bimbo is an idiot.
she's done somethin real careless and can't seem to get out from under the weight of it weighin down on her like 100 cans of mason sardines. no, not 100. 1,000.  and no, not careless. black, yeah. crooked, yeah. but not careless.  her heart is comin out of her chest. she tries to stuff it back in. cut it out. strangle it. but it don't shut up. it's screaming at her and hollaring two things at once, like it does, and the stupid thing led her into a goddamn beartrap.

so she's gonna knock herself out.  all the lousy shit she's done! she shakes her fist at herself as she's sitting there, in the bermuda sand in her likewise dubbed shorts. she's gonna punch herself in the kisser ala fight club. that seemed to work all right for ben stiller or martin short or lou ferigno or whoever the hell that was in that thing. she stares at her chipped rotten orange nailpolish. 'why am i wearing this goddamned nail polish!?' she hollars up into the listerine sky and POW.
down for the count.