Shannon’s muse, Ezmerelda, here again. You might remember me from when I hijacked her Thursday Thirteen last week. I got to thinking you all might consider me a figment of Shannon’s screwy imagination, so I’m hijacking the blog once again in order to offer you photographic evidence of my existence:

That’s me—Ezmerelda (sitting in the car, not that red-headed hussy). I’m a Guatemalan worry doll. The cool part of my job is driving around in this Mini Cooper. The not so cool part is that she parked us up on this shelf on top of her copy of Rodale’s The Synonym Finder and the Mini Cooper can’t fly. We got to try that once when she bumped the shelf with her ass—which is the size of my home country, let me tell you—but it didn’t work out. If we hadn’t ricocheted off her head on the way down, I might have totalled my car. Oh, and those are her great-grandparents in the picture behind me. You try being creative with a reject photo from the American Gothic auditions staring over your rear bumper.

I know what you’re thinking—how does she drive when she can’t bend at the waist? Eh, you get used to it. Plus, I look a lot like Shannon did the day it was icy and she almost slid the truck into her husband’s snowmobile (except I have better hair). So anyway, I do exist. And now I’m off to play.

One good thing about my Mini Cooper and I being stuck on this book—we’ve learned to bang a wicked donut!