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Seldom does a title offer so many clues.

Suggested Audio Jukebox ♫

[1] College & Electric Youth A Real Hero
[2] Aerosmith Eat The Rich
[3] Dr. Dre Let It Ride
[4] Blondie X Offender
[5] Ira Newborn Police Squad Theme
[6] Billy Ocean Get Outta My Dreams, Get Into My Car
[7] Tavares Heaven Must Be Missing An Angel
[8] Michael Sembello Maniac
[9]
Dead Kennedys Too Drunk To Fuck

 

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I could throttle you right now. Do you have any idea how hard it is to drag almost 200 pounds of dead weight down several flights of stairs with compromised heel tendons? It was no walk in the park let me tell you. Indeed, you’ve been nothing but a liability since first getting assigned as my partner and now you’ve forsaken me in my hour of need to top it all off. I may have dealt with seven of the dirty dozen, with precious little assistance from you I might add, but that still leaves another five and now I’ve got to continue solo thanks to your act of courage/stupidity. It must seem like I’m pretty ungrateful and I’d like to assure you that I’m not. What you did undoubtedly saved my life and it is because of your selfless sacrifice that I’m sat here now bitching about being left to fend for myself when I could really do with a spotter. However, there just isn’t the time for sentimentality as I have twenty minutes to make it to my next bust and nobody to deliver me there safely. Thankfully I have some duct tape in the trunk and can patch myself up temporarily just to get me through the next few testing hours. But I want you to know that I hold you largely responsible for this sorry state of affairs and you’re lucky I don’t leave you here by the roadside for the jackals to argue over.

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For now I’ll just prop you up in the passenger seat and let you think about how you’ve failed me continuously. Try not to decompose as I’ve got a rather sensitive sense of smell since having my ear shot off back at the bordello. Shit balls, that reminds me, I forgot to track down my rogue body part and pack it in ice. It’s too late now as it took me the best part of an hour to haul your sorry ass down here and I don’t relish the return journey. Guess that means I’ll just have to make do and soldier on regardless with my one remaining good ear. How am I supposed to explain to my daughter that I can’t fully enjoy her upcoming trombone recital? Indeed, the only conceivable upside is that I can finally turn a deaf ear to my wife whenever she gets a bee in her bonnet although I’m fully expecting her to file for divorce after I dipped into Minnie’s college fund not once but twice in the same evening. This is the most desperate state of affairs since that one Christmas party when I dropped one too many acids and got followed home by a septic llama called Lawrence Von Dutch with anger management issues and highly contagious open lip sores. That said, there’s no point crying over spilt milk, as our next hard target will require my full and undivided attention from hereon in if I’m not to come a cropper.

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If ever a shoe didn’t fit then Charity’s foot wouldn’t be far away from it. You see, while she runs the only non-profit prostitution racket in existence down on the lower Eastside and could therefore be deemed rather public-spirited, her father is a billionaire oil tycoon and the green stuff has nothing whatsoever to do with getting her sick kicks. This unwell little puppy is only in it for the pain she can inflict and has a list of misdemeanors as long as daddy’s list of off-shore bank accounts, none of which could ever be pinned on her I might add. It’s not that she hasn’t been apprehended and even tried for her wrongdoings but, the evening before her verdict is given, all charges are mysteriously dropped and she walks away scot-free and with a playful wiggle to boot. Money makes the world go round right? Well it also has a tendency to make folk forget and it appears nigh-on impossible to pin the tail on this particular donkey. Ergo the chief requested that I “shoot this hooker” as a .480 Ruger is a little tougher to bribe and appears to offer the only tenable solution to our little problem.

