It's me or the monster, who makes the first move. I must tame this unruly beast, this winter coat. Yet with a blade this rusty, the supermarket will be out of band aids by the time i'm through with this pale, pudgy, political mess. The now *****, steamed pools of chemical filled culture, swirling down my drain, trapped on dry edges. I watch in utter disgust as a shade of ruby follows, descending to the pits of anti-feminist hell.