I was having a discussion with my doll of a friend, Adam, last week about how disturbing the puppets from Mr. Rodger’s Neighborhood were. I mean, the stupid cat lived in a clock and was all “Meow meow meow meow hate living in a fucking clock, Fred. Give me some meow meow fuckin’ tuna.”

And King Friday and Prince Tuesday (who can remember what the bitch Queen was called — “Queen Hot Weekend”?).

But seriously — perhaps most disturbing of all — was Ms. Lady Elaine Fairchild.

What the hell is up with that. It’s like a bad tranny puppet with a serious case of Rosacea. And the bitch could fly! What is up with that!? And she lived in that tripped out spinning museum thing. What exactly kind of museum was it anyway? Museum of tripy psychedelic (but cheap-ass) velvet posters and shimmering bongs.

It’s no wonder so many kids from my generation are in therapy. I don’t know about you, but my imaginary friends growing up did NOT have rosacea.

Geez.