“I want to be famous like Hello Kitty,” said Yo Pussy to herself. “That damned bitch has all the fun. She’s got vapidity, banality and inanity nailed, so it’s hordes of hysterical fans every day and mountains of cocaine every night. What could I be doing wrong?”
A little worm heard her squealing and suggested she look inside herself, so she took her sharpest knife and gave her guts some ventilation. And what should come out? No vapidity, banality or inanity, just large quantities of blood and a horrifying entity. It had four eyes in its back and a face too gruesome to describe; had Yo Pussy not seen it through a haze of agony she might have died on the spot.
“Can you give me the world?” she cried.
“No,” replied the entity. “You should have eaten more red meat instead of living on coffee and smokes like so many would-be celebrities. But there’s no need to fret, my dear. I can give you this bowling ball. You should be able to draw countries on it, though you’d best consult an atlas...”
Yo Pussy did not reply. That night a girl from the housing projects found Yo Pussy’s little corpse in the gutter and attached it to her belt, where it caused quite a stir among her friends at Swanston Street McDonalds. So Yo Pussy finally got to be famous, if only posthumously.