"  She then pointed out: "look, there's no point in having power if it can't be abused."  Words to live by, Dr.K, words to live by.

On Saturday, I'm afraid that my therapeutic neutrality again became somewhat compromised.  This year, the problem was the pernicious influence of the so-called Rogues.  I found myself sharing a cabin with several of the Rogues, and I was drawn under their insidious spell.  First I helped make breakfast while wearing a Kitchen Crew chef's hat (though I'm told I looked more like the pope than a chef in it).  I also lent the group my favorite mix CD to provide some atmosphere.  The most unexpected people *cough*Nanchita*cough* know all the words to Partridge Family songs, isn't that remarkable?

Anyway, that wasn't the compromising part.  Someone at the Rogue Breakfast said these words:  "Presentation of the Cheeses," and then "Disney Parade of Lights," and like a sudden squall on the ocean, those present blew into action.  The Rogues provided Cheese Security, Cracker Enforcement and Crowd Control, and I found myself carrying a weapon (!) and providing an armed escort to Sister Beer and her Cheese Minions.  I had to dispense many stern warnings about the cracker-to-cheese ratio, and at one point I even helped take down some overexcited sister who rushed the cheese table.

By Saturday evening, I had regained my usual professional poise, and set up a temporary Crisis Center so that I could help the brethren and sistren through any Talent-Night-related traumas.  Thank God the shopping minions got the jumbo economy boxes of Proz-Tacs, as by the end of the night, I was flinging handful after handful of Proz-Tacs into the gasping, writhing crowd.

It was just as well you weren't there to share my desk, as I was forced to handcuff Autumn to me for part of the evening.  She had failed to heed my suggestions that she was getting over-stimulated and perhaps needed a time-out, so I really had no choice.  I felt that I should ensure that her behavior set an appropriate standard of decorum for the other Abbey members.  Sadly, my intervention was for naught, as sometime after I had released her, she was called up to the stage and serenaded by Scully, which caused her to giggle, turn interesting colors, and then dissolve into a schmoopy puddle.  I think perhaps next year, I should take her place for that particular event... just for therapeutic reasons, mind you.  For the good of the Abbey, I can take one for the team.

I'm not sure that ending the evening by singing "Kumbaya" provided the necessary closure.  It was an average of 7.5 ciders and several fireplace dances later that most people finally calmed down enough to sleep.  Then too, the next morning involved much schmoopage and many tears.  Thank Scully for the Post FEST Neenering, which lifted the group's depression somewhat.

So, dear Dr. K, that's about all I have to report for now.  I must rush if I'm to make my publication deadline get this in the mail to you.  I hope you are relating better to the Actual Doctors on staff there... try not to take their credentials personally, all righty?  Meanwhile, don't worry about a thing; I'm taking good care of the desk, buffing the top surface often and so forth.  And do keep in touch, whenever they permit you to have writing materials.

Dr. Sarah

by Chickie and Lens

Lens:  I blame NPR for this.

Chickie:  You mean it wasn't the margaritas?

Lens:  Really, think about it. All that pissing and moaning about fundraising that they do every year, the sheer GUILT involved in listening to good quality programming month after month, yet being too cheap to send in 25 bucks once a year EVEN when you get a tote bag...

Chickie (smugly): Actually I get my $$$$ taken out automatically each month... didn't you see my cool blue overshirt with the MPR logo embroidered above the pocket this weekend?

Lens: (ignoring Chickie) See, that's just what I mean. If it hadn't been for that knee-jerk-liberal must-throw-funding- at-cool-stuff-if-only-to-make-the-begging-stop-deah-gott-  make-it-just-STOP! it  never would have crossed our minds to sell Kirby.

Chickie:  At least not as profitably, anyway.   Besides, it's her own damn fault for being so cute and having that springy hair.

Lens:  Exactly.  It all started when Autumn let slip that the website was sort of expensive to run. I, having mailed her a dollar last year for website funding, was feeling pretty smug about my contribution.

Chickie:  Pffft. Better than I did. I figured there would easily be
enough people that sent her money, so I didn't send her even a buck. ::head hung in shame:: Besides I already sent in my money to NPR. ::Chickie showing off her cool shirt::

Lens:  Well it took several margaritas and the threat of a good
pummeling got her to admit that the site costs about $800 annually to maintain.

Chickie:  Color me shocked. I was thinking it was around 75 bucks a year. I had no way of knowing that it was nearly that each MONTH!

Lens:  So I was thinking --

Chickie:  Oh, fer spendy, then!

Lens:  AHEM. (emoting dramatically) So I got to thinking. "Gee," I said to myself, "How could I, little old me, do my part for this wonderful thing from which I have taken so much.

Chickie rolls her eyes and plays an invisible violin

Lens:  How can I, in my humble, self-effacing way, make a difference? And, most importantly, by making a difference, by dumping my world-weary ennui, by initiating a grassroots campaign, how can I also abuse Kirby?"

Chickie:  It was right about this time that we noticed that Kirby had fled under the first check-in table, to hide from all the people who were inexplicably patting her and playing with her hair.

Lens:  And we did have the website donation bucket *right* in front of us. I looked at Chickie.  She looked at me. We both glared at Kirby.

Chickie:  I had the construction paper RIGHT there... How could we not do our part for the website?

Lens:  We had a moment.

Chickie:  They REALLY shouldn't have sat us together, Lensie.

