NOT a Stripper

Do any of you know where this woman is?

No, don’t get smart with me, that isn’t me. Yes, I keep getting mistaken for her, and yes, her hair admittedly looks something like the elegant strands of sunshine that crown my perfect head, and yes, she beat me to crazy hottie Senator Petrelli whose rugged (and apparently religious?) gorgeousness now haunts my every idle thought…

…but she’s not me.

You all think I’m crazy, don’t you? Well I’m not! That’s not me! I’M NOT CRAZY! DO YOU HEAR ME?! GOD HELP ME I WILL BREAK YOU INTO A MILLION LITTLE TINY SCREAMING PIECES IF YOU KEEP STARING AT ME LIKE-

Whew. Sorry about that; everything has been very stressful lately. I need a chill pill.

But not the type I accidentally gave this guy.

It was the strangest thing. This reporter came up to me in a parking lot with some photos from that accursed lasvegasniki.com and a wad of thousand-dollar bills. My eyes were blinded by the radiant beauty of the money, which almost matched my own, and I stared at it for a full five minutes while uttering random political misdirections like “no comment” and “we’re working on that now” and “we should start drilling more, because we have lots of oil.”

I think he took that last statement as innuendo, because he started jumping up and down like an ugly, rabid weasel. “Take off your clothes!” he cried, or something like that.

Immediately, I stopped staring at the money ( 🙁 ) and fixed him with an icy glare. I knew he wasn’t worthy of my loveliness, so I began to walk away. He would never have my perfectly-shaped butt.

The horrible little weasel man scurried after me. “Strip for me or I’ll tell the whole world that you’re sleeping with Nathan Petrelli!” he threatened, showing me this new picture.

I stared in horror. There she was again, with Senator Petrelli’s face buried in her oversized chest, and even though we look almost nothing alike, I was beginning to realize that the rest of the world was apparently blind to this fact. This photo would ruin my chances of getting Senator Petrelli into my… er, into a respectable position of power. (Wait, that still sounded dirty.)

I grabbed the weasel-man’s arm. “You can’t release this picture!” I said (prettily, of course).

The mustelid reporter said nothing, because he was clearly stunned by how hot I am when I’m angry. And also because I’d just turned him into ice, which then caused him to explode right in front of me into thousands of little weasel bits.

Thankfully, his blood and gooey internal organ stuff was frozen solid too, which meant he didn’t spatter all over me. Thus, his petrified viscera did not mar my perfect countenance, and I was spared from looking like this:

Soiled by weasel blood: a fate worse than death.

As such, I went on my merry, gorgeous way, unblemished by any stain, scar, or imperfection (as usual).

Also, I’d just killed a guy. By turning him into ice.

I know I’m taking a very big risk telling you all this, but I did some research before posting here, and you all either have powers yourselves or are so insane and badly-dressed that no one would believe you if you tried to expose me anyway. I also know that most if not all of you have some connection to the woman whom everyone thinks looks like me – she’s even there in the list of people who blog on this site!

Now I need to know where to find her, so I can find out a) whether she’s got any powers of her own, b) why people think we look alike, and c) how she bagged Senator Petrelli and how I can do the same, because she’s clearly doing something right.

So come on. Help a girl out, would you?

XOXO

Tracy