Hello out there beautiful, ugly world, you old juxtaposition, you.

It's been a while since I've diatribed, but then again, it's been awhile since I've done a lot of things. I'm writing today with some, um, "exciting!" news. In this issue you'll find info about Morgan Spurlock's new documentary, a sample sale in Tribeca, my new website, upcoming shows and MORE.

I'll start off with my loveable diatribe and move on to news items.

This is going to be a long one, because right now, I've got nothing to complain about. I don't know what happened. Maybe it's all the spirulina or the kombucha I've been drinking. Maybe it's the new Whole Foods grocery store located just blocks away from my lower east side residence, stocked with every kind of fancy natural remedy you can think of. I've been trying them all. ALL, I say. Sometimes I mix them together in a soup like concoction, not unlike the combo from the days of my youth, when I would lock myself in the bathroom and play scientist, where I mixed shampoo, perfume, bleach, ammonia and everything else I could find together into a cup, until my parents busted down the door and punched me in the ass repeatedly for putting myself in a potentially dangerous situation. Maybe it's the weekly therapy session I've been attending for about a year, now. What I'm trying to say is, I DON'T KNOW. But my mind is like one of those chocolate cadbury eggs that you unwrap and suck all that white shit out of, leaving just the hollow shell to slowly nibble on until your fingers are covered in a sticky, slimy residue that you then suck off of each finger. Then you shake someone's hand later, but your hands aren't really dirty any more, and even if they were, the person who's hand you shook wouldn't know that their palms were covered in your mouth goo, anyway.

This kind of relaxed mind-set is not good for my business. It's certainly not good for my diatribes. My diatribes are fueled by ANGER! POVERTY! DEPRESSION! Right now, I'm not feeling any of those things. Don't worry, THEY'LL BE BACK. As far as poverty is concerned, I'm not overnight rich or anything, but the buddhist website I've been reading has helped me to appreciate what I DO have, MAN.

I've also been collecting some new, interesting instruments which have made me feel pretty cheery. So, for the remainder of my diatribe, I'll just talk about my new instrumental acquisitions, which are important and relevant to my line of work, which is vagina ditties. I got a new flying V ukelele in Scotland which is the most beautiful little thing I've ever held. It's even prettier than a baby or a kitten, and much cleaner and just all around better. When I take it outside, people RUN up to me on the street, and I get scared because I think they are going to attack me, (I prepare by getting out my rape whistle and getting poised to play my anti-rape song) but then they just excitedly scream, "WHAT IS THAT THING?" and "WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?" and "IS THAT A FLYING V UKELELE?" and "OH MY GOD, CAN I SEE YOUR TINY GUITAR?" It has happened no less than ten times so far, and I can understand why. Every time I see it, I do that. On the buddhist website, it says you're not supposed to cherish physical belongings. But "f" that. Just looking at this thing makes me happy, ge-od de-amn it, and that's more than I can say about any of you shit for necks.

Also, recently, to get away from the hustle and bustle of love lost, I took a trip with dear, deary pal out into the outer world of ruralsville. There, my pal's parents treated me like a crimson queen, offering food and drink to me with a limitlessness reserved for royalty, celebrity, or politicy. I slept in a very firm bed (which I like) with about four comforters draped over me, like the princess and the pea, while a HARP watched guard over me while I dreamed about cupcakes and sugar factories. We spent the days walking and wiffling through the lovely wood, playing with an adorable puppy, tinkling the ivories, (a piano is a luxury that I don't have the space to afford) discussing new age themes, considering ways to get rich quick while we dined on ginger cookies, and otherwise engaged in a variety of assorted gluttonous uses of time.

As I was leaving, my parting gift was a Q-chord, an electronic auto-harp which was certainly invented by a direct ancestor of Stevie Nicks, or someone who comes from a long line of witches. It is a beautiful, magical instrument that makes me feel like a coven caretaker when I play it. I can't wait to write some filthy ballads on it to share with you all, once I learn how to play it. It is really the nicest gifty-gift (you know, besides like, love, or a heart-felt compliment) I think I've ever received, and if I had anything to diatribe about at all, the Q-chord removed any shred of it's existence from my life.

Unfortunately for you, I'm much funnier when I'm angry. But fortunately for you, my temper rages and my attitude is generally so bad that I am never happy for more than a few days or a week, at most. So, hopefully, when it's time for the next Diatribe to roll off my fingertips, I'll be hell-bent on tearing someone a brand new asshole.

Until next time,
Ms. Delfino's Diatribe