------[grow and decay, it's only forever]------

"Good afternoon, Faust, Ford and Reed," chirped a pleasant female voice, "how may I help you?" Adora did not reply immediately, taken slightly aback by the revelation of Brian Reed's promotion to partner in the firm.

"Hi, could you put me through to Brian Reed, please?"

"May I ask who's calling?" she asked, so politely that Adora could imagine her blinking her eyes rapidly and repeatedly, her lips primly pursed somewhere between a smile and a frown.

"Adora Reed," she answered quickly.

"Oh! Right away, Mrs. Reed!"

"Merrr," Adora grumbled - apparently this mistake would be frequently made.

"Pardon?"

"Nothing!" Adora replied, mimicking the woman's chirp right back at her. The line lay dead for a few moments, save an obnoxious hold tone that sounded periodically.

"Brian Reed," came Brian's voice, sounding indifferent as ever.

"Jeez, why don't you just greet people with 'sup' and a rapperish nod of your head?" Adora asked, annoyed by his lackadaisical attitude.

"Well Princess! Returning my call already?"

"What? No. I received no message," she shifted her eyes, "I have a legal inquiry."

"Oh, well I just finished putting a memo through to my assistant to contact you about something important. You had me thinking I had the best help in the world for a second there."

"And what important matter is that?" Adora asked in a tone better suited to puppies and/or children.

"You'll enjoy this and so will your PR people," he promised, mistakenly assuming that she had such things. "The Humane Society of the United States contacted me about having you possibly replace Heather Mills --"

"Formerly McCartney," Adora interrupted, for the sole purpose of irritating him.

"--yeah, whatever. About having you replace her as spokesperson for their campaign to end Canada's annual seal hunt. What do you think?" he asked, so pleased with himself that he practically beamed through the telephone. Adora's jaw hung slack in disbelief of the opportunity presented to her, but she said nothing. "Like I said," he began again, hoping to fill the silence, "your PR people will be thrilled to be able to angle your preachy animal rights beliefs as intelligent or, at the very least, controversial!"

"Oh fuck you," Adora finally spoke, her voice quiet. "That's amazing. I'd pay them to let me do that!"

"Lucky you, you don't have to do that! There's no money in this, but I didn't think you'd care."

"Of course I don't. What does the position entail?"

"A print campaign, a media-slash-publicity tour, live 'reporting' from the scene; the works."

"Holy shit, I get to actually go to the ice floes and watch them be barbarians?!"

"You sure do, Pumpkin. Y--"

"How am I supposed to watch this stuff happen and not lose my mind and go after them and probably get clubbed and sold to make a coat for J.Lo?" she blurted, the probability of witnessing something she was so staunchly appalled by hitting her like a ton of bricks.

"That's a good question, and we'll figure it out when the time comes, but in the meantime, you'll do some interviews, make all the television rounds to publicize the cause. You know, Larry King and the like."

"Fucking right," Adora muttered, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Although his face makes me feel a little queasy."

"I'll contact you again shortly to discuss time frames and to set up meetings and appointments, but expect people to start contacting you independently as well," he informed her before pausing. "So, wait... what were you really calling about?" he asked suspiciously.

"Okay, let me set a, uh, hypothetical situation for you," Adora said, apprehensive.

"Goody, I just love those and how they're never based in truth!"

"Yeah, well, let's say someone, in all their youthful fecklessness, married a mean - but sexy - crazy psycho --"

"Best kind of marriage!"

"-- and they never really dissolved the union after it all went wrong, probably out of the desire to avoid the offending spouse, for fear of being tricked into reconciliation, and now the person is back to get a piece of the pie you've been carefully baking since the break up."

"Are you the crazy, mean psycho, or the pie baker?"

"Pie baker."

"So let me get this straight," he sighed as he rubbed his temples vigorously with one hand, "you got married when you were a kid, the dude was nuts, and while you physically separated, you never officially ended the marriage. And now he's back and wants your money, to which he is ostensibly entitled half of?"

"Pretty much. Well, he's not back yet. But I think he will be," Adora frowned.

"How long ago was this? He might not have as much legal recourse, depending on your age at the time."

"About four and a half years ago? I was eighteen."

"Okay," he sighed, "we can work with this. Start concealing assets! In the meantime, I have some case work to get back to, but expect calls from people about this seal crap."

"Thanks," she replied dryly, unsure if he was serious about the asset hiding, but unable to suppress her growing grin as she replaced the receiver in its cradle.

