Help me name my inner critic?

I have placed a sign on the dining room table (ground zero for preparing the tax return) that states:
S.---the 2009 tax return is not finished until you have collected all receipts justifying all deductions, and set up a better system for organizing and tracking medical expenses for 2010. 
Your Inner Critic
Now this is an edited version, the first draft of the sign was quite foul. 

I know I don't NEED an inner critic (I have plenty of external critics such as my daughters, who threaten to nominate me for What Not to Wear), and am trying various techniques to get rid of her or disarm her or transform her into an inner voice.... if she had a name I may be able to collar her.  She's wiley.  I guess if I am able to edit the first draft of the sign to something neutral if not positive, that must be my inner voice sounding off.  And I know her name.  It's my name.

Mindfulness Shmindfulness

A classic.

Having some wonderful preserves on hand, I decided to bake cornbread for dinner. What to go with it? A plan came about slowly over the day: cornbread and preserves.... with chicken cutlets.... and sweet potato fries. I whipped up a batch of cornbread and put it in the oven, then got busy with the other items. When the oven timer went off, I turned it and the oven off, meaning to take the cornbread out when I had my hands rinsed off from the chicken breading.

We had a lovely meal. The thought of the cornbread, and the preserves it was to showcase, never crossed my mind. It wasn't until bedtime that I remembered this hub, this nucleus, this centerpiece of the meal.

Natch, my inner shrill piped up--this time she had a screeching Irish brogue, tougher to fight off than the Southern drawl. I elbowed her in the teeth and told M. the whole story. We laughed about it.

The cornbread, a very dark brown dry mass, will please the hens tomorrow.

Prompt: "The last time I..."

The last time I was scolded by my inner critic, she spoke to me in a southern drawl, a real piney-woods-of-Georgia accent, and I just had to sigh, and laa-aa-afff it off, la-la-LA! Oh, brother. Apologies to Southerners everywhere, but that’s what I heard.
I had this idea a couple of weeks ago—to catch myself berating myself and try to turn the whole thing around, and came up with the idea of giving it an accent. Jotting “inner voice=accent” down on a post-it next to my keyboard and glancing at it frequently, I finally remembered to accentuate myself yesterday. It worked like a charm. I’ll do anything to fend off that bitch. She sounded like a moron and she cut no ice with me! If all she gets from me is laughter and scoffing, well, she can’t last long.