DOUGHBOYIrma Bergson put me in the oven last night, while she left to watch television in her pink moo-moo and burgundy slippers. I found myself restless and unable to relax in what amounted to total darkness when she and her husband George turned off the kitchen light and left me alone in the oven. I could almost hear the beating of my heart, if such a thing is possible. Her cackling laughter trailed away into the darkness and left me feeling bereft of any hope for survival. But survive, I must, for I had already survived so much that my life now seems like a merry-go-round. I was alone in the cold confines of my prison, unable to open the door, even though I struggled mightily against the metal framework. In my weakened condition, my body felt like Jell-O and was just as malleable. I tho
