Angels, demons, and other handicrafts.

'Skank' is a word I don't like very much. It always holds a hint of envy. Look at her with her crappy hair extensions and her cheap shoes and her skirt hiked up to there and her dimple-less thighs and creamy skin can you imagine how much she spends on facials I bet she earns it at her local pole-dancing emporium and would you believe they keep drooling because she's just so obvious my god would you look at it. Boys who use the term usually can't get The Sex. Girls who use it splinter the sisterhood. (The sisterhood still exists, right?) So I refuse to use the word 'skank'. But I will say this: Bessie is a scrag.

On a happier note, I think the weekend's Expo managed to convince my parents that the Empire isn't as weird as they thought. Who could fail to look normal next to:

• the people who believe that if you sit under a pyramid, it changes your DNA;
• the guys claiming that we're all part of an inter-galactic experiment and are actually human-alien hybrids;
• the institution selling a Vitamin C supplement that can apparently cure schizophrenia;
• the woman who says rocks feel pain and don't like being trodden on; or
• the pamphlet I got which swears that you only get cancer if you're a cranky-pants?

Next to these guys, the Empire's aromatherapy stuff looks like common sense. And don't get me started on the unicorn craft. (Though I did buy my dad a tea-towel just because it spelt it 'unicron'.)