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Like Devon, Charity will most likely be found walking the street as she loves nothing more than a little frontline action and conducts all her business in plain sight. Being pretty much unbreakable as she is where the penal code is concerned, she’ll no doubt be more than approachable, certainly not lacking in confidence, and neither will discretion play a starring role in her technique. However, unlike Devon, she doesn’t possess a fifth floor apartment to skulk back to as she wouldn’t be seen dead in a maggot-infested cess pit such as that. Thus, all transactions are required to involve mechanized transport, and I’m talking about the second most shadiest of drive bys. It will be my responsibility to suggest a location for our rendezvous, deliver us there, and it only seems fair given that she’s offering her services pro-boner. So there we have it and, with time a wasting, I’d say it’s time to hit the stretch and bag us hooker number eight wouldn’t you? And I suppose you’ll need me to get your seatbelt too? Good for nothing I tell you. And you still owe me for those doughnuts you polished off. At any rate, I ain’t trippin’, I’m just kickin’ it. That’s right, listen to the play-by-play, day-by-day, ‘cos motherfucker I’m Dre! Boyee!

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Actually I’d better check the trunk and make sure I’ve got those hollow points covered. There needs to be sufficient space to squeeze in Charity’s skinny butt whiskers and I’m not altogether sure there is you know. Again I blame you for insisting that we bring along the freshly inflated blow-up doll and consignment of rubber chickens. The mind boggles as to what you were thinking there although admittedly Sarah Jane is remarkably lifelike and I’m kind of digging on the pout if I’m honest. But vulcanized poultry, that’s just demented. Vaguely amusing, but nevertheless demented. I guess we could just about cram her in here with a little elbow grease and enterprise, and all those wasted summers negotiating Z-blocks in Tetris could yet pay off. But this is far from ideal and not the forward-thinking actions of a straight G, just so we’re clear.

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It shouldn’t take us too long to track Charity down as you can normally hear her from ten blocks away as she boasts at full decibels of her latest acquisition. You’ll be relieved to hear that I have no orders for you other than riding shotgun as I figure you’ve earned that breather after breathing your last back at the bordello. That said, feel free to weigh in with a twitch if you spot anything untoward or expel some gases if that’s easier. Whatever way you do it, get my attention, as my wits alone can’t be expected to pull us through this one. For as much as I would have been delighted with eyes in the back of my head, someone has to harness all this horsepower and I’d hate for us to wind up in a fender bender on top of everything else. It’s a good job I’m Nick McGovern as a lesser cop would never have made it through the first interrogation and fate has been decidedly cruel this night already. On the plus side, the only way is up, and I still plan to bag that promotion by first thing Monday morning after a weekend of extensive physiotherapy and dodging the missus.

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So anyhoots, I reckon I have Charity in my sights now and, I gotta be frank, this girl was clearly put together by the gods. I mean, look at the sheen on that bodywork, those perky little headlamps, the funky little spunk trunk, and I can’t wait to find out what she’s packing beneath the hood. Granted, her mileage is a little excessive, but I still believe she’ll give plenty to the gallon and it would be positively imbecilic not to take her for a test drive. Just as her file states, Charity is parading her assets openly, and it shouldn’t pose too much of an issue getting her attention. While I fully intend on shooting this hooker, it’s been far too long since my last full service, and I could really do with that oil change round about now. I’ll just creep along this curb until she becomes aware. Damn that didn’t take long, time to get that game face back on and snag me a passenger.

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“How’s it hanging dollface?”

“Sorry, you’ll have to speak up”

” I SAID HOW’S IT HANGING DOLLFACE?”

Damn this chick’s got some tonsil bags on her. I think I just went deaf in my other ear.

“Oh you know, just cruising and perusing”

“Nice wheels”

“Come again”

“I SAID NICE WHEELS”

“Yeah the Lamborghini is being sprayed so I thought I’d just slum it in the Corvette”

“I see. And who’s the stiff?”

“Him? Oh he came with the car”

“Doesn’t look too well”

“He’s…erm…type 2 diabetic. Forgot his insulin”

“Does that make the heart explode in your chest?”

