One evening while I was online doing research for a term paper due the next day, I got an instant message via a chat service.

For him to speak so irritably to me, I knew what he wanted to tell me must have been important. So I immediately logged off and phoned Citizen Jim.

"Look here," he said as soon as he answered the phone. "I just noticed you've still got three different web sites posted on the Internet that are all about me. We can't have that!"

When I asked him why not, there was a moment of silence. Then he started breathing heavily and snorting into the phone.

"You just get all that crap condensed and put it in one place. And it better be done by tomorrow morning, or I'm gonna come up there and SLAP THE SNOT OUT OF YOU!"

"But I—"

"Look, Missy. You've been telling me for 13 years now, 'I love you! Oh, Citizen Jim, how I love you to pieces!' Now put your money where your mouth is and prove it!"

"I don't have time!" I wailed. It was true. I was buried under studying for finals and writing papers that were due.

"Listen, if you don't make the time now, how are you going to have time to do it after I PUT YOU IN THE HOSPITAL WITH A BEATING?"

I sighed. "Okay, but—"

"One more 'but' and I'll kick yours into next month! Now GET BUSY!" he yelled, and hung up on me.

I worked as fast as I could, and a few hours later, I contacted Citizen Jim via instant messenger.

I continued to work feverishly, finally finishing at dawn. I sent an e-mail to Citizen Jim with a link to the new and improved, highly condensed site and waited nervously for his reaction.

"I can't count on you to do me one little favor, can I?" Citizen Jim said into the phone.

"I did the best I could!" I said, and started crying. "You're never happy with anything!"

"Ah, Stimpy, I'm sorry," Jim said. "It's just...well, I thought you could make my site do cool stuff."

"Like what?" I asked, then blew my nose.

"Well, like those tiki things, for one. I want them to run around with spears yelling witch doctor mumbo jumbo at the bottom of every page. For the background, I want skeletons dancing with top hats and canes in their hands and singing 'Yankee Doodle Dandy.' And when you go to the fan club page? I think there should be streaming video of all the public readings I've done for Stories from the Blue Moon Cafe. SIMPLE STUFF! God!"

"I don't know how to do that kind of stuff," I admitted.

"Oh, don't give me that crap. You just DON'T WANT to do it. Not for ME! You'd do it for the Shark! Or that little Hindi Bindi Perastroika Bimbo Baba! But not for me!"

"Oh, Jim, don't say such things," I pleaded.

"It's true. But that's okay," he said. "Just take it all down and I'll get *** ******* to make my official web site. She won't give me these lame excuses like you are."

I did as I was told, and dismantled Jim's web site. Two days later, while I was online scaring myself silly by reading about President Bush's shadow government, I got an instant message.

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