The soft fuzziness of her golden brown mohair

The soft fuzziness of her golden brown mohair jumper filled my every thought. The richness of her silver-gold tresses invaded my dreams. The smile of her eyes made me

paralyzed with fear. How could eyes "Smile?" I forced myself to swallow vomit and remain calm. Sure enough, she had lips in her irises. They were mouths. With teeth. I reached

into my laptop bag and searched for my Ativan. My doctor gave them to me to take whenever I started to

feel the urge to sing old show tunes. The doctor warned me about the singing show tunes on the 3rd Tuesday of every other month, but I am powerless hence the Ativan.

My fingernails were chewed to the quick and I had to distract myself to avoid going after my toes. So I turned my eyelids inside out and went to greet strangers at Gate 32. The

I locked myself in the bathroom, where I discretely pulled the corpse out of my carry-on bag. Necrophiliacs always keep a corpse at the ready. But a line was forming, so I had to

make them go away by loudly pretending to have explosive diarrhea. The chumps. The on-flight movie was going to start soon though, so I sat the corpse up on the toilet and

began to apply the make up. The lipstick proved to be the toughest. By the time I was done, however, the corpse looked perfect. Just like a pale buxom blonde. The wig was a tad too

platinum but blonde she was.All her friends & family attended the wake. The band played her favorites.Everyone danced & sang. I hope finally she found out if blondes have more fun.