Part One

Once upon a time there was an anonymous blonde who was, of course, perfect. But this perfection comes with a certain cost: being labeled as a ditz (of course, all blondes know that we are persecuted simply because others of a less admirable hair color are quite jealous of us). Now, our anonymous blonde (who we shall call Brina so as not to confuse the brunettes in our audience), incensed with the continuous jokes made at the expense of perfect (and beautiful!) golden-haired girls, vowed to one day avenge the suffering of her kinswomen.

Brina's tale begins on a bright morning as she sat by her huge swimming pool in the huge backyard of her huge house. She was enjoying the warm, gentle rays of the sun that were in the process of giving her an enviable tan when her top-of-the-line cell phone rang. "'Lo?" she asked nonchalantly.

"One thousand, six hundred and ninety-three," came a dark voice.

"Like, what did you just say?" she asked incredulously (bear in mind though, that her voice was still silky-smooth).

"One thousand, six hundred and ninety-three," the voice said again, then the line disconnected.

Brina fumed for a while. "The LAST thing I need is to have people, like, trying to show off! What do they think I am, dumb or something? I mean, like, they just want to confuse me so they can say, 'Blondes are stupid'! Well, I won't stand for it!"

This said, she jumped up from her lounge chair, spilling a tall glass of lemonade on herself in the process. She ignored it, though, too angry about the phone call to notice. With a look on her (beautiful) face that could curdle new milk, she stormed into her house and pulled out a very scholarly-looking notebook that she never used. Picking up a hot pink gel pen, she began to write.

Blondes aren't ditzy, just Misunderstood.

Brina smiled as she wrote it, thinking about what a good opening sentence it was. In fact, she was so impressed by it that she decided to have it be the closing sentence, too. "I think I should become a writer," she said with satisfaction as she carefully signed the paper. Tears formed in her eyes as she stared at what she had written. At last, someone would show the world its folly in ridiculing blondes. She knew that once the document had been published, her fame would spread throughout the world.

Just then, a knock interrupted her pleasant thoughts. Still disgruntled from the phone call, she stalked over to the door and yanked it open. Before her stood a rotund man with died purple hair. "Listen, PAL," she said vehemently, "This had better be important, because you're interfering with business of, like, global proportions!"

"Oh, it is important," he said briskly. Pointing to a large nametag on his yellow shirt, he said, "My name is Schlosselhopper, and today I would like to tell you about an innovative new brand of cell phone that I believe you will be interested in."

"Listen, Shovelflopper, I already have a cell phone," she said, rolling her (gorgeous) blue eyes.

"My name isn't Shovelflopper," said Purple Hair with a frown.

"Well, it should be. Believe me, I know everything about anything that's at all cool. Your name needs to be Shovelflopper, not Slushipopper or whatever it was."

"I'll be sure to take that into consideration," he answered, trying to veil his growing annoyance. "Now, as I was saying… Hopperschlossell Corporations is looking for clientele to test our newest product, the Magical Cell Phone of Amazingness."

"How many times to I have to tell you, Floppelhammer? I already have a-- wait, did you say it was magical? What does it do? Does it have, like, free minutes or something?"

"Well," he said, lowering his voice to a confidential tone, "Since it's a testing product, we don't really know what it does yet. But I'm sure a blonde like you would be able to find use for it."

Interpreting it as a compliment, she smiled dazzlingly. "Wow, that's like, totally cool! It's like, mystery time!"

Schlosselhopper out a glowing, hot pink phone out of a briefcase that had magically appeared at his side. It was abnormally large; about the size of a watermelon (which doesn't explain how it fit into a briefcase). Though when Schlosselhopper handed the Phone to Brina, it felt surprisingly light.

"It may seem a bit awkward to hold, but if ever you wish to adjust the size, just press this," he said, pressing a purple button on the side of the phone. Instantly it shrank into the handy size of a normal cellular phone. With that, Schlosselhopper promptly disappeared.