My Dear Doktor Phox: You Should Be Run Out of Town on a Rail.

[Juana]

It occurs to me that the further West you go in America, the more fucked up everything is.

Florida is merely an outlier.

I believe this stands to reason. After all, the thirteen original states had to push all their undesirables somewhere. When Florida got full, it was West. But as time went by, Propers^TM became the object of envy for the Pariah. And the Pariah found that they wished to live like the Propers^TM. And the best way to do that? Cast off the Untouchables and the dregs into the further West.

This, of course, explains California.

Mmm. Well. That must be why both Colorado and Texas WOULD NOT HAVE Shoe Ears and I.

And y'all ain't seen the Central Valley (expect Nigel, but she got the hell out of here). Venice Beach is potatoes next to the horrors I have to live amongst.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

It occurs to me that the further West you go in America, the more fucked up everything is.

Florida is merely an outlier.

I believe this stands to reason. After all, the thirteen original states had to push all their undesirables somewhere. When Florida got full, it was West. But as time went by, Propers^TM became the object of envy for the Pariah. And the Pariah found that they wished to live like the Propers^TM. And the best way to do that? Cast off the Untouchables and the dregs into the further West.

This, of course, explains California.

Mmm. Well. That must be why both Colorado and Texas WOULD NOT HAVE Shoe Ears and I.

And y'all ain't seen the Central Valley (expect Nigel, but she got the hell out of here). Venice Beach is potatoes next to the horrors I have to live amongst.

Most of the Carribean wouldn't have Shoe Ears.  She is a criminal thug, and no state or nation outside of California will have anything to do with her brutal shit.  Even before she took up nun-throttling (not an obscure sports term).

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

It occurs to me that the further West you go in America, the more fucked up everything is.

Florida is merely an outlier.

I believe this stands to reason. After all, the thirteen original states had to push all their undesirables somewhere. When Florida got full, it was West. But as time went by, Propers^TM became the object of envy for the Pariah. And the Pariah found that they wished to live like the Propers^TM. And the best way to do that? Cast off the Untouchables and the dregs into the further West.

This, of course, explains California.

Mmm. Well. That must be why both Colorado and Texas WOULD NOT HAVE Shoe Ears and I.

And y'all ain't seen the Central Valley (expect Nigel, but she got the hell out of here). Venice Beach is potatoes next to the horrors I have to live amongst.

I have been many many times. I have photographic evidence.

[Juana]

And I am so, so sorry. Especially since you came in summer, iirc? God. Central Valley sun is EXTRA strong here, and plants burn to an ashy crisp here in a day or two, if you don't water them.

It occurs to me that the further West you go in America, the more fucked up everything is.

Florida is merely an outlier.

I believe this stands to reason. After all, the thirteen original states had to push all their undesirables somewhere. When Florida got full, it was West. But as time went by, Propers^TM became the object of envy for the Pariah. And the Pariah found that they wished to live like the Propers^TM. And the best way to do that? Cast off the Untouchables and the dregs into the further West.

This, of course, explains California.

Mmm. Well. That must be why both Colorado and Texas WOULD NOT HAVE Shoe Ears and I.

And y'all ain't seen the Central Valley (expect Nigel, but she got the hell out of here). Venice Beach is potatoes next to the horrors I have to live amongst.

Most of the Carribean wouldn't have Shoe Ears.  She is a criminal thug, and no state or nation outside of California will have anything to do with her brutal shit.  Even before she took up nun-throttling (not an obscure sports term).

I knew it! I knew that that was what happened to the nuns at our old church! I knew there was something she wasn't telling me when we were both kicked out of church that Sunday in December 2006 and told to never come back. There was blood on her hands and a big too-toothy grin on her face and she just smirked at me when I asked about it. She'd disappeared halfway through Vespers, when the church was filled with the haze of incense and the low chanting of the mass. The fog drifted in through the door she'd left open, the one near the back of the church. It's not too far to the little house out near the parish school from that door, and the thing about Shoe Ears is that she's so quiet when she's about her business. There was nary a sound between the time she left and the time she sat back down, bloody fingers tapping idly on the pew upholstery and a smirk the size of Dallas on her face.
At the end of mass, Father Borges was pulled aside by I guess a survivor? She was a petite woman, frantic and her habit was pulled askew (nuns, you see, are usually so tidy it's painful to look at them), and fragments of her voice carried back to where we were sitting, at the back of the church.

"...and she kill--...so much blood, Father! All over the counte--!"

I looked at Shoe Ears, who grinned that too-toothy smile again, and wait apprehensively as Father Borges came flying down the aisle toward us, like God Himself was on his heels.

"What the HELL did you do?" I asked her, electing to stand up and hopefully get out of dodge before he got to us.

"Nothing," Shoe Ears replied with a laugh as she followed suit. "Nothing at all."

"I don't believe you," I replied, eying the approaching ushers carefully. "Father Borges is impossible to upset and I'm pretty sure he's going to have an apoplexy. You didn't kill his dog, did you?"

Shoe Ears had the gall to look offended. "Of course not! Why would I kill a dog?"

I would have replied, but the ushers rushed us and dragged us both out to the edge of the church property, leaving us on the curb as Father Borges howled at our backs.

"Listen," she said, and tugged my coat sleeve. "They're gonna bring out the holy water in a minute if we don't book it."

"And you'll go up in a puff of smoke, right," I agreed, and let her lead the way to the local fastfood joint we were supposed to be picked up from. "You got blood on my coat."

"Oh," she said and checked out the damage. "Sorry. So, when we get to the restaurant, we need to figure out a story to tell Mom."

"Hey," I said, looking at her over my shoulder. "You got us kicked out. You come up with the story."

Shoe ears frowned and stopped to wipe the blood off on a fence as best she could. "Well. Hm. We have half an hour; I'll come up with something."

"I'm sure," I agreed. "And what the hell was it you did?"

"If I told you," she said and grinned again, "I'd have to kill you."

"Oh my god, really?"

"Uh huh," Shoe Ears said, chuckling a little.

I nodded and decided I was probably happier not knowing whose blood it was on her hands. Later, when the reports were all over the news - MASS MURDER AT LOCAL PARISH, FIFTEEN NUNS FOUND STRANGLED  - I wondered if that was where she had gone, if she had slipped off through the thick tule fog into their house, out by the parish school. I never did ask though.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

I was there in summer multiple times. I think the first time was in May though.

[Juana]

That's not too bad, then.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

Not TOO bad. The worst time it was the middle of summer and it was 112. I wanted to lie on the floor and die the whole time.

[Juana]

Haha, there was one summer here (for which I was out of town the entiiiire time!) where it was hitting 120 in the shade.

[Mesozoic Mister Nigel]

BAAAAARRRRRRFF