I don’t think I like it here at Promises at all. First of all, they expect you to eat the food. We don’t eat! I can’t even find the champagne locker. “Home-like” environment my perfect ass.

Let’s not even discuss where I had to conceal my fentanyl patches during intake. And Lambchop isn’t even allowed to be my roomie. She is locked down clear across the campus. We hope to rendezvous in the day room soon.

Mel Gibson is really taking that therapy puppet business to the next level. I preferred the old Mel, who knew his way around a jacuzzi. A real party guy. At least Alec Baldwin will be stopping by later to teach a class on voicemail etiquette. Hint: no one uses the phone anymore.

Tara Reid will be teaching Life Skills, and Lindsay Lohan will doing a seminar on “How to explain gaps in a résumé.” She is also co-moderating a panel on dressing and accessorizing for success with Winona Ryder.

Damn it, Lindsay, you are persuasive. I guess I could stand to revamp my résumé. What am I really good at? Why do I deserve to be Vomitola?

Well, I’m a people person, so I usually handle HR back at HQ.  I, like Tyra Banks, can tell within 3 seconds whether I will have any use for you at all. Not smizing? We have a special diversion program for that. Never let it be said that Vomitola does not nurture the staff. Sure, we may toss the occasional platinum cell phone, but how can we be responsible if someone opts to step into its path?

The more I think about it, the more I realize that this is what we were born to do. No faceless corporation could ever understand the creative process that is our lives. We’re going to have to appeal to the fans on this one. We’re going to have to cry on TV.

We are sure of few things in life.

1) There is no situation that cannot be represented via a Google Images search on The Sims.

2) We are all born terminally ill. It is only a matter of time. Please, have a Kleenex. Get your affairs in order.

3) In the meantime, we may be quotable, but we are always replaceable!

Just the other day, we read that John Galliano had been fired not only from Dior but from John Galliano! Apparently it is a foolhardy idea to allow someone else to own over 90% of your eponymous brand.

You could say we sold our souls years ago, so Lambchop and I have been getting nervous: recently she was asked to fill out a self-assessment, and I was asked to fill out a job application. On paper. These are clear signs that we are dealing with lunatics who do not understand our devil-may-not-particularly-care approach to modern life.

So we wondered: could our very existence in its present form be in jeopardy? Sure, we’ve had our rough patches, our little stunts and tantrums, but we’ve always apologized! Could Vomitola be fired from Vomitola? What will happen to our 401(k)s? Can we elect to use COBRA? Will we deny ourselves unemployment benefits because we were terminated for cause?

Times are still so hard that they make John Boehner cry, so we have decided that we must protect our livelihood by proactively pleading our case before a jury of our peers. As soon as we secure some, for where might we find those can match us in wit, intellect, and beauty?

In the coming days or hours, depending on our schedules, we must dust off our resumes (do people still print those on giant panda skin?) and don the leotards of fierce physical competition.

We will defend ourselves to the death!