Lens:  Shoulda-woulda-coulda.

Chickie:  Indeed.

Lens:  Anyway. We expected that the tickets would raise a few bucks, but who could have predicted the rush for little red tickets? The begging, the pleading...

Chickie:  Nuns hurling dollar bills at us, begging for chances to pat Kirby's springy curls. It still gives me shivers. We sold out in minutes.

Lens:  Clearly we were on to something. A previously untapped fundraising market.

Chickie:  A 'niche'.

Lens:  Exactly.

Chickie:  So we sold her again, the next night. We had to. It was a moral imperative.

Lens:  At half-off, too.

Chickie:  During cocktail hour.

Lens:  It was for the website.

Chickie:  The sick website.

Lens:  To be perfectly honest, I don't really understand why WE got all the blame, er, I mean, fame for Happy Kirby Hour. It was really Lauren.

Chickie:  Ooh! And Nanners, don't forget Nanners.

Lens:  Yes, it was at her insistence...

Chickie:  Her quiet insistence.


Chickie:  So the little green tickets were born.

Lens:  Yes, and did you see Lauren's adorable Happy Kirby Hour drawing?

Chickie:  Kirbs just looked so precious! The braids, the dimples!

Lens:  The little Orphan Annie eyes!

Chickie:  And all for the sick website!

Lens:  So we plotted. We admit it.

Chickie:  Yes we plotted. We plotted hard. And with Lauren and Nanners as our silent partners, it was easy.

Lens:  We were all ready by the time it came to leave for dinner at Eddy's.

Chickie:  Yep.  We were prepared I tell you.

Lens:  It's a girl scout thing.

Chickie:  We had our laminated "Ask me about the little green ticket" badges, the donation bucket (with that oh fer sweeeeet drawing of Kirby), copious amounts of little green tickets (96 to be exact). So we headed off to dinner and our appointment with fate.

Lens:  It went down exactly as planned. I put an "Ask me about the little green tickets" in our ultra-cool-shoulda -won-first-place PI diorama. As Kirby was a judge, she saw it immediately.

Chickie:  But she didn't have any idea of the extent Lens and I .... er, I mean Nanners! the extent Nanners had plotted.

Lens:  Nanners.  Yep.

Chickie:  It was Nanners.

Lens:  We had announcements by the Demure One. Then, as arranged, Chickie and I went up to the podium.

Chickie:  We had a microphone even!

Lens:  Like we needed a mike.

Chickie:  Like we've ever needed a mike.

Lens:  There was no way the masses could miss our message!

Chickie:  It was for the website.

Lens:  The sick website.

Chickie: So Lensie goes into her spiel. About how we were just SHOCKED how much the website costs to keep up, about how we have become so personally attached to everyone through the OBSSE

Lens:  ...yadda, yadda, yadda...

Chickie:  While she was droning on -- er, I mean, giving her -- what do you call it?

Lens:  My 'impassioned plea'

Chickie:  Yeah, that.  Anyway,  I stood by innocently, waiting for my cue...

Lens:  ::sniff:: it was just a beautiful moment. Really. I had just finished my impassioned plea and said the key phrase. "So we would like to announce that tonight is...

Chickie:  That was my cue.   ::sshhthhTHUNKshshsit!!!!:: (I slammed that donation bucket (full of my loose change --about four dollars worth) on the head table.)

Lens:  ... Happy Kirby Hour!!!

Chickie:  The room just exploded in laughter. Someone sitting at Kirby's table said the blood drained from her face. Bwahahha.

Lens:  Poor Kirby.

Chickie:  Yes.

Lens:  I announced that tickets would be two for a buck, until they were gone. Lauren, Chickie and I would be doing the selling.

Chickie:  While Lens was laying down the rules of the sale (something like "One pat per ticket, and NO FONDLING!"), I brought Kirby a laminated badge to wear that said "I did MY part for the website, yooooou betcha!"

Lens:  And then we were all mobbed.

Chickie:  Who knew it would be more frenzied than the little red tickets?

Lens:  Yes indeed. Nuns were giving us all sorts of money!

Chickie:  We found out how generous OBSSE'rs could be, first hand.

Lens:  We sold out fairly quickly.

Chickie:  In minutes, actually.

Lens:  We had two tickets left, when Chickie came up with another one of her brilliant ideas.

Chickie:  Auction off the last pair to the highest bidder.

Lens:  AJ got them with a bid of 20 bucks.

Chickie:  Lens didn't want any infighting, so she took the twenty and ran.

Lens:  Ran to the donation bucket, of course.

Chickie:  Oh, of course.

Lens:  We counted it up after we were done.

Chickie:  I was floored.

Lens:  It was more than we EVER expected.

Chickie:  Yes, we had 96 tickets, and at 2 fer a buck, that's $48 face value... We did a little better than that.

Lens:  Double.

Chickie:  Triple.

Lens:  And then some. We got just about $300.

Chickie:  Just that night, that doesn't include the little red tickets (which raised about $60). And after we counted the $$ there was MORE money in the bucket!

Lens:  It was an inspirational.

Chickie:  Y'all really out did yourselves!

Lens:  To think we found Kirby a new profession should she ever decide to give up teaching Our Nation's Youth.

Chickie:  As Kirby put it so eloquently, she could quit her day job and just start "shaking her money maker."

Lens and Chickie: You betcha.