------[no one can save the pure and the brave]------

"So recently, you went to Japan. What kind of an experience was that?" asked Shelley - a thirty-something more attuned to writing her pieces on politics than on wrestlers - hoping to ease Adora into the heavier questions by starting off with mindless banter. Brian had been right, and little time had passed before a call came from a journalist writing an article on celebrity blacklash against Canada's annual seal hunt. Currently, the two bided their time at a photographer's studio, waiting for stylists to arrive so the photoshoot for the HSUS's print campaign could begin.

"To be honest, I was scared at first, because a) I know nothing of their language, and b) I fear being at the mercy of laws of other countries... what if I accidentally did something illegal?! You know, I didn't want to get knocked out by some thug and wake up with a half-pound of cocaine stuffed up my asshole. But I guess Japan isn't so bad for that, is it? I was just being an ignorant North American," she chuckled idly.

For a moment, Shelley just stared, taken aback by Adora's bluntness. Unsure of whether to find this honesty refreshing or offensive, she continued.

"What was it like over there?"

"I would hardly call an authentic experience. We were ushered around by handlers most of the time, from one stereotypical activity to another. I can't complain though, a lot of these were delicious stereotypical activites. You know, sushi and tea houses. You'd better believe I stuffed my face silly with u-don noodles. Even the matches weren't particularly authentic, because, let's face it, if I'd had to face any hardcore Japanese wrestling stars, I'd probably still be in the ICU overseas. Soapazuna was a challenge though. Holy morbidly... what's the word I'm looking for?"

"Obese?" she offered.

"No, it's something that can't be fixed as easily," she said, stroking her chin pensively. "Ugly! She was morbidly fucking ugly. That's why I stopped taking ballet lessons as a child, you know. I had to tippy-toe across the dance floor and lay myself across this fat, sweaty girl in a silvery blue leotard in our production of 'The Red Shoes.' Go figure, I wind up in this business," Adora snorted, gazing dreamily into the distance at this childhood memory while picking mindlessly at her long nails.

"Most little girls quit ballet, I think. Once they realize it's not fun and you have to suffer constant indignity at the hands of crusty prima ballerinas."

"So fucking true. You must think I'm so vapid," Adora laughed. "So far I've berated fat people and proclaimed love for noodles. I might as well relate my experience in Japan more to what you're writing this article about, huh?"

"Go for it."

"Easily, the most significant thing I did was visit the headquarters of a group that's protesting and fighting Japan's dolphin and whale hunts. It's really depressing, because, let's face it, if their government ignores international laws and goes on their merry way, what can stop them?"

"Kind of like the seal hunt you're so vehemently against?"

"Well, there are no laws being broken there, unfortunately. All Canada is ignoring is, you know, humanity. Lots of countries have boycotted this particular fur, but I don't know how much that achieves. I mean, people are buying faux fur made from Chinese strays, so whatever regulations there are are enforced half-assedly."

"Really? Isn't that illegal?"

"Very. But they try to phrase things sneakily - like 'genuine mock fur' - to get around it. Which is still illegal, and if anyone who buys that under the impression that nothing died for it, they have a pretty little lawsuit on their hands. But that doesn't stop anyone."

"That's pretty awful, I have to say."

"Yeah, don't lose your pet in China," Adora remarked, immediately aware of how awful a comment it was. "I see so much more fur these days, though, and not just on old ladies who probably got it in their 20s from someone who wanted them to put out. It's like, young dudes, and that's gross on so many levels. It's sad that the younger generation, the one that's been raised with all the awareness, doesn't give a fuck, and it's downright infuriating that these slack-jawed chumps think they look good in these coats.

"First of all, they're hugely oversized, and they have these cheap, acrylic, elastic waisband hems, like it's a fucking band hoodie or something. And it's all topped off with large, plastic zippers better suited to velour tracksuits. Like, what is that? I can't even believe that animals died for that shit. And the guys that wear them usually tuck their pants into their socks, walk like they just shat themselves and wear baseball caps two sizes too big with flat, unbent beaks on them. It's aesthetically revolting and visually insulting."

"Why do you think kids are unaffected by the violence behind it?"

"They're indifferent, they're tacky, they're ignorant, they're selfish, they're downright stupid? I don't know; pick one. I've heard lots of lame reasoning for it. 'I'm cold and fur keeps me warm,' for one. Sorry, that doesn't fly, it's by no means a necessity, there are plenty of options for keeping warm that don't involve fur. Unless you live in tundra, you can lick my chocolate salty balls."

