I like Blanche. She’s hard-working and funny; busts balls with the best of them, and slightly terrifies me at times, which is no mean feat.
She’s beautiful in the way Maureen O’Hara was: smart, funny, fiery, but on steroids. Blanche is fearless. I mean, any woman who lost her hand in a bar fight, and kept kicking ass until the ambulance arrived, is more than okay with me.
Her best friend is a loud, rambunctious, and extremely busty blonde named Dusty Bottoms. The two of them should have their own reality show, as they are profanely funny. And I do mean profanely. If you catch their eye, they may tag team you, and you can find yourself face first in Dusty’s boobs, or Blanche will scare the beejeebus out of you by stabbing her fake hand with a butcher knife.
So if you wander into Blanche’s Roadhouse, be polite, tip well, and for the love of all that is holy, hit the deck if you see her reach for something behind the bar. It means someone got on her last nerve, and hopefully it’s not you.
Consider yourself warned.