Groggily you awake, and as your hand goes to your head, you start to speak, "But that's DiPalma's gir--" but the voice isn't yours, it's a woman's voice.
You reach up and touch your head, you feel a permanent. You pull a lock of hair down so you can see it, it's peroxide blonde, instead of your normal dark hair. You want to puke, as your other hand rests on your size DD breasts.
The door opens and DiPalma appears talking on a cellphone wearing only a pair of boxers and lots of gold jewelry. He smiles lustily at you.
"Yeah, uh-huh, the rich reporter's taken care of, well that's great. I'm going to have to celebrate!" DiPalma beams at you.
"Oh, I--I got a headache," you say, not really lying, as you turn away from DiPalma as you notice his boxers are starting to tent.