CANDOR

 Via undisclosed and possibly illicit means, Jenny had procured an unplayed first-generation VHS copy of Zombie Holocaust. She regaled me with tales of the film numerous times, my appetite whetted with each account. Mounting my bicycle, I shouted "Yeah, this is my shit!" to the night sky and made my way to Jenny's tastefully decorated second-floor studio.

 Half past midnight, I arrived at Jenny's rental to find her chopping and spicing carrots for a European dish she read about in Cats Magazine. She directed me to a beanbag chair large enough for two or three behinds (re: derrière) to sit comfortably. Sheila, a girl I'd never heard of but was allegedly a close friend to Jenny, sat next to me. She was a beautiful young woman with excellent calves.

 "Drink this," said Sheila, forcing to my nose a carafe flush with red elixir. "A friend of mine made this. It's Mad Dog 20/20 fortified with the blood of six quadroons."

 Fearing I'd never come down from the insane high this drink most likely produced, I politely declined.

 "No thanks, I'm engaged to be married and am saving my drinking stomach until wedding day."

 "Who are you engaged to?," Jenny wanted to know.

 "I dunno...this pair of scissors." A pair of 6" scissors lay on the table in front of me. Grabbing the red handle, I began cutting my curly locks at a slightly frenzied pace. "Don't I look like a famous actress having a nervous breakdown? 'I want to cut it all off!'"