I know there should be more details fleshing this story out up there in the first paragraph. But, really, is there anything more you need to know. Save, perhaps, for whether or not the aforementioned hair was given up voluntarily or not, I guess. That might be an important detail. Failing that information however, I'm going to go ahead and assume that Leelee Sobieski sneaks up to Beverly Hills on Friday nights for a well-mannered evening of breaking and entering. Honestly, I guess Sobieski is hot, in that maybe-she's-from-the-Balkans-and-therefore-will-sell-her-body-for-6-American-dollars kind-of way. But look at that face... this is not the image you want to wake up to... standing with a blank stare over your bed with a sharp object in her hand.
Or maybe it is. Mmmm. Nothing says loving like a pair of rusty, gardening sheers impaled through your ribcage at the moment of sexual climax. I'm pretty sure this was established during that love scene from Dirty Dancing. "Cause I've... had... the time of my life... *ARGHHH!*". Isn't the way I remember movies so much more entertaining (read: blindingly horrific) than the originals?
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