"I'm sure none of those people could kill, skin and sew their own coat."

"They probably can't sew, let alone kill and skin more than a banana. I've also heard, 'I need fur because in 50 years it can biodegrade, while synthetic coats will not.' Please. If they cared so deeply about the environment, they wouldn't wear leather or eat meat or do any of those other things that take up an unconscionable amount of natural resources. I forget the exact statistic, but I think it was that for all the water, grain and land it takes to raise livestock in North America, you could feed 60 million starving people in third world countries. So, if wearing fur is an environmental effort, you'd best be becoming a vegetarian. Same goes for leather, because on top of the raising costs, the amount of toxins that run off into our freshwater sources form curing, tanning and colouring leather are insanely destructive to the earth."

"But it is true that if you eat meat, you might as well wear the skin as well."

"That's leather. People use this argument for fur as well, as if fur is a byproduct of meat consumption. Maybe in some countries you can find sliced mink and pickled kitten fetus in the deli section, but not in this one. I'm sorry, but you just can't justify this shit to me. No one needs a pretty, white seal fur coat to keep warm. And if they think they do, by all means, send them my way so I can set them on fire. Then they can be warm forever and ever and ever."

"Send them straight to hell, huh?" Shelley laughed.

"Oh hell no. That's probably where the wife and I are ending up, so I'd prefer that those people stayed out," Adora replied solemnly.

------[no one can save them at all]------

A few hours later, Adora sat in a stylist's chair as he - Armando - glued impossibly long extensions between layers of her own long, blonde hair. The idea of gluing to herself hair that probably belonged to some dirty hippie, under the fasle impression that they were donating their hard-grown locks to a cancer charity disgusted her in many ways, but she knew there was a greater cause at hand.

She reviewed the copy for the ad over and over again, not particularly impressed, but unable to think of anything better herself. She couldn't, though, deny that the theme for the shoot was effective despite its cheesy triteness: get people to do stuff by employing a pretty girl as motivation.

The extensions were just long enough to cover Adora's thighs in the front, and slightly shorter in the back. The rest of the outfit was comprised of a tiny, white, mock seal, fun fur bikini. The animated billboard would first feature Adora in the bikini with the words, "What's better? This..." and when the panels flipped, a nude Adora covered only by her hair would be revealed, bearing the words, "...or this? Don't wear fur; grow your own."

"If it was up to me, it'd just say 'Wearing fur makes you look like a douchebag,' but I guess that's more personally satisfying than it is effective, huh?"

"Jyou know what, hun? This is going to be like the new Pam Anderson in a lettuce bikini," he promised with a wink.

"Now that I would have loved to wear," Adora grinned. A makeup artist made her way towards her chair, a jar of foundation and application sponge in hand. "I don't wear Cover Girl," Adora stated, glaring up at the girl between strands of fake hair. "Not to be difficult, but they test on animals, and last I checked, this was an animal rights campaign shoot. Yes, no?"

"Huh, I didn't know that," she said, a thoughtful but indifferent expression on her face.

"Then I guess you're not a Humane Society of the United States-appointed makeup artist," Adora half asked, half confirmed, a touch of ice in her tone.

But she couldn't blame them, the HSUS weren't an organization that promoted themselves with flashy, sensationalized ad campaigns, and that's what drew Adora to them most. They spent their time and money dealing directly with the issues at hand, and only now, after many years, were they about to appeal to the most gluttonous of North America's senses in order to advance their cause.

"Jokay, jyou are ready," Armando proclaimed, swivelling Adora around to face the mirror.

"Mmmm, Armando, this is why you're the best." She gazed approvingly at herself in the mirror, running her hands almost obsessively through the new strands - a task that now took twice the time it used to. "You know, if you rearranged the letters in your name, you'd be Mandora!"

"If I ever take to the stage as a queen, jyou can bet I'm going to use that!" he giggled.

"I think it's better to go nude for this one," Adora waved away the makeup artist who was returning with another jar of foundation. "No point in wearing a pound of makeup while trying to achieve the natural look. We'll leave the rest up to airbrush," she decided, hopping out of the chair. The bikini top had twisted around and exposed one of her breasts. "Oops, hehe," she muttered sheepishly."

"Don' jyou worry," Armando assured her as he adjusted the top himself. "Jyou are going to do great," he said, offering both of her breasts an encouraging cupping and bounce before sending her over to the photographer.

