Tiffany walked into a pub. Her leggings outlined every dimple of cellulite on her wobbling hips while her pink wig and running makeup accentuated her swollen from drinking face in a way that soot accentuates your clumsy neighbor's balcony after an incident involving a handmade hookah and Chinese curtains.
Her breath smelled of mints that have been previously consumed and later, to the cashier's misfortune, returned to the store in not-so-mint condition.
Tiffany knew what she was after, and so did the men who fled the pub upon her arrival. She emitted an aura of sexual energy and every disease that it might entail.
"I'm irresistible", said Tiffany to herself and smiled. Her long armpit hair waved gracefully like a mane of a black stallion galloping through the open fields of Netherlands.
The industrial duct tape that she stole from Home Depot began to peel off of her nipples and reveal the grace and authenticity of everybody else's disgust.
"Avengers, assemble!", yawped one of the potential victims shielding himself with a wooden bar stool. A few men desperately flocked behind his back, grabbing all the weaponry in the vicinity.
A short Irish man with a tall hat yelled out, "Grenade!". Everyone ducked simultaneously while he swung his arm and released a handful of peanuts in the direction of the beast, stunning it temporarily. They quickly jumped over the bar table and hid behind it.
"Is she dead? Is she dead?", the Leprechaun inquired.
"I want to go home. Please. I want to go home", the bartender cried out.
"Shush! She will hear us.", Captain America commanded.
"I already have", Tiffany whispered.