She had great hair, was a superfox, and was adored by a funny, tortured/brilliant dude with a substance abuse problem (Peter Sellers). She stole my life, basically. If I weren't such a heathen and really believed in invisible deities who live in the sky, I might pray to one that I were this fetching. I have a slight case of the "face of baby" and my thick long black eyelash game is rather tight, so I guess I could be the broke-down, bassline-obsessed, K-town version of Britt; HOWEVER,
like my man Trip said in Juice,
"Just 'cause you pour syrup on something doesn't make it pancakes."
"Pretty girls make graves." - Jack Kerouac.
"And pretty girls make graves." - Morrissey.
. .
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