Memories of Colorado

People think of Colorado as a bracing mountain state with snow and fat skiers
Whizzing down the slopes in their hideously coloured designer proto-anoraks
But I know a crueller and more Hellish side of this scenic paradise (sadly):
I was hanging out in a cooler-than-cool bar in trendy downtown Boulder
Sipping my eighth giant-size triple Martini on the rocks with a twist of the day
With my gorgeous new companion Trudi, a half-caste Latvian-Eskimo gnome,
When a few crack-fuelled born-again Afro-Jewish right-wing yuppies burst in,
And, to my slight irritation, began to mock lovely Trudi for her lack of height
(unaware she was a Black belt judo expert and world midget ski champ).

Tiny Trudi was taking no shit from that load of goddam' reprobates.
And she unhesitatingly defenestrated them with a few deft hand movements.
Into the snowy gutter where several suffered instant broken-neck disease.
But one staggered back in and emptied his second-hand AK-47
Right into her perfectly-proportioned gnomic body (much to my chagrin).
So, after scraping her warm remains off the walls into a Gucci carrier bag
I drove off in my pink Jaguar, butchly humming my favourite cha-cha-cha tune
From one of Arnie Schoenberg's lesser known string quartets.
I think I shall avoid Colorado on future trips, no point in pushing my luck.