Bad DNA

She drove real fast down that driveway, revvin' it like it was armageddon and she'd spotted the way out.

She swears at every turn: it's the last fucking time. No more ms. Nice Gal. No more. Enough.

Driven. She's fed up. She won't be able to play along anymore. She needs a gun, a chainsaw, an ACME anvil-materializator. Right now, she could use a portable ACME hole. Several of them.

Bad DNA. The whole human race. Armageddon never sounded so sweet.