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grow up and move away, but for some reason the Tuelcos have never heard of this concept. They just stay put, multiply, and become fry cooks or motel maids.
    I have downloaded some new music files for Stoney. Nothing too bizarre, alas, just some fairly funky industrial rock tunes from Taiwan. My best find lately was this MP3 from Ecuador that supposedly had the actual sounds of the bass player being electrocuted by his guitar. Well, somebody was certainly doing some energetic screaming. I’d been playing it constantly, but now Grandma has banned it from the trailer. She prefers country music. I say just because we’re stuck out here in the sticks is no reason to wallow in the lifestyle.
    Good night, Uma darling, the fireworks of my life.
     
    TUESDAY, July 5 – No leakage and only moderate T.S. I can postpone suicide for another day. Still no e-mail reply from my famous brother. Probably too busy screwing those topless showgirls. According to Tyler, Nick used to keep some sort of pre-blog daily journal. Perhaps I have inherited a similar Twispian impulse toward compulsive navel-gazing. Too bad my life, such as it is, is so excruciatingly dull and boring.
    7:12 p.m. A very strange day. Guess who waltzed into the Dixie Belle this morning? My mother! I recognized her right away even though she had aged quite a bit. She was with this very tall guy with a pink baby face and graying crew cut. So she spots me and bursts out crying. Very embarrassing as we were right in the middle of finishing up our first wedding of the day. Since the happy couple had been up all night gambling and drinking, Mrs. Dugan was serving them strong coffee instead of lemonade. Fortunately, they were still pretty plastered, so they didn’t get too bothered by this hysterical interruption of their Golden Moment of Union.
    The problem was that Grandma had told my mother where I was when she called, but had neglected to mention my Tobification. (Grandma has very little to say to her ex-daughter-in-law, blaming her for depriving her of any opportunity for future grandchildren.) Mother saw me and somehow must have concluded I had grown up black. I’m not sure how that’s possible, but that’s my relatives for you. Anyway, Mr. Dugan got very annoyed and told them they had to leave as this was a wedding chapel not a family crisis center. Well, that pissed off my mother, who reached over and yanked off Toby’s wig.
    “ This child is not a Negro!” she screamed.
    “ Who invited her to my wedding?” asked the confused bride.
    “ Looks like some kind of racial thing,” slurred the groom. “Are you from the KKK?”
    “ Scrub that off your face!” screamed my mother, ignoring his query.
    “ You get out of here!” bellowed my employer.
    “ Show some respect!” yelled his wife.
    “ Please, please, let’s all be reasonable,” said the tall man.
    After we were ejected by Mr. Dugan, Mother wiped off her tears, smiled bravely, and invited me to lunch. I explained I had to go as Toby, since I could be called back to work at any time. The tall guy (Mr. Wally Rumpkin) persuaded her to give me back my wig, and we all trooped over to the Silver Sluice for a fancy lunch in their pricey Feedbag Corral. Toby had the $21.95 T-bone steak, since I figured they owed me at least that much for nearly getting my ass canned. No sign of Uma, which is just as well ’cause my mother got pretty weepy all through lunch–especially after Toby asked her point-blank if Lance Wescott was really my dad (I don’t think I would have had the nerve).
    So the story straight from the horse’s mouth (as it were) is that Tyler was correct. I am a 100 percent full-blooded Twisp.
    “ I hope that doesn’t disappoint you, Noelly,” she wept. “Your father was the biggest mistake I ever made in my life.”
    “ Well, Lance Wescott was no great prize either,” Toby pointed out, obliging Mr. Rumpkin to suppress a smile. I kind of like that big guy, even though he never looks you in the