It had been six months since Sierra's roommate

It had been six months since Sierra's roommate had last thought to ask her if she might like something from the convenience store before she ran out the door, golden tresses flying

and shopping bags stuffed under her arm. But today was different. And so her room mate asked: "Sierra, would you care for something from the shop?". Sierra was

in a sassy mood, so she shrieked, "Hell no, I don't need anything from your filthy shop!" Sierra's roommate looked at her, affronted. "Well, really," she said, "there's no need to

employ profanity. Can't you say 'heck', instead?" Sierra glared at her roommate, purpled, and unleashed an obscene barrage the likes that her roommate had never imagined possible.

She was an artist, and the art of profanity was hers; the inability of others to see the beauty of that art was the ultimate frustration of her life.

It was during her art exhibition entitled "**** you: The art of profanity" at the Edinburgh festival that she was kidnapped by ninjas.

The ninjas took her to their dojo. She cried out in agony as she realized she left the oven on at home.

She doubted the ninjas would be understanding of her plight, so she decided she'd better escape quickly enough to get home before the house burned down. She tried to free her hand.

But those darn ninjas were just too good at tying knots. She looked around for another way out. The fire at home would surely not yet have reached the curtains. A rusty nail beckon

she would not die. She closes her eyes and does what her father told her to do. Believe. Then she becomes a ninja and gets out and gets a donut LIVIN LIKE LARRY