A three-time bar exam failure, she lamented

A three-time bar exam failure, she lamented her current position as a pedicurist. Life could be worse, but it's hard to imagine how as her current client had feet that

clawed like a sloth's, with toenails that curled under. She suppressed a shudder. Her clients paid well enough that she forced a smile and got to work.

Her implements were simple, but honed with a quality that only the best could afford. No cheap sand and cardboard. These were ground diamonds on stainless steel. Pigments and

real hair taken from Mexican Werewolf people. She had almost married one of them, but her furry fiancee couldn't read English and used her Hair Removal product instead of gel.

He had never forgiven her. She would never forget that look of stark terror followed immediately by hurt and betrayal. Nothing was left. Not even a single strand of pit hair.

The wholly depilatorized woman looked back at him - shorn, forlorn, and shaved-kitty porned. Fred rued the day that Rue McLanahan

had popularized The Brazilian. Oh sure, it was logical that Blanche Devereaux opted for depilatory innovations, but the ensuing craze had led to that Vagina Monologues abomination.

If that weren't enough, the vagitarian cult insisted on a sacramental slurping of jello from a Judy Chicago plate at every meal. Blanche had cursed them, and

tried to find another way out of the cave. Blanche, too, was tired of the jello slurping and wished that there were somebody to exterminate the cult leader.

Justin Bieber was just too powerful though. 30 years of pop success allowed him to buy the entire British Isles. Seemed like it was going to be jello forever.