The Tip-Top. That malevolency. A Victorian-era office building on the outskirts of downtown gentrification. Fully-automated, this Mindless Machine has seen better days. It has one “manual” process: the cleaning lady, who is used as a flesh-n-blood Mindless Machine, working the third-shift.
Betty sits in the hiring booth. Answering the questions of the building’s disembodied voice. This is hard pretty thirty-something Betty. Therefore. She’s not strapping butch thus she’s not strapping Piranhas and Parts. No plaintive makeup: disfiguring makeup abandoned in favor of Bolshoi-bare. No geriatric blonde sternka, blue-tinting hairnet, or septum ring. Yellow blonde jeannie worn let down, not yanked back into a sternka. No thick-readers. Etc. Bottomline. No ugly deviations or ugly affectations whatsoever.
This is Betty as Betty, having totally withdrawn from ugly, these days.
Per Ms. Taylor White’s and Betty’s own dictates, Betty is a thirty-something “presentation” based upon Bolshoi-bare.
Ms. Taylor White, a God, is the husband of Betty.
Yes. The possessive Tip-Top has a type. And. Betty is clearly its type.
The End