Kim propels and doesn’t realize one of her prized purple cowboy boots was ripped from her foot as she grinds along the side walk, road rash punishing her from her thighs to her lower back. She also doesn’t realize her toilet just exploded, and that her daisy dukes are still clinging to her ankles.
Tall-scruffy-business-casual hastily approaches. “Are you alright, miss?” He helps her to her feet, and she frantically rips her bottoms up over her bleeding and pain-pulsing, yet still highly attractive ass.
“Uhh, miss, don’t want to embarrass you after just launching from what I guess is your home, but you have, umm, shit stuck to your necklace.”
Kim pulls at her real-silver plated necklace, and feels the now room-temperature feces collected at her throat. Yet, it doesn’t smear; it clings tightly.
“How long has your crap been magnetic?”
Kim’s flustered cries don’t form cohesive words as she continues tearing at her necklace, attempting to either rip it off or remove her bowel presents from it.
“Yup, that’s magnetic all right. My guess? It collected in your septic system, clinging to any metal parts, and when nothing else could pass through, it exploded. Good luck with that.”
Kim isn’t listening as he walks away. Sirens wail ever-closer, a first response to the explosion, but she doesn’t hear those either.