Her purse was embroidered with 'Bad Ass'.

Her purse was embroidered with 'Bad Ass'. She had ink on her neck, back, legs, and full sleeves. When she talked, you listened. She had a deep scar on her hand that

somehow complemented her many tattoos. The scar ran from the space between her left pinky and ring finger across to the inside of her wrist. She wore thick glasses and spoke with

an accent that betrayed her as being from Northern Ireland. Although I found her features extremely attractive, I was a Pakistani and as we all know, you don't mix with her sort.

So I basically just stared at her real creepy like and pretended to be her friend but imagined sauteeing her feet with chick peas and

picked cheese to go with it. ... Hmm, should I eat her with Montery Jack or Stinking Bishop? ... But as drool trickled down my chin, she became suspicious.

my cheek. I pushed myself unsteadily from the floor, but she stepped on my chest, forcing me back down. "I'd never take such an insult from you!" she exclaimed, before

furiously punching me square in the face. I groaned, my vision blurring, as she kept punching with the force of a thousand angry hippos. I caught her in the back with my knee, and

invited her out for a drink. Sure, the gratuitous violence might be a distraction for some people, but I knew she was the gal for me. I ordered an appletini as she roundhoused my

groin. (This was just her way of foreplay.) I couldn't wait for her to come back to my place, put on her boxing gloves, and beat me Mike Tyson style. Ah yes, this was true love.