MAYDAY!! Mayday!! ArBone Bombs!! Bigamy Bust!! Allie G continues to amaze and daze me with his feral survivor instincts combined with the blog-or-bust mindset that yearns for the spotlight like an old dawg who's lost his favorite bone. He has given me a totally unprecedented GAP (Guns & Ammo Pledge) to get my "Little Tex PediBuns" safely back inside the Compound or he will loan me Tipper's collection of Bratz dolls-risque tattoos included-for a whole year. (Nasty Girls!!)

But first, Al whispers with a conspiratorial twinkle in his eyeballs, we have to make a brief stop in the Arbonne for the ArBone Health & Beauty Blowout. So instead of boarding a sweet AirFrance Paris to Marfa redeye we are slogging through the bowels of the Arbonne Forest with my least favorite tourguide Allie G trying to use his ArBone Ipod/GPS to get us to the Blowout. Beyonce rocks but AG simply cannot figure out how to listen to the ArBone Work It Sister Workout Mix while trying to tease out how to use the damn GPS.

I was starting to get really steamed, when I hear this familiar voice booming through a loudspeaker: "Identify yourself STAT or I will blow your pale white ass out of the NRA security perimeter with My Cold Dead Hands 30 Ought 6!!"

"Charly-you dirty dawg-it's Big Al here. Did you forget to take your ArBone HGH Get-It-Up Cocktail or what? And besides, if you still need a little target practice to reaffirm your virile, Moses or bust manhood, then shoot a few rounds at my Texas medical op here-he's a whiz at dodging live rounds."

So that was my intro to CharleyH, who, I'm not kidding, had not only bonded with Allie G and Tipper since the whole Scooter Libby cheapass body armor debacle, but was also recruited by them and their ArBone chief of staff-Howie Dean-to be their 1st ArBone Sales Consultant. I did not realize how desperate Big Al and Tipper were for cash flow, but Allie G told me, in Total Maxconfidence, that he and Tipper had taken major losses from what AG termed Tipper's "flamboyant" dabbling in natural gas futures.

Moreover, Big Al teared up and whispered, in the utmost of BMSFF (Best My Space Friends Forever) confidence, that Tipper and Howie had broken up and, after a very volcanic marital consult from Tom, Katie, and L Ron, he and Tipper were almost closer than ever.

"Broken up?" I asked dumbfounded-or maybe just dumb and dumber.

"You got it kimosabe. Tipper has been watching way too much HBO recently and in the process of ODing on Entourage and Real Sex, she got hooked on some show about the Joys of Bigamy. Well, all I can tell you is that she bought into the whole "I'm gonna be my own woman with 2 sugar daddies" thing. So I had to put a parental lock on HBO (except I did do a workaround for that Real Sex stuff-Tipper turned me on to these cool 3D glasses that allow you to see the naughty parts without totally going off the deep end, if you know what I mean) for the sake of preserving our unicameral fidelity, to put it in appropriate NRA Women On Target lingo. It really helped when TG found out that Howie was not only politically but financially bankrupt-so much so that he agreed to be our 2nd ArBone recruit.

My eyes got as big as the new Probiotic Colonic XRMeltaways available in the Fall '06 Catalog: "Are you asking me to your 3rd Global Health Sales Consultant?"

"Absolutely not, my BMSFF. You will be No. 7-after our 4 new DC-based Capitol Hill Consultants-George, Laura, Dickie C, and Lynn. Isn't it wonderful how cash flow just blows away party lines and inappropriate boundaries that keep worthy candidates from entering the Allie G Circle of Trust? The first 10 new Consultants get a free year of HBO plus a season's pass to the NFL Red Zone. And Doc, if you agree to be our official Medical Consultant, you get the Red Zone, HBO, Showtime (for really Bad Boys!!), and a lifetime supply of our Fountain of Life Guns and Ammo-approved HGH/Epitestosterone Buzzsaw Combo that Floyd Landis was chugging when he rode roughshod through those woosy tricyclists at the Tour de la France.

Plus, as a special once in an L Ron Hubbard lifetime of manly deeds opportunity, you will be appointed the Baby Doctor Supreme for the Cruiser's new bambina-Suri C (or The Princess-as she is known to FOTs-Friends Of Tom)."

Needless to say, I took the position, especially after I got the email from the Compound CEO, announcing that, due to budget cutbacks, really tight/constricted/feeble cash flow, and the projected conversion of the Compound to a Dairy Queen with a Beltbuster Express Urgent Care Drivethru folded into the DQ, my position had been redacted and converted to a nurse practitioner/dishwasher combo.

Job Security? Who needs it? That is a direct quote from The Fountainhead, which Tom told me I would need to read and memorize before he and his prenup-to-be would certify me as the "DiaperDoc" for TP. And yes, Ayn, there will be a quiz. Tom calls it the MCAT II. Do not ask me what the initials stand for, but I can tell you that one of the requirements is that I have to study and take the quiz while sucking on an extra-large Cruise Control Binkie. Tom told me pointblank that "You can't handle the Binkie," and, I am here to tell you, Tom, Katie, and the whole My Space world that I can handle it. The video will be posted on YouTube next week. Check it out at http://LRon/KeyToLife/Dianetic/Diuretic/TP/GoogleTooble/TROT/DQ/ILoveMeSomeTechn