7
Rubber Babes of Yesteryear
As I sat there in the dark office in the soft glow of a data-display screen that told me I might not be able to avoid jail after all, I flashed on my old nemesis Monica LaMonica. Actually, it wasn't the flesh-and-blood soap star that came to mind, although her spectacular cleavage would be memorable at any time. I was picturing her silicone-and-steel look-alike, the one I came to call Pseudo Monica — the P.M., for short.
Back in the days when I'd involved the P.M. in my plot to borrow Monica's identity to ensnare Felicia, there were times when things were getting seriously out of hand and I had no one to confide in. I particularly remember I felt that way right after Farnsworth fired me for joyriding and then put me up gratis in the Presidential Suite becaus
