Dragon is frequently observed aimlessly slithering about in affluent suburban communities. Her rather fitting moniker can be attributed to her cold-blooded, reptilian personality and a vicious temper that could no doubt render the toaster obsolete. The fire that rockets from her mouth the majority of the time it’s open could easily produce a perfect brown crisp on any wheat, challah, or rye. Push the button that cranks her up to max power and an entire loaf would be reduced to a pile of black crumbs within milliseconds. And that’s exactly how she makes everyone around her feel – like the discarded burnt remnants that sit for weeks on end in the bottom of the toaster. Unseen, untouched, unwanted. Dragon could be referred to by some as high maintenance, but more appropriately as just a bitch.
Some of Dragon’s favorite hobbies around the house include yelling, slamming phones, and launching F-bombs in the direction of her helpless husband. The poor man has been beaten down to a mushy pulp by years of verbal abuse, such as being called a pussy every time he tries to call a plumber instead of fixing the toilet himself. The fact that he is directly responsible for all of the luxuries she enjoys in life is apparently of zero consequence. To show a sliver of appreciation, in between weeks of dining out and ordering gourmet delivery Dragon will occasionally cook a nice meal at home…after having been promised the latest grossly overpriced Gucci handbag in return.
If she didn’t consider it beneath her, Dragon would make an excellent telemarketer. She could sell pig shit to a hog farmer – the first sign of hesitation on the other end of the line would unleash a barrage of threats ranging from shattered kneecaps to Manolo Blahniks being placed so far up rectums that they’d be tickling the back of the throat. Sold. Instead, however, Dragon spends her days relieving stress by swiping plastic at Neiman Marcus and indulging in the latest spa treatment involving exorbitant volcanic mud from the exotic island of Firmatitti. This stress is, of course, entirely brought on by her own obnoxiousness and general intolerance for any breathing creature that doesn’t acquiesce to her every whim.
Frequently heard saying: “Don’t piss in my face and tell me it’s raining!”
Last seen: Extending a courteous middle finger out of her Benz moonroof to the bastard driving at the speed limit.