Asteroid Belt

I got a real cool asteroid belt, yes, made out of metal and animal fur. A killer asteroid belt of new death, banging your hopes down and smashing your sense of fashion. “Kill the ideas” I command my asteroid belt. I am a hula girl, I should explain; my name is Jill. I have a net that electrocutes. I have a sex-ray laser gun. “Hula” because rings are like Saturn. I wear my asteroid belt with matching boots. They know me as “Jill with sticky buns” because I offer this dessert for breakfast: sweet rolls consisting of leavened dough. “Damn, Jill,” you say, “you sure got sticky buns.” Yeah, plus my asteroid belt is unfastened and negating infinite mutton. “Your mutton occupies a unique set that’s absent of elements,” you gawk; “its cardinality feels like zero.” — I am the lead hula girl for The Jets.