This is my approximation of what Diana Williams will look like in a few decades. Her already sagging jowels beaten into submission by the relentless cruelty of gravity, taking on the coarse, low-brow features of what could kindly be referred to as "trailer shiek." Her religious devotion to that most perfect creation, Hanson, having estranged her from her family, and eventually, her closest and most forgiving friends, she lives a life of bitter solitude, whose silence is scarcely broken by one of her fifteen cats rustling through one of many piles of old newspapers.

The grisly appearance of this devoted fan's lifestyle is punctuated by the thick musk of urine, roaches, and bourbon. She's still wearing that same T-shirt.

Long the bane of those who would oppose Hanson's tyranny, Sophie Knight (as she is known on the streets of Lankashire) employs a cunning strategy of spewing forth indeciphierable gibberish, combined with easily contradicted acts of amature extra sensory perception. After making her point, and allowing it to be dismembered by whomever, she cleverly cowers away into obscurity, so they can think about what they've done.

Ellen Hanson (as she dubbed herself while fondling a .45 with hunting scope, and glowering at a TV displaying President Reagan), fancies herself a well-rounded person: a cheerleader, a lacrosse player, and a writer who enjoys ALLCAPS and just has real trouble with the whole "your", "you're" thing. In addition to diet pills, Ellen enjoys posting pejorative messages noting the quantity of posts in, a newsgroup that has, as many things have, gained an inordinate importance in the complex self-delusion swimming, unfettered, in the vacant seas of Ellen's mind. I, personally, enjoy Ellen's contributions to the newsgroup, and hope her imminent pregnancy at the hands of Buzz, the abusive, futureless, steriod-popping football player, allows her enough time to continue posting her insightful observations.