If anyone was going to whore themselves for the seals, Adora was glad it could be her.

------[the next wave]------

Okay, so let's cut the crap and just do this straight: no staged interviews or pesky interviewers, just straight opinion. Which, in most cases, is really just me stating facts that may or may not have gone unnoticed.

I've never been in a hall of fame. Why? I suppose I never stayed anywhere long enough to make the kind of impact that results in a fear-inducing legacy like my wifey's. That doesn't mean that I don't have what it takes to be in a hall of fame, though! So that's probably why I don't give any particular sort of crap about facing Destiny Daniels (why not Fate Finch, Eternity Emerson or Kismet Kuntlick?) or Casanova (he's awfully cocky for a living corpse, yo).

Seriously though, Destiny Daniels? What kind of name is that? I'm not trying to sound petty here, but come on! It sounds like something some dude sitting in his heavily curtained room created, thinking to himself, "I'm going to make up my perfect dream girl, and her name is going to be alliterated, and she's going to have the face of an angel, and she's going to kill people for a living - but not me, she'll love me - and she'll be badass and troubled and sexy and maybe one day she'll touch me in my special areas!!!" No offence, Destiny, but you truly, honesty do come off as a figment of someone's sad, horny imagination.

But I digress, lest I forget about your alias, "5ive." I don't think I've said this before, but I'll say it now for all the times in the past I should have and didn't. You can't spell with numbers. At least not unless you're bored and in math class, using your calculator to write out "hello," "asshole" and "boobies" for your friends. A 5 does not translate to an f. The first letter in the spelling of a number DOES NOT mean that that number is interchangeable with that letter.

So to reiterate, in case you missed that, it's not spiffy, nifty or cool to spell words with any sort of numeric value, it's just plain meaningless, because it renders everything meaningless. Unless you're using Greek to write in Greek, anyway, and I highly doubt you're in any position to do that.

And on a totally different topic: your snake. Now, I'm not the kind of animal rights nut who thinks that no one should have pets and that human interaction with animals should be minimal at best, but what are you thinking? In case you haven't noticed yet, real snakes aren't the same as those little plastic ones that simulate slithering when you hold them still in the air. They do this thing, where they like, prefer to be coiled up in a dark spot most of the time. You do realize that exposing the creature to glaring arena light shows on an almost nightly basis is going to drive it mad, right? Well, hopefully you don't, maybe that way it will kill you and spare Morgy and I the trouble. As soon as that thing wraps itself around your neck once, no length of mercenary training will save you.

Actually, that's not necessarily true. It's hard to tell what the snake can do, when its type isn't mysteriously omitted. It's not any particular kind of snake, apparently, and I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't actually know. As long as it's rare enough to make you seem cool or something - even if it's a friggin' corn snake - it works! "Lookie here!! I have a rare thing around my shoulders! I are tough. Me like Britney. I'm a slave 4 U, Clyde the random thief I date, because that's an attractive quality in people!!!"

Please. Excuse me while I cue NKTOB'S "Hangin' Tough."

I suppose I understand the allure, though. If I were a man, I'd surely want to cram my giant cock down your throat too, if only to stop you from spewing any more of your angry, murderous, neglectarino bullshit.

As for Casanova, Ms. Daniels's partner, I guess he needs a match this high profile, since he's probably still paying off his cosmetic dentist for the procedure he had to chisel his teeth into retarded looking points. But that's okay, I guess they make it more realistic when he sits in his locker room, sucking back V8 through a curly straw, assuring himself that yes, he really, really, really is a vampire! Would you like some Count Chocula to go with that, little buddy?

As for that name... well, how much of a casanova could he feasibly BE? I suppose he could appeal to girls with the mentality of, "Alright!~! I get me some tongue even though I'm on my rag!~!" but once he sucks it all out and puts holes in their vaginas, I'm going to guess that the romance and passion end then and there.

But I suppose all that doesn't necessarily impinge on his athletic ability. And I guess I can't say that his 1970s speed-acid-booze freak physique - corpsily sexy as it is - does either. That would be hypocritical, considering the emphasis I put on not writing me off because I'm a woman.

Who knows, maybe Morgy, Destiny and I will *all* get our periods for New Wave, and he can have tiny orgasms from the metallic smell in the air all night long!

...kay, well that's just gross. But next time I'm in the same room as either of them, just remind me to pull the shades back and crack a window for Casanova, and to ignore Destiny... you know, bring back some of them painful childhood memories!