Got me a can of whoopass

I got pepper spray!

Ever since moving to this chauvinistic backwater with delusions of cityhood, I have been pestered and hassled and street harassed by slimeballs who think they’re making my day asking for a pair of my soiled undergarments. My typical reaction ranges from ignoral to an angry look to, when I’ve been pissed off too many times, a deranged rant on women’s rights. Every time this happens I make a grand decision to take up Krav Maga and kick some ass, buy a knife and probably fall on the blade, start carrying around a pair of seriously gross used undies, or buy some pepper spray. Yesterday I finally saw some for sale (pepper spray, not soiled undies) when I was browsing the easter eggs in my local humungomarket. Although I’m likely to spray myself in the face or use it when drunk on some guy who just wants to buy me a drink, I bought that shit and now I can skulk along the streets in whatever clothes I deem cover my nipples sufficiently and the best part of all is this statement I’m sort of qualified to use:

I’m packin heat motherfuckers!

Unarmed rapists and sleazeballs, beware! I will blind your shit.

Anyone a little more dangerous, please show me your gun or knife before approaching to save me making a fool of myself with my pressurised tabasco bottle.

Yours sincerely,

Sugar tits

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