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[Hypocrite, by Jack off Jill, is so NSFW it’s not even funny. Stuck With You is typical Voltaire, so it might raise some eyebrows. Forward-dated to Valentine's Day]

Maia decided those who don't have a date would tune into the radio on V-Day. (That's Venereal Disease day, fact fans!) She hasn't got a date; and she has no intentions of being lumped with the freakazoids who angst about it to their friends. ~~If you please, she’ll keep all of her angst inside.~~

'Hello, loyal listeners,' she purrs into the mic. 'If you’re not out with someone, wow, aren't you pathetic? I bet you didn't even get a card...how long do you reckon you'll be alone for, stuck with that pesky virginity? No worries. Auntie Maia's here to listen to your troubles...actually, call in and I'll just laugh at you.

'Anyway, I bet you listen to songs like this all the time...Kate Nash's The Nicest Thing is probably the song that describes your feelings perfectly...oh, your poor poor self. I'll play a little violin solo for you. It's entitled 'I can’t get a date so I'll lock myself in the toilet, get drunk and cry for the entire night.''

Caring, isn't she?

'Now,' she says after the song's done. 'I don't know about you, but that made me feel slightly ill. You know, the person you fancy's probably off with some tart, not caring you exist...I wonder what base they're up to? No loss; they're probably just engaging in some really take-my-breath-away kinky sex...and, if they're such a loser you think you even have a chance, listening to Poison whilst doing so. It's a kick-ass song, sure, if you're stuck in the past and think the young whippersnappers of today don't treat whips and chains with the respect they deserve--newsflash--it's just sex. Get the fuck over it. But then, your inability to is probably why you're foaming at the mouth...'

Maia periodically joins in while the song is playing, subjecting all the listeners to her husky I'm-being-cool-by-not-doing-this-properly tones.

'And I totally don't get why everyone celebrates this day as being for love,' she muses. 'I mean, the dude restored sight to someone, and was surprised when he still got killed despite being a goody-two-shoes? Oooh, it's Valentine's Day, let me get you some flowers to celebrate some ancient saint being killed! Jesus, you all think you're so human, but you laugh on the day when a death meant Hell won that round? You load of Hypocrites. But then I guess nobody here's a typical human. You all have issues and insanity and are generally too angsty to care--oh, wait! I guess the only thing that separates you from your fellow man is that most of the men here have girly names and the sexuality to match! Ugh, the amount of gay rutting that goes on here....were you influenced by this song? Blow, Gabriel, Blow? It's just a thinly-disguised bit of pro-gay propaganda—but on Broadway, do you expect anything else?'

(Why, yes, this is a large part of Maia’s life. Try to offend as many people as possible on WART to give herself something to do! And if it makes her look stupid--well, she’s so vain she doesn’t even consider the possibility.)

'My advice to you is to give up on Mr. Right, because, sweeties, they ain't ever going to turn up. It's all Hopeless. You live, you don't find anyone who loves you enough to enjoy your years together and they keep complaining they're Stuck With You...and then you die.'

Maia has no intentions of telling them it stays exactly the same then. Hello, she’s the cool DJ with the perfect, awesome life, graciously distributing advice to her numbskull listeners.

'Just get out, go to a club somewhere--not in the Highlands, please, unless bingo is your idea of a hot date--and, after getting pissed, find your temporary Casanova. Now, I have better stuff to do than sit in here waiting for your calls of outrage, so goodbye.'

Feeling triumphant, she wheels around to find that she's locked in. The mic broadcasts her frustrated voice cursing the door, and then her diva-ish flump back onto the chair. Maia's open to requests.