Rosemarie drinks glasses of fire. She carries a shovel with her everywhere. Even state functions. She had a leather slipcase made for it. When sitting down across from bishops and commissioners, she lays the shovel out on the table before tearing up the paperwork and defaming her opponent's upbringing. She is lead agreement officer for a chain of high traffic meat tanning shops. She cares more about her Christmas lights than the mouth diseases people say they get from her company's products. Rosemarie knows they're all liars like the patrons of her previous job. She spent years inspecting people's feet at the public beach.
(“How many toes? Five.”
“Five?”
“Yeah…”
“I count 6.”)
When a gang of astronomers rented the house down the block from her, she expressed her contempt for both telescopes and the zodiac by secretly digging a twelve foot moat around their place and started charging people to come watch them bathe.
“You don't need any fancy glass. You can see them nice and plain. You can see their mistakes.”
But now she's in the fight of her life. Rosemarie's been diagnosed with Elephant's Disease. Her hair's started to fall out and the skin around her mouth is turning gray. Just a matter of time. It's widely known her enemies have the papers drawn up with forged signatures and phony notary stamps and will step in, lie to her family, and sell Rosemarie to the Armenian Circus.
And that's why, in about 10 days, Rosemarie will call in all her favors and launch a coordinated firebombing attack on the city's bowling alleys, couch rooms and oil pits in a merciless final stab at the ugliness of Western Civilization.
I advise you to take your children out of school and head north for a few weeks. Teach them long division and never darken their thoughts with the reality of being different in America.
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