Another washed-up old floozy willing to peddle the last thing she's got that anybody'll buy.
While we admire her go-getter spirit—she will get herself killed and eaten if it's the last thing she does!—we are nevertheless saddened to see a sow in her golden years resorting to such desperate measures.
She leans against the Killing Fence, a wink on her big, lascivious face. There aren't a lot of comers out there in the middle of the field, but she's there from morning to night. (Except for those 40 or 50 smoke breaks.)
She hopes that if she waits long enough, someone will bite. You know, literally.
(Thanks to Dr. Bea for the referral.)