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Betty Boop’s Bebop Because I’m a cartoon airhead, people think it’s a picnic down on these mean streets. Sure, my skirt’s short, but it’s a crime, fellows, how you give a frail the slip, leave her simmering, hot and bothered. I have feelings, cardboard, but bordering on ennui, just this side of tristesse. I may not be human, but I can kick like one and bite and pinch, too. Don’t forget, mister, I’m not just a bimbo with a helium voice. I’m no rococo parvenu pillhead. I’ve read your Rilke, your Montesquieu. Really, I’m not as dumb as I look. Or maybe I am. Less tries to be more, but ends up being nothing. My last beau vetoed the philosophy of religion class in favor of pre-law, exactly why I don’t know, but I’m getting a glimmer. Stay zany, the cartoonists tell me, and next year you’ll play Cinderella. 28 ...

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