Current mood:	angry
Current music:	I still have Jews protesting my uncle in front of my house.

Stricken!
What a day it has been for this bird! Due to the transit strike, the monorail system in my cunt has been making shuttle trips back and forth between Central Cunt Terminal (near my G-spot, which was paved six months ago to counteract its natural sponginess) and Penn Station. You must realize that in order to do this, the transit workers in my cunt had to build twelve miles of monorail track to Penn Station from my cunt. My cunt is usually located in my Broncks bungalow, but since I move around often, the track had to be made of a flexible and stretchable material. They ended up using lycra.

The transit workers in my cunt are real troopers![1] The cuntizens all had splendidly easy commutes, thanks to the trustworthiness of the monorail system.

However, you must realize that all those extra monorail trips used up quite a bit of electricity. My cuntizens can scarcely afford to use that much[2], so they came up with a plan to make more money. What plan, you ask? The futures market! And what futures, you ask?

MY PEE!