Good evening,

My friend Cherokee came over last night on the pretext that she wanted to help me out. She had seen last Tuesday's photos of Kim Chambers and myself battling on my site here. Cherokee told me she wanted to show me a few moves that I could use the next time I got into a fight. I pointed out that a 4'11 doll such as herself really needn't worry about such things as fighting, particularly since someone of her size was only equipped to take on a kindergartener or an age-shrunken Alzheimer's patient, and that I really didn't need to learn any new moves anyways. She pointed out that an aging fatso like me better learn to bust a few new moves, particularly since I looked like I was stuck in a time warp with my bleached hair and overly large breast implants, and that I was a tacky slob who evidently hadn't changed my dress since I fought Kim Chambers. As soon as her words registered I grabbed two handfuls of her hair and prepared to subject her to the worst torment of her life. Suffice it to say that Cherokee was much stronger and more vengeful than previously anticipated, and that neither of us wears underwear. The photos in the Playhouse will tell the rest of the story.

-- XXOO Tanya