“I mean, it’s cruel. The neck unhinges! How would you like it if your most terrifying moment was captured in candy form?”

On fans who wish she’d Mermaid Up and complete the trilogy

“While I value the opinion of strangers much, much more than my own health and sanity, my scarlet L for liability is not going away anytime soon, even if I wanted to perform again, which I don’t. Life is much safer behind a typewriter.”

If she could clear up one misconception about her assault charge, what would be it?

“Okay, first off, it was not a punch that knocked him out. No, I threw a copy of Dorothy Parker’s collected works at his head. I mean, he should be so lucky. Probably increased his IQ points by double digits.”

Is it true you sometimes put on a Duchess Quinnley mask and go to midnight screenings incognito?

“I’ll never tell.”

You’ve testified in front of Congress multiple times advocating for medical marijuana on the federal level. What was that like?

“The C-Span footage is some of my best work. And I think we could’ve solved the Cold War faster if everyone on Capitol Hill had gotten stoned, I really do.”

On becoming a so-called script fixer

“Now I punch up jokes instead of people, hyuk hyuk! Is that what you want me to say?”

I heard you used to rewrite headlines about yourself and mail them back to magazine editors—is that true?

“Jesus Christ, they weren’t even trying. How many times did I see some variation of Undersea Actress Under Investigation. It’s not difficult to make a punny headline.”

Give me an example . . .

“I don’t know, how about ‘Mary Clarkson Fin-agles a Role in Jailhouse Rock’? Now that’s funny. Feel free to use it.”

I fell asleep and dreamt I was in the audience of Cheese: The Musical, starring young Mary as a golden moldy (“I am bleu / I’m filled with penicillin / Best leave me on the plate / Or you’ll be illin’ like a villain”).

On Sunday, I invited myself to a pity party. According to Sex and the City, everyone but me spent sunup to sundown at brunch, guzzling mimosas and howling with laughter over their latest romantic escapades. I was lonely in a way I’d never been in LA, not with weekly visits to Nana, and not with Mary’s round-the-clock inspirations.

On Monday, the gods sent me a gift of my own, in the form of GreatSc0t. With Bree’s approval (“HELLZ TO THE YEH!”), I have free rein to contact him again.

It’s Tuesday now, and I’m eager to instigate a follow-up, but before I do, I need to finish watching Undersea, which is why I’m still at home instead of at Café Crudité. (Don’t get comfortable, Miles.)