‘‘this is it,’‘ marlow spoke up, rising from her seat to hover over the two fish bowls presenting on the table, both of them filled to the rim with moscato wine, vodka, blue curacao, pineapple juice and sprite all mixed together into a lovely blue mixture topped with lemon, lime and orange slices. in other words: half a gallon of pure fucking poison. ‘‘first one to down this bowl gets not one but two prices, one ... they get to keep their dignity ... secondly, they get to strip down one piece of the loser’s clothing and receive a lapdance. so the question is ... who’s in? this could be your moment. a victory that could be yours, if you win from the champion, that is...!’‘












