..It was cold out there, she was comfy. So Magenta decided to have a little snooze. But, inside her, a little voice whispered, "why put up with being undervalued?" Magenta could feel the rage of a million minor incidents welling up inside her. Instead of sleeping, she lay stiff, angry, and determined. Instead of counting sheep she was counting men. Men of all sorts, uppity men, arrogant men, men with moustaches,condescending men, men with bad breath, brutal men. All sitting in a grand stadium of life. When she got to number 5,873, Magenta noticed that the snoring had stopped.

Magenta slipped her feet over the side of the bed and decided to go. What was she doing with this overripe pretentious tripe faced goth? His lips were too red. She always found men with wet, red lips.. disgusting, somehow.

She slipped on her kimino and sneaked into the bathroom to retrieve her clothes. As she was bending down to retrieve her socks, a quiet voice spoke from behind.

"Not so soon, my lovely.."

She turned, to face Vlad, wearing nothing but a rubber codpiece and fluffy lavender bedsocks. He held in his hand a massive, curved, Japanese samurai sword.