My Name is Blabra and I'm NUTS!

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Bruno

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Oct 22, 2002, 11:10:01 AM10/22/02
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My name is Barbra, and I’m nuts. I can’t even spell my
name correctly. I spell it as if I'm a Native American who was born in
a bar and looked like a bra. My mother named me Barbara Joan but as a
teenager I dropped the second "A." Don't ask me why. I don't know,
really. There was this voice in my head that kept saying, "drop the
second A, drop the second A," so I did. I am thinking now about
changing my name to Joan, as in Joan of Arc. Actually, I think that I
may be Joan of Arc reincarnated. Like that other Joan, I have heard
the voice of God ordering me to help save the Democratic Party. Not
only have I heard the voice of God, I have decided I AM GOD...at least
on Tuesdays.

I am a simple, complex, generous, selfish, unattractive, beautiful,
confused, enlightened, lazy, driven, bitch of an angel. And while I am
clearly gorgeous, I am embarrassed by my hideous nose, which is as
crooked as the politicians I support. My obsession over my nose has
led me to live my life never letting anyone see my right profile. Do
you have any idea how difficult it is to go through life never letting
anyone see the right side of your face? Let's just say I spend a lot
of time leaning against walls.

I don’t really remember when I lost my sanity or if there was
ever a time I was sane. All I know is now, in this time, I am crazy
and I need help. But don’t try and help me because I don’t
want your help.

Like any crazy person I suffer a variety of obsessions. I am obsessed
with the truth and I am obsessed with supporting the least truthful
politicians in American history. And while my obsession with truth
makes me believe that I alone know all truths, my insanity causes me
to utter lies like a sufferer of Tourette's Syndrome utters
obscenities.

Another problem I face as a crazy person is my paranoia. Everyone is
out to get me. My neighbors double as paparazzi, hunting me down
everywhere I go. Why just the other day some guy took my picture and
within minutes I had 5 squad cars from the LA County Sheriff's
Department arrest the little bastard. And what's more, I convinced
them to hold him on one million dollars bail. HAHAHA, most murderers
don't get bail set that high, but then most murderers have never tried
to take my photograph. But the weasel convinced the court that he made
his living taking photographs of celebrities and the judge let him go
because he could find no evidence that the punk did anything wrong.
The whole damn sheriff's department is out to get me I tell ya. See if
I send in my $100.00 contribution to the Children of Slain Deputies
College Fund this year.

My concern for our environment is paramount to me. I even donated
$1,000 to a group in my hometown of Malibu to help stop the
unconscionable development of our fair city. I know what you're
thinking, you're thinking "WOW Babs, that's a lot of money," and I
suppose it is to some, but I once spent $363,000 on an old sideboard.
I wipe my ass with money. It's all about priorities with me. Like the
environment. Despite the concerns of my neighbors and local
environmentalists, I am insisting on building a massive new mansion
next to my existing mansion. What's wrong with that? Yet, after all I
have done for the town of Malibu, those ungrateful plebeians who live
there are wrecking my plans with their protests. They're out to get me
I tell ya.

The press is out to get me as well. Just prior to the recent
Christie's auctions of antiques and artifacts owned by me, some
charitable outfit called the Craftsman Farms Foundation--which
exhibits the Arts and Crafts furniture of Gustav Stickley --claimed in
a news story that they had been contacting me for a decade begging me
to donate two of my Stickley pieces that I was about to auction. The
nerve of those people. I didn't become unseemly wealthy by giving my
shit away. After all, I am a woman who sells seats to my many
"farewell" concerts for $2,500 a pop. I made over 10 million dollars
in one night on my millennium concert. And the best part is my
performance sucked. And I have found that if I say it will be my last
performance I can get even more money from the tone-deaf morons who
seem to like my orchestrated screeching.

That carpet crunching Liz Smith is after me, too. She wrote, "Barbra
Streisand at the MGM Grand for New Year's. Much hilarity as she was
making one of her golf-cart assisted treks through the corridors.
Security ordered, 'No one is to look at Barbra Streisand!'
Pedestrians turned their faces to the wall. Among them Tommy Tune,
who was in Vegas with his own New Year's show and found the whole
thing a riot! Tune worked with Streisand in 'Hello, Dolly!' back in
1969, but he still followed orders." It's a damn conspiracy I tell ya.
I never told those people not to look me in the eyes, I told them
NEVER to look at the right side of my face. It was for everyone's own
good. The right side of my face is so hideous.

And speaking of the MGM Grand, the people who work there are all out
to get me. While I was staying there for my wildly successful
"Millennium/It's The Last Time You'll See Me Sing Concert," the
employees were so petulant about my rearranging the hotel furniture.
When I asked that the toilet fixture be changed it took them three
tries to find one I was willing to drop a load in. And the looks on
their eyes when I insisted they place rose petals in my toilet water!
I had to instruct room service personnel NOT to make eye contact with
me, to enter the room backwards, leave the tray in the room and leave
without looking. If they looked, I insisted they be fired. Due to
their insolence I informed the hotel that I would not be tipping
anyone, ever. These little people are out to destroy me.

And it's not just strangers who hate me. My own family has been out to
destroy me since the day I was hatched. My mother was always critical
of me and never believed in me. My mother used to say, "I never wanted
you to have a swelled head." Maybe that's why I'm filled with
self-doubt and don't take compliments easily. If I'm a crazy bitch
it's all her fault. My stepfather never talked to me except to order
me around. The only thing I can recall him saying to me was when I was
riding in a car with my girlfriend. I was talking, and he said, "Why
can't you be more like her? Quiet."

And now the American people are out to get me. I contributed
financially to support the campaigns of 35 candidates in the 1998
general election, 27 of whom won. I also endorsed 194 candidates when
I did my AOL get-out-the-vote Internet chat on election eve. Of the
candidates I endorsed, 155 were elected and 39 were not. In both
instances, that is a won/lost ratio of nearly 80%. And now the
American people are on the verge of turning their backs on my sage
advice. Where would America be without my political instinct? You're
all out to get me I tell ya. And while I may be a deranged lunatic,
you will be seeing me on TV telling you what I think and how to vote.

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