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Chapter 5

The Story The Authors

Settling in below the bumper of the last car at the last row of the lot, trying to make herself look at once small and inconspicuous and large, imposing (a girl can't be too careful these days), she set herself to work.
Bitzy was not a smart girl. She had never claimed to be. Which was probably a good move on her part, considering the blonde roots continued to show despite repeated dousings with Clairol's #43 (Golden reddish-brown, Clairol makes too much money to be creative with names these days). Still, she pondered what happened to Xavier. With the spatula extracted from her backpack, the jar of Hellman's mayo cracked open, and the water biscuits' cellophane disemboweled like the prey of a lion, Bitzy set to work.
Eliz

Within minutes, the mayonaise jar was empty, licked clean, and there was nothing left of the crackers but the crumbs that littered the front of Bitzy's pink cashmere sweater. Bitzy wiped her lips with the back of her hand and took a deep breath. She felt bloated and disgusting so she crawled to the curb and stuck her finger down her throat which sent partially digested water biscuits and mayonaise hurling into the gutter. She reached for the bottle of vodka in her beehive but it wasn't there. "Damn!" she said, remembering they had finished the last bottle and hadn't replaced it yet. She had to find a liquor store and fast. cuddles

She ran down the street as fast as her flat feet could take her. But, alas, there were no liquor stores in sight. She soon spotted a corner pharmacy a few blocks over and decided it was better than nothing. She casually perused the aisles pretending to be a serious shopper, deeply contemplating hemorroidal cream expiration dates and comparing boxes of disposable enemas. But what she really wanted was some hard liquor. Almost giving up, she found herself near the shelves of dental hygiene products. Grabbing a bottle of green mouthwash, she read the label outloud: "SD-Alcohol 40. Must mean 40 proof! Hotdog!" She ran to the counter, threw exact change down on it, and ran out the door in triumph. Without another moment's hesitation, she popped open the child-proof cap and guzzled the mouthwash down. She made a funny face and smacked her lips. "That was weird. I'm sorta drunk, and my breath is oh so minty-fresh!" Cwazy

The Story	The Authors
Settling in below the bumper of the last car at the last row of the lot, trying to make herself look at once small and inconspicuous and large, imposing (a girl can't be too careful these days), she set herself to work. Bitzy was not a smart girl. She had never claimed to be. Which was probably a good move on her part, considering the blonde roots continued to show despite repeated dousings with Clairol's #43 (Golden reddish-brown, Clairol makes too much money to be creative with names these days). Still, she pondered what happened to Xavier. With the spatula extracted from her backpack, the jar of Hellman's mayo cracked open, and the water biscuits' cellophane disemboweled like the prey of a lion, Bitzy set to work.	Eliz
Within minutes, the mayonaise jar was empty, licked clean, and there was nothing left of the crackers but the crumbs that littered the front of Bitzy's pink cashmere sweater. Bitzy wiped her lips with the back of her hand and took a deep breath. She felt bloated and disgusting so she crawled to the curb and stuck her finger down her throat which sent partially digested water biscuits and mayonaise hurling into the gutter. She reached for the bottle of vodka in her beehive but it wasn't there. "Damn!" she said, remembering they had finished the last bottle and hadn't replaced it yet. She had to find a liquor store and fast.	cuddles
She ran down the street as fast as her flat feet could take her. But, alas, there were no liquor stores in sight. She soon spotted a corner pharmacy a few blocks over and decided it was better than nothing. She casually perused the aisles pretending to be a serious shopper, deeply contemplating hemorroidal cream expiration dates and comparing boxes of disposable enemas. But what she really wanted was some hard liquor. Almost giving up, she found herself near the shelves of dental hygiene products. Grabbing a bottle of green mouthwash, she read the label outloud: "SD-Alcohol 40. Must mean 40 proof! Hotdog!" She ran to the counter, threw exact change down on it, and ran out the door in triumph. Without another moment's hesitation, she popped open the child-proof cap and guzzled the mouthwash down. She made a funny face and smacked her lips. "That was weird. I'm sorta drunk, and my breath is oh so minty-fresh!"	Cwazy

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