“That’s just ketchup. He also suffers from chronic phalange tremors you see. You think that’s a mess, you should see the wiener dog”

“I’d much rather see your wiener dog”

“I think we can arrange that. So how much then?”

“Depends. Whatcha looking for?”

“Anything you’d recommend?”

“I give a mean blow job”

“And how much would that set me back?”

“Free of charge”

“Missionary?”

“Free of charge”

“Dressing up as a librarian and taking a dump in my chest?”

“Free…of…charge. You starting to see how this works?”

“Yes I am and my daughter Minnie thanks you”

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I once heard it suggested that the best things in life are free but I never dreamed it would stretch to intercourse and beyond. This girl’s a Samaritan and, while her business acumen is somewhat questionable, I sure as shit sundaes ain’t complaining. Now I don’t wish to be known as some freeloading hard luck case but, after the night I’ve had, I’d say I’m more than entitled to this freebie and, running my eyes up and down this divine delectation, would say she’s pretty much the best thing my life has going for it right now. Of course, lest we not forget that I’ve already ventilated seven hookers this evening, and have no inclination toward disrupting my shift pattern on her account.

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But one on the house has a rather melodious ring to it and goodwill is goodwill after all. I mean, it’s not as though there’s been a great deal of that knocking around, and this could do just the trick of loosening me up for the long road ahead. Okay you’ve got me, I just want to jizz down her spine. For fuck’s sake, who’s the detective here? That obvious huh? What gave me away? The fully dilated pupils? The trembling knee? The unravelled tongue? The jaw full of tarmac? The saliva bunching up in my chin dimple? Or was your first clue the erection? Whistle blowing bastard that one.

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“So are you gonna invite me in or do my nipples have to get any harder? You know it’s minus five out tonight right?”

“Of course. Wherever are my manners? Would you like to take a ride with me? I have heated rear seats don’t cha know”

“I’d love that but first I have an eensey weensey ickle request for you”

“Shoot”

“Don’t wish to spoil your fun but would you mind terribly turning off the sirens”

“I missed that. Sorry”

“TURN OFF THE MOTHERFUCKING SIRENS!”

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Rookie error #490. Dagnabbit. I’m double done for.

“Listen sweetie, let’s get one thing clear shall we? You’re a cop, I get that. Damn, I could smell the pork rind before you even hit the boulevard”

“I can explain that”

“Well you’ll be wasting your breath if you do and, just to be clear, you’ll be needing every last puff once we find a place to pull over”

“So we’re still on then?”

“How do I put this? Pretty much the entire police force works for my father although not in an “official” capacity you understand”

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I wonder if that includes Tony and Clyde in Internal Affairs? I’d love nothing more than watching those interfering fuckwads investigate themselves. Surely the chief wouldn’t be so easily bought although it would give him an incentive to want Charity out of commission. How far up does this corruption go anyhoots? And why did nobody think to include me in the shenanigans? My feelings are more than a little hurt but, on the distinct upside, at least I can just be myself now. I’ve had it with operating undercover and feel that I’ve proved myself more than capable already so it will be nice just being Nick McGovern for a bit. No masks of persuasion, no fake accents or cunning disguises, just one man, one woman, and one rapidly degrading cadaver. Oh and a blow-up doll and forty rubber chickens but I’ll leave it until we’re on the road before making any formal introductions there.

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“Well it sounds like you have yourself a customer young lady. What happens next?”

“Lemme just let my pimp Gordy know where I’m going”

“Why of course”

“GORDY! YO GORDY! I’M GOING WITH THIS COP FOR A FUCK. NO I WON’T NEED YOU TO RUN HIS PLATE”

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Jesus Charity, speak up will you? I’m not sure they heard you in the valleys. You may want everyone knowing your business but I’d rather Meryl not be made aware of what I’m about to partake in as I’m fairly assured that it goes against the terms of our pre-nup and the last thing I need is her taking me any more to the cleaners. However, the bright side of this scenario is that it’s on like Rae Dawn Chong baby. You know, like handheld Pong. Like Shelley Long. Like a PVC thong. Like Neil Armstrong. Like Phooey from Hong Kong. Like a clingfilm sarong. Like Cheech & Chong. Like a packed out bong. Like…

“So are you gonna let me in then or what?”

