Doomsday, CA

Dear readers, forgive this humble journalist’s language, but… well I am just going to say it: I was miffed. I had entered the wastelands hoping to turn my pen towards the starlet of the era, Dakota Christmas. Yet, since I’d passed through the security cordon separating irradiated hellscape that was once Los Angeles, and the civilized parts of California the starlet—beloved by billions—has shown me nothing but rudeness.

“I mean, I figured I’d see you again. But only, like your head, you know? On the end of a pike. Or Maybe just your face, worn as a mask over some mutant’s face.” Dakota Christmas cheerfully said upon my return to the Doomsday, CA studio. While it had been a harrowing experience, escaping the aforementioned mutants, and while it was Ms.

“It was an impulse purchase,” Dakota Christmas said, deftly cracking open her double barreled shotgun, 12 slender fingers ejecting then replacing the still smoking shells. “And by purchase, I mean I stole it. At least originally. Filly little mutants. Didn’t deserve it anyhoot.” And with the, Dakota Christmas, star of the hit reality show Doomsday, CA, siting atop her pilfered motorcycle, brought the weapon to her cheek, sighted, opened fire.