A Merchant's Life

Today I enjoyed the wreaking of havoc on the life of one beautiful darling minxie. I followed her about for a bit and disrupted any conversations she had with potential customers. The dear child endeavoured to actually sell items to people who wander in, not realising that anyone who actually attends a shop for purchases is usually just a voyeur of the most vulgar kind. My sister had the wisdom to not even to look up from her magazine and gave a dismissive wave to the potential pointers.

Then at about lunch I found myself entranced by the most vapid blonde of them all, skulking about the exterior of the shop as if she were awaiting the apocalypse. I assumed she was hoping minxie would notice her since she lacked the courage to face a den of Dubois and disappear off to lunch but I ensured minxie was kept occupied until the girl gave up on her vigil and I admit nothing is more stimulating than thwarting the plans of another!

Later in the day I was most disturbed to find out that little minxie is pining for the son of Vanderhag—how utterly distasteful. It appears she is charmed by the macho madness antics of extreme sport meatnuts who cater to the killing as many brain cells as possible philosophy of life. My poor little minx, does she not know that the pseudo hunk in question has eyes only of the incestuous kind. It appears that he fell in love with his half sister before he found out daddy had been playing hide the vine with a saucy little vixen who used to model for real, unlike our ex stripper aunts who pretend they did lingerie. After all lingerie is so forgiving to the huge inflatable melons she had inserted in her chest. Oh the woe of ex porn starlets they just have such a problem getting men to take them seriously--I wonder why.

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