At six oh seven a.m. I woke to the sound of a siren on my phone.

So, dreadfully annoying. Naturally, I’m startled. Are we having a tornado? Are we at war?

I roll over and push every phone button until the noise subsides.

The noise becomes silence. I roll over.

But I’m now wide awake. And I’m upset about leaving the volume on too loud.

The phone siren starts again.

I scramble for the buttons to shut off the noise. But this time I see what’s so important to sound at six oh seven in the morning.

An Amber Alert.

I take those seriously. Stealing property is one thing; Kidnapping someone’s kid is another.

I then read the caption. To sort out the details of such kidnapping. I learn in two sentences, there’s two missing children. But they are not exactly defenseless children. But are sixteen and seventeen year olds.

So, let me get this straight. It’s alright to send an Amber Alert “At whenever?” There’s no criteria for appropriate times to send these messages?

Am I being gagged?

I don’t believe a public notification system as important ad this is as bold. Because anyone knows the majority will get agitated and stop the notifications sent in the early morning hours.

I’m not worrying about a kidnapping. I’m concerned for these parents. Didn’t the families know last night, their children were out? I mean sixteen is a child, but does know things.

That was yesyerday’s wake up call.

This morning; Ring, ring.

A Male voice tells me that I’m being subpoenaed and need to contact a specific number. I wrote down the number he gives me, to call. He tells me to expect a visitor this morning.

Uhm. Maybe he should know I have already prearranged a limousine to pick me up, drive me to the nearest airport, in which I’ll be visiting with the Queen Mother. Afterward, I am having lunch with an assortment of beloved fans of my work. I’m not returning until half past the week end.

I fail to lend him my secret. He’s trying to have me subpoenaed. If he can’t locate me; there’s no subpoena.

“Uhm, okay,” I tell him. He’s out working early trying to raise money to pay bills the old-fashioned way. Poor thing. Doesn’t he know there’s so many well-paying jobs out here just waiting to be taken?

I hang up on him and immediately Google the two numbers. This is the result for one: Kirsten is just boring. Is rampage good now? Infant circumcision is right behind the door. Be passionately curious about me. Titanium white paint.

I expected something outlandish. The other number isn’t near as colorfu as the first number seemed to resonate a really bad LSD halluciantory vibe. Are the mushrooms growing or have they shrunk yet?

I’m unamused at these obsessive imbecile strangers are ruining how my day should begin. On a happy note is not in the cards.

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