Growing up, she was a proper young lady – as her mother always taught her to be.  She drank her tea and was polite to strangers.  She picked flowers in the English countryside, rode ponies laughingly with a plethora of suitors, and cried softly into her pillow when she realized that her life was indeed a sham. 

She packed her things, and without so much as a hasty goodbye to her shallow existence, she fled the dreary moors and came to rest in Dallas Texas.

Far-removed as one could be from flowers, ponies and tea, she became enamored with a man – a swarthy gent who would soon teach her about guns, the UFC, and the extremely common but necessary art of plumbing.

With these newfound interests in hand, she soon took up with an underground society known only as “roller derby.”

Her English countryside days long forgotten, she now does battle in the true arena of the soul - instead of being resigned to a lukewarm life of luncheons for “ladies.”

A “lady” she is no longer.  She will tell you through the written word that John 3:16 is nice and proper, however, Austen 3:16 says that forsooth, she just whipped your buttocks soundly.  Her name may be a mixture of raw power juxtaposed with elegance, but her heart is not cleft in twain:  it belongs only to one place – Assassination City.