Having laid down the mantle of social work to seize the pitchfork, ALIX MCMURRAY now lives and writes in rural Missouri in the company of her husband and many pets.

                                                madame fiona's hangover


Madame Fiona nursed her hangover with a couple of Motrin and fumed, "Merde! You’d think I sank the Exxon Valdez for all the fuss they’re making over that microchip incident! No oily penguins, just a few zaps with the electrode collar and he flips out! Who knew he’d have such a low threshold? I thought all the methadone and Valerian root would have dimmed his senses. Still, it’s a shame. A mind is a terrible thing to waste. Wong will handle it."

Ten a.m.—time for the rebroadcast of last night’s guest appearance. Madame Fiona settled back into her thermal chair and watched herself with attempted dispassion. "Yes," she told the talk show host, "I call it Compressed Sensate Technology. The microbeads are encapsulated, so there’s no irritation or rejection. And I’ve gotten a lot of unsolicited testimonials from my customers. Imagine the ease of projecting a 3-dimensional infomercial in the comfort of your own home!"

The carrot topped host offered what had now become the standard rejoinder, "Wow, that takes Tupperware Parties to the 21st Century, doesn’t it?!" Fiona could bear this idiocy no longer. Before the cameras, she had managed to screw up her muzzle into a kind of grin, and flourish one of her claws in the air for emphasis. But inside, every tuna-loving molecule of her recoiled in response to the host’s next spate of drivel: "So, I’m told that before you got into electronic programming, you actually had a chain of nail bars, and before that, your own psychic hotline. Quite a resume for a domestic short hair!"

Her brain peeled open by the rasping guffaws of the studio audience, Fiona considered a pre-noon Mimosa, when she was summoned for an Internet call—and in streamed Wong. "Yes, Wong—how goes it with the strip mall?"

"Old man won’t sell, Fiona. Fat bastard love his monthly rent checks. But Wong still up at daybreak every day, pounding pavement. Maybe we leverage Starbucks--no problem."

"Sometimes I question your commitment to the project, Wong, and your loyalty to me. Did I look fat last night?"

"Please no hurt Wong, Fiona - feelings still same, still completely at Fiona’s beck and call. It is Wong who orders Mixed Grill and Salmon and Tuna from online grocer, yes? And if Fiona were shaved she would still be beautiful with hanging belly skin. Wong working hard to make you Most Evil Empress in History of All Things, but Wong can only do so much as hologram. Remember, Fiona have no opposable thumb, that’s why she need Wong. Wong make it happen for Fiona, you bet. Just you wait."

"Very well, Wong. Keep me posted."

Madame Fiona signed off and refocused her attention on the TV show. Popping a few grilled chicken bonbons into her mouth, she reflected on the merits of a vermin campaign.

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© 2003 Alix McMurray