Last night, I had my final talking to with Lenny, and boy am I glad that’s over with. I just can’t make that boy angry. The more I try, the madder I get for goodness’ sake. He’s like a skinny, colored Buddha. Pinko said the stage lighting was unflattering, too, and made me look like an angry, powdered whore. Friends, that truly wasn’t my fault. If he had not intentionally challenged me to a Fruit Rollup eating competition, 45 minutes before show time, I wouldn’t have had those rosy lips and crazy sex eyes. Pinko knows the Mav doesn’t back down from a challenge and he set me up. For the first half hour, the sugar in those things (my 43 to his 36) made me feel like I’d snorted an eightball of Saigon Pink, and as an unfortunate result of my come down, I was unable to “whip” Lenny like I’d said I would. Shit.