--- M I K E   B L O T T E N B E R G E R

Pain is inevitable for a woman, and you are a pioneer
in the exploration of destruction. Your Swedish figure 
will soon be catapulted into a wall, while wires connect 
your breasts to an underground computer. You have several 
hundred impacts to endure and several hundred dress 
rehearsals to perform, little stuntwoman. Your male 
counterpart, “Sierra Sam,” will turn fifty-six this year, 
when you experience your first bout of whiplash. No name.
No makeup. No earrings. No shoes. Not even a dress for 
you. Your broken body will become another woman’s 
blessing.