“What was that?”

“OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR! Please”

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Wherever are my manners? I ordinarily pride myself on conducting my shit in a gentlemanly manner although there was this one Christmas party when I snorted too much baking powder and performed the Buffalo Bill tuck back trick whilst mounting the Washington D.C. Abraham Lincoln memorial. Those Washingtonians have no sense of humor. Granted, Charity is far from a duchess and has likely taken more poundings over the course of her career than Reggie Strickland, but she still deserves to be treated respectfully and I’m positively sickened by my heedless oversight. Mind you, I’m not exactly relishing exiting the vehicle as the duct tape around my ankles has begun to slacken and it will take a Herculean effort not to chomp asphalt. Nevertheless, the lady doth protest, and I must gallantly rush to her aid. Actually scrap that, she just let herself in. It’s the thought that counts right?

“Name’s Nick by the way. Desk Sergeant Nick McGovern. Feel free to make yourself comfortable”

“Oh I already have Nick”

Unless I’m mistaken, that line was delivered in quite the seductive tone. Better check my rear-view and grab one of those look-sees everyone keeps banging on about.

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Uh-huh. Snug as a bug. Would you look at those piercing blue eyes, those long lustrous flaxen locks, the rose bud lips, her dainty little button nose, the flawless complexion, peachy cheeks, edible neckline, nibbleable wrists, perfectly manicured nails, hourglass figure, soft supple bosoms, killer legs, and I’m digging on the zebra skin boots too. Not sure what the fluffy bagel’s doing here and it’s already wreaking havoc with my sinuses but I’m willing to let it go for just a few precious seconds more ogling.

“Do you like what you see Nick?”

“Excuse me dear. Loud engine”

“I SAID DO YOU LIKE WHAT YOU SEE?”

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“Is that a trick question?”

“Judging by the amount you’re swerving I’d say that’s a yes. By the way, not trying to be a backseat driver but you may want to keep your eyes on the road honey”

The way I see it, I have two choices right now. Either I do as Charity says and focus on not putting us in a ditch or I remain entranced by her siren-like call and don’t give a solitary hoot for such menial pursuits as road safety. What’s the worst that could happen? I mean, I completed every last one of the Burnout games and none of those pile-ups put me out of commission. Indeed, it was celebrated if anything. However, it’s not every day that you’re faced with such a pristine platter, and I’m actually growing increasingly concerned that paralysis is setting in.

“Nick. Watch out!”

“You’ll have to speak up love”

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“WATCH OUT!”

Did we just hit a speed bump? Hold on, I’ll swing this thing in reverse. There it is again. Must’ve been a speed bump.

“Oh my God. You just hit Angel”

“Say what exactly? One second, did you just say Angel?”

“YES ANGEL YOU MORON!”

Angel? Angel? Where do I know that name? That’s it, I’ve got it, I do believe we’re passing through the neighborhood of none other than number nine on my death list. Talk about a happy accident.

“Are you gonna check whether she’s okay?”

“That was going to be my very next move”

“You mean other than staring at my tits”

“What’s that?”

“CHECK HER NICK!”

“Alright. Alright. I’m checking her”

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I’ve never ploughed anyone down at breakneck speed before. Well apart from that one Christmas party when I popped one too many Pro Plus and embarked on a white-knuckled joyride on a sit-on mower. Those things are nippy you know. At any rate, it is my responsibility to assist the injured party in any way possible and, if that means leaving a box of forty rubber chickens on the roadside to make space, then so be it. But Sarah Jane’s staying precisely where she is dagnabbit even if that does mean dumping Angel off at the nearest landfill when it comes time to deal with Charity. I have to say this is all terribly exciting and the anticipation is killing me. Surely it couldn’t be her? Not the way my luck’s been headed. Well quiver me quill, it is you know. And she appears to be in considerable discomfort.

