Have you ever stood near a cliff or on a rooftop that didn’t have a guard rail and got this INTENSE nervous feeling – the kind that makes your fingertips feel like miniature hearts are trapped inside them? You aren’t nervous that you could trip exactly, but instead, this self-destructive urge engulfs you. What if I jumped? There's nothing to stop me.

This brings me to my point. I have that same uneasy feeling that I’m going to wire a bomb into one of the suitcases during the next show.

It’s just this strong, impulsive throbbing that I’ll mix some potassium permanganate (a purple powder openly available at your local drug store) with sugar which can serve as an oxidizing fuel and is more reactive when broken down finely with a rolling pin – then convert a J1 detonator into a remote-accessed electronic igniter.

Sometimes, late at night, God speaks to me through the voice of the banker. He mostly wants to talk about the Red Wings and I usually tune him out because I’M NOT A HOCKEY FAN. To be honest, I don’t like any sport that takes place on temperature-controlled surfaces. But recently God’s attempts at conversation have taken a more desperate and prophetic tone. The other day, for instance, he told me “the pretty ones must be sacrificed before the great cleansing will occur.”

I was all like, “Gee thanks, Big Guy! How about just a weather report and some stock tips and we'll call it a chat!"

With a 4.1 meter fragmentation radius, the fallout from the blast could probably take out five case girls and maim or disfigure an additional seven. The only question, then, becomes which girl to choose? I’ll rule out Claudia, Pilar, Mylinda, Alike, Tameka, Haley Marie, and half of Ursula -- lest someone accuses me of a hate crime. Additionally the lucky girl should be platinum blonde but not a prime number. This leaves Anya, Brooke and Lindsay. I'll save some suspense for the show, but let me say this, I'm fairly convinced Brooke is a she-demon that has taken a variety of forms to stalk me throughout my adult life. (Watch this video if you don't believe me.)

I guess the idea first popped in my head during a taping a few weeks ago. The whole show was like some sort of surrealist nightmare. The cast from American Gladiators appeared without out any clear logical connection to the contestant. They flipped over the banker’s Mercedes in the parking lot which, rather predictably, did NOT make him happy. The contestant, whose name eludes me, looked like some sort of dumpling or pot sticker. (Hey, come to think of it, what is the difference between a dumpling and a pot sticker?!) Anyway, he was one of those way-too-excited contestants, and he hugged me after practically every case! At first I tried to manufacture enthusiasm, but soon I came to detest his touch and rebel against his Right Guard Sport scent.

I realized I was rooting for him to get stuck with a low valued case -- and not something like $10,000 or even $5,000 -- we're talking less than a dollar! When I first got into this business, it was to represent greedy, poor people up against the faceless banker and the senselessness of so-called Lady Luck. I cared. But no more.

It must end now -- my empire of metal suitcases -- in a great conflagration.

I'm thinking that for the lead into the commercial break after the bomb goes off, I'll say: "Things will really heat up after the break" or "boom shakalaka" or "The guilty shall burn now and throughout eternity!"