Dot Bunny | Slayer

Hey, eyes up here buddy. Yeah that's right, these melons are real. No you can't touch them. No! Yeah, okay, hundred dollars up front. Hahaha! You thought I'd be cheap, huh? I may be of a.. lower class... but I have class enough to know that ain't nobody, ain't nuthin' free. So why don't you bring your eyes up and let's start from the top. My hair? No, I can't afford a hairbrush. Why? Because, funny as it sounds, I'd rather eat that look pretty. Getting laid? What guy has ever given a shit about my hair? Look, the way I see it, slap on some eyeliner, some mascara, and make sure your lips aren't f*cked up too badly, and they'll be hooked in an instant. Hair's too thick and long to brush anyway. What are you color blind? Brown hair, grayish blue eyes. What do you mean? What kind of color is grayish blue? It's the color your bruise is gonna be after I give you a black eye that's what color it is. Oh, you wanna talk about my skin now? My tats or my belly button ring? Neither? Smart f*ucker you are. Oooh using big words now, are ya? You kiss your momma with that mouth? Haha! Jokes on you, my momma's six feet under. No you're not 'sorry for my loss' nobody's ever 'sorry for my loss' stop trying to be so damn polite and get to the next question already.

Really? Wardrobe? I have two shirts to my name and you want to talk about my fashion sense? Old concert t- shirts. Two of them. One's the Beatles the other's the Who. Yep, holey and ripped in places but at least they're dark enough colors so you can't see the stains. Pants? This pair of jeans. When they wear out, I'll scramble up come cash then go down to Red, White, and Blue and get a new pair. Yeah, I got one dress, skimpy black thing. One shoulder ripped off though but it don't matter. Not like I can afford no classy restaurants anyway. How did I afford this jacket? This here's a treasured family heirloom. Given to me by Hef himself.

What kind of f*ucked up system is this? 'Tell me about your personality' f*ucker if you can't tell by the way I'm talkin', than you messed up. Hmm? Cash compensation for my time, huh? Well, if you put it that way, I can be reasonable. With the right logic I can be plenty reasonable. The thing is that what I view as 'the right logic' and what others view as 'the right logic' are two different things. I tend to be a bit of a b*tch and piss people off. Not that I give a sh*t what they think. I'd rather be me than some prissy stuck up little know- it- all who think they own the world. Yeah, that is how I see most girls. I'd rather be one of the guys any day. They don't judge you if you gotta scratch something and they don't talk about your momma behind your back. A*s and boobs, never mommas.

Yeah, I guess you can call me a tough girl. Never thought about it much. Been on my own since I was fifteen and no, that's not very long, but you try being too young to get a job and being hungry for a year. Not very fun. Why didn't I give up? Are you freakin' kidding me right now with this sh*t? I mean look at me. I'm amazing. Why would I deprive the world of the wonder that is me? That would be just downright cruel.

Alright, I knew we were gettin' to the tear- jerker section. Not that I expect you to cry or anything, but I know you're expecting some tale of woe. Thing is, I don't find it so sad. My mother, Candice, gave birth to me in the Playboy mansion. That's right, no lie. We can take a tour some time and I'll show you the stain her placenta made. Nastiest sh*t you ever did see. Anyway, she raised me makin' me think my last name was Bunny and everything. Nah, we didn't live at the mansion, Hef was just kind enough to give my momma and me a nice little shack to hang out with. God, some of my first times were at that mansion though. First word- boobies- first steps, first time using a real toilet. The girls were my family though I wasn't as dumb as everyone thought I was. I knew what they were up to. That's why I believed Hef when he told me he was my father. Now, I took the DNA test, and he's not, so don't be going to the paparazzi, but he gave me this jacket from his motorcycle shoot with the girls and hell, any man who gives me something this hot can be an alright poppa in my books.

Yeah, I still say my last name's Bunny. On my license? Clever man. That's because before I left, Momma changed it. Didn't want me linked back to her in case anyone got suspicious or some crap like that. She got secretive in her old age. She was a busy slayer, though, for someone who followed the truth. The greatest thing, though, was that just when her powers were beginning to dwindle, mine were coming in, so we would just go out and beat the sh*t out of somebody for the heck of it. She was a great lady, my momma. Face of an angel, golden hair to boot.

How'd I get out here? Easy. Momma had made some of her friends pissed of and they waited until she had lost all her powers to kill her off. The house threw a big funeral party, because that's what momma would have wanted, then when I told Hef I wanted to leave, he gave me a suitcase and the keys to his car and I took off. Problem is with cars, they need gas. And gas costs money. Got as far as here before it broke down entirely and here I've stayed. Got a apartment with no heat or air conditioning, electric bills that are never paid on time, and just enough to keep me fed.

Work? Yeah, I'm a waitress down at Tony's. Some short dude bought it up and kept Tony on as chef. Problem is, eyes hit right at my chest. Yeah, he's like 5' something and I'm pushing 6'. Wiley little f*ucker. Funny as hell though. Why don't you swing down sometime, I'll make him give you a discount. And who knows, maybe you'll get lucky.

Just don't forget my hundred bucks.

Oh breathe, I may be my momma's girl but I'm not that kind of girl. All talk no walk. Though seriously, I do accept charity.

(See Jay.)