“Probably to get more people in church,” Sandy says. “Sex sells.”

“Johnny Depp is a parrot?” I ask Kori, trying to stay afloat in the sea of Paul.

“I think so,” Kori says.

“What an odd name for a parrot,” Dom says, licking sugar off the tip of his finger, making me want to raise my hands above my head and curse Sexy Jesus.

Paul ignores us completely, as if he’s wrapped in his own little world. Which he probably is. “You’re trying to make that parrot turn against me even more!” he says to Sandy. “That animal is already homophobic! You don’t need to make it any worse!”

“He’s not homophobic,” Sandy says. “He does just fine with Vince and me. It’s not my fault you were kidnapping him to rape him.”

“I’m not going to rape the goddamn bird!” Paul shouts.

And then, just because the day needs to be stranger, a male supermodel walks in through the front door holding a small black two-legged dog with a cart attached to its butt, its tongue lolling out of its mouth as it grins at everyone in the room.

“Is this real life?” I ask Kori and Dom. “Seriously. Is any of this real? Or am I just on an acid trip right now?”

“This is some really vivid acid if that’s what it is,” Dom says. “I’ve arrested tweakers before. I never thought I’d be one.” He holds his hand in front of his face. “I’m not seeing contrails. I must not be tripping balls yet.”

“Why are people doing drugs in your house, Sandy?” the supermodel asks with a frown. He sets the handi-capable dog on the floor. The mutt instantly runs over to me, the wheels of his cart squeaking. He bumps his head against my shin and looks up at me and barks. His butt wags back and forth, right where his tail used to be. “Wheels,” I say in greeting, bending over to scratch his ears.

“Who is that unknown tripping twink touching my dog?” Paul asks. “And why isn’t Wheels growling or shitting on his shoes? That dog hates everyone.”

“Not everyone,” the supermodel says, coming to stand next to Paul. He kisses the irate man on the cheek. “Remember when you hit me with your car when you were trying to seduce me, and I had to stay at your house and he loved me right away because he knew I was wicked badass?”

“I wasn’t trying to seduce you!” Paul growls. “And I didn’t hit you with my car! When is anyone going to believe me about that? Wheels, you traitor! You’re supposed to bite the strange twinkie!”

“I’m not a twink,” I say as I apparently bring his dog to a high state of Nirvana by scratching behind his right ear.

“Oh, baby doll,” Sandy says to me. “We’ve had this discussion already. You most certainly are a twinkie. As a matter of fact, Hostess called while you were sleeping. They want you back.”