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You know what that means right? This proposes to be my easiest bust yet as I can fit my bunny themed silencer, pop a couple off in her noggin either side of the 5.5 inch tire mark, and my lady in waiting will be none the wiser. It’s an ingenious plan almost 40% guaranteed to work if I keep my head down and remain inconspicuous. Time is of the essence as, according by the jaundiced tint to her skin, I’d say her entire renal system is shutting down one organ after the other and I owe it to Angel to put her out of such misery. It kind of reminds me of my old donkey Norris. He was suffering too and one night, I believe around the time that my folks were throwing their annual Christmas party, that merry little mule went to donkey heaven. My father used a tire iron ironically.

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My way is far more humane, two shots in short succession, and heaven will no longer me missing this Angel. That’s a point, perhaps I should read some kind of eulogy. After all, it is her scalp hanging from my rear bumper, which I must remember to dislodge before I forget. But I’m just no good at speeches. Besides, I barely even knew the girl for chrissakes. Yes I know a prayer is the done thing. Just don’t go expecting Walt Whitman, that’s all I’m saying.

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Oh heavenly one who art in heaven, please accept my kind offering this day. She is one of yours and it is time for her to return to the flock. Now I’d love to say that I knew Angel well but how well do we know anyone in this crazy world. The truth is that our paths crossed but once but I guarantee you it was as memorable for me as it was for her. Angel was a sweet girl, some might say angelic, a pillar of her community I hear and not, in any way, a hooker. Okay, if we’re swearing oaths, then perhaps she was a bit of a whore. But she was a happy whore. Never less than filled to the brim with pleasure to the point where she frequently overspilled I hear and had a kind word to say about anyone with over fifty bucks in their pocket. She served her people well and always ensured that they left with the broadest of smiles on their faces. If my passenger’s mortified reaction to me hitting her at 120 kmph is any indication, then I would imagine she even did a little work for Charity and that should grant her a spot in your kingdom right? May I suggest over by the outskirts? Anyhoots, I would imagine you’re busy, so it’s been great to catch up and Meryl and I really should have you over for brisket one of these days. Just holler big guy. Amen.

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What a beautifully fitting service. Brought a tear to my eye you know. You see, shooting hookers for a living isn’t all bang! bang! you’re dead and rot in hell slut, it also has its tender moments, and I do believe we just shared one together. There was no malice involved on my part, purely mercy and a spot of reckless driving which I’d love to see on slo-mo replay for the record. Unless I’m completely misguided or mildly delirious, I do believe that lady luck has now pledged her allegiance to my side and this bodes decidedly well for what promise to be my most challenging busts yet. I guess the only thing left to do is to provide our fallen Angel with some kind of burial and it just so happens that I already popped the trunk. In truth, that was purely to prevent Charity from clocking me firing two off into her friend’s skull-cap. But what’s done is done and it seems most fitting that she get to snuggle up with Sarah Jane as they could actually pass for sisters, if her travel companion wasn’t inflated by foot pump. And would you believe, I only had to snap four limbs to fit her in. Rest in peace my Angel and I’ll never forget you. Alright I come clean, I’ve forgotten you already. But it’ll all come flooding back the very next time I pop the trunk. Right then, better get back to my fair lady before she starts to grow suspicious.

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“All sorted”

“Was she alright?”

“She got up and skipped away humming some kind of infectiously catchy tune before I could so much as check her for injuries. Fit as a fiddle she was. Real picture of health”

“Then what’s that in your hand?”

“Say what?”

“IN YOUR HAND. WHY ARE YOU HOLDING ANGEL’S SCALP IN YOUR HAND. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO TO HER?”

Oopsie. How am I going to talk myself out of this one?

