By Royal Decree Indeed!

Done by royal decree and of course, stolen from you-know-who.

1. You are in court. You are in deep doo-doo. What did you do? (‘Cause if you want, I might could talk to the judge and get your sentence reduced to Bloggingham dungeon time.)

Hmmm, I suspect it might have something to do with touching someone *coughDavidCookcough* inappropriately in public. Surely the judge would take pity on me, a lowly cougar-type who doesn’t get out much and when finally seeing her idol in the flesh was compelled to just touch the hem (or so) of his garment.

2. Your blog just became a best-selling book . What is the title of your book?
“How I touched David Cook and wasn’t thrown in jail?” Not catchy enough? How about “The more things change, the more they stay the same.” but in French so I look all cool and shit. (Plus de choses changent, plus qu’ils restent la même chose.)

3. It is midnight. The phone rings. It is Michael Jackson calling from the Great Beyond. What would you like to ask him?
Well, first, I don’t know if you know this but I can communicate with those on the other side sans telephone so if MJ wants to have a chat, he knows how to reach me. That said, I’ll play along. Let’s see … umm, I’d ask him why he wore that one frickin’ glove. Also, I’d tell him that Prince was, by far, the better dancer. What? What’s he gonna do? Send a lightning bolt to strike me dead? Please. That so doesn’t happen (much).

4. You are having your future told. The fortune teller looks in the crystal ball, screams and leaves the room in fright. What did they see?
Probably me in my underpanties eating cheese crackers or something hideous like that. Or perhaps a vision of Michael Jackson getting ready to smite me for some off handed comment I made about his dancing skills. Quite possibly it involved me singing because I don’t do that well.

5. You’re blogging along minding your own blusiness (that’s blog + oh…you know) when Google unexpectedly puts a Objectionable Content Warning on your blog. Your own mother is afraid to enter! What, pray tell, did you do to warrant it? How did this happen? Do you think you deserve it? Just how objectionable are you? Do tell.
I don’t think you want me to go there. I can think of about fifty things off the top of my head that would warrant the Objectionable Content label and there’s probably one person on this earth who knows them and even if you offered them chocolate peanut butter ice cream, they wouldn’t tell. (I don’t think. Don’t offer them too much of that ice cream because I’m not sure of their limits on that. Just saying.)

6. You suddenly become God Of The Universe. What would your first Commandment be?
It’s a selfish one, alas. I would want to be tall, thin and wicked smart. Then, of course, peace on earth, goodwill toward men, blah blah fucking blah.

7. And finally, what secret would you like to tell the Queen?
Oh Queen, I have more secrets than you can imagine but if I had to choose one, I’d say this: I really like sleeping alone in a king size bed, just me and my cat Sophia. (So, I’m not really alone, but still.) I’d maybe sacrifice that for David Cook if he doesn’t snore and if he would snuggle with me as well as Sophia does. Would he awaken me at 3am purring? (That’s a scary picture. Men don’t (or shouldn’t) purr.) Still, that’s my secret. Don’t tell anyone, okay?