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July 2014, vol 10, no 2

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Terri French

Hell is full

of fluorescent lighting. It’s one big dressing room—a horror house of mirrors. The demon saleswomen prod dimpled-derrièred women with pitchforks, forcing them to try on bikini after bikini, each one tinier than the last. As you would expect, there is much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

the mallard hen shakes
her tail feathers