Friday evening Sally was home alone dancing to the tune of her favorite Beatle’s album, preparing for the auctions. She packed every knick-knack she swiped from around the block, with love. Thinking, tomorrow come noon I will score big. In those boxes sat a gold mine of cash.
Startled, she turns. The emergency broadcast flashes; “Urgent, rapist escaped, last seen Downey Street – armed and dangerous!”
In a panic she locks the doors and windows, waiting with the shotgun by her side. Thirty minutes later a knock, then a click, her locks picked. Sally stood fast, waiting to teach this pervert a lesson. As the door crept open, she seized her assailant’s attention. Sally stripped and spun as the sick bastard watched and sung a melody, trying to bring fear. To his surprise, she grabbed him. Shoving the defender of death into his gut, Sally forces him to masturbate. And when he least expected it, she reached in — SLASH, CUT — pureed at high speed, right into a cup.
With the defender of death pointed, he forced himself to drink. BANG — she blew out his chest.
Eleven o’clock news — Rapist found dead.