Excerpt from MONA (one of the 53 women in my novel Daisy Chain)

The taxi driver was a small man named Mobi, short for Mobilandopacanisunaretipopo—Alopican slang for "one who moves like a goat through the mountains". Indeed, he lived up to his name as the honeymooners bounced through potholes the size of volcano craters and bumped over mounds of dirt piled like small haystacks on the unpaved roads.
        Mona's "mammo-mammaries" as she called them (short for mammoth mammaries) were suffering the consequences. They bounced, slapped and jiggled, dancing to the clanking of Mobi's dilapidated jeep.
     "Stuh-uh-range-ahhhhhh land-uh-scape-oh-ouch!" Tom said as they flew over a small ravine. It was difficult, in fact almost impossible, to speak without biting off one's tongue at the rate at which Mobi was driving. Deciding to keep a vow of silence until they reached their destination, the newlyweds clutched hands and stared—half-fascinated, half-terrified—at the blurry, passing landscape.

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