“No you’re mistaken Charity, it’s just a shammy look. There’s nothing worse than a dusty dashboard don’t you think?”

Now if that doesn’t bag me a Golden Globe nomination then there really is no justice in the world.

“YOU MURDEROUS BASTARD! YOU KILLED HER. YOU KILLED ANGEL AND NOW I’M GONNA KILL YOU!”

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She means after the sweaty coitus right? Fuck it, I’d better not take any chances as, unless the switch blade she just produced from her boot is for chopping onions, I’d say I’m careering headlong into the danger zone. Just to keep you in line with any recent developments, she’s not chopping onions and the knife lodged in my shoulder-blade clearly has no intention of preparing a stir fry. At which point do I retaliate? Just so you know, she’s twisting the blade now so no pressure. Now? Thank the heavens, as she’s now preparing to carve off my other ear and you know what that means don’t cha? No more trillbies. How else am I supposed to look all distinguished and keep the sun off my face at the same time? It’s time to man up Nick or, as my mother would say, you’re a complete failure of a son Nicholas and I wish I’d got you aborted. And she wonders why I underachieved at school.

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Look at me mommy. Watch as I pistol butt this hooker and spread her cute little button nose across her face. Be sure not to miss me give her kidney the old chop suey and gouge out both of her eyes with my thumbs. Gaze awestruck as I yank the tongue straight out of her throat and slap her face with it. Don’t forget to spare a glance south side while I elbow drop her straight in the ovaries. Who’s the underachiever now mom? Is this sufficient achievement for you?

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Still not satisfied? Well then I guess I’ll just empty my barrel down her throat. Happy now? Of course you’re not as I’ve never once seen you smile since daddy walked out on us. And somehow that is all supposed to be my fault. I’m sorry I’m not perfect like you mother. It must be such a crushing disappointment knowing that something this pitiful shacked up in your womb for 37 weeks. Since we’re putting our cards on the table here, those 37 weeks weren’t no picnic I can tell you. And every day since you’ve made me feel surplus to requirements. Not any more. You see, I have found the acceptance you never afforded me in police work, and happen to be rather an effective lawman. Indeed, the young lady I just eliminated was number nine on a twelve-strong list of potentially the most dangerous hookers ever to deep-throat a truncheon. Okay rant over as I can see you’re about to send me to my room.

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I’m truly sorry that you were forced to witness that unsavory episode partner. What am I thinking? You’ve not said a word since we left the bordello and a millipede just shimmied out of your eyeball so I highly doubt I’m going to get any sense out of you. It’s a shame as all I really want is for someone to share in my triumph. I’m a measly three dead hookers away from completing my assignment and, while it hasn’t all been the plainest of sailing, I’ve known what to do whenever required and shown just how resourceful and solution-focused I can be when the chips are down. Of course, this is where it gets really hazardous as my penultimate bust will entail the eradication of twin terrors, the likes of whom recently sneaked into America’s Most Wanted list. I don’t know about you but, after all this ruckus, I need a stiff drink, and happen to know just the bar to crawl to. Indeed, it is inside The Stiff Russian that I will come face to face with Brandy and Chardonnay.

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This girl makes maneuvering up and down a greased up pole appear like scratching a back itch and her lap dances have become a thing of folklore in these parts. Acrobatic in the extreme, durable and elastic, Brandy is pure liquor for the retinas and spending mere seconds in her presence has been known to lead to sexual inebriation. And that’s nothing, as she also administers one helluva hangover.

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Remember I referred to the girls as twin terror? Yup, the very same shit applies to Chardonnay and that makes for trouble to the double degree. Apparantly the only way to tell them apart is an incriminating mole on Chardonnay’s inner thigh but that’s neither here nor there I’m sure. What matters is that I’ve never doinked duplicates and that’s another one set to be struck off the bucket list.

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I’d be lying like a senator if I suggested that this gig has been a stroll in the park and perhaps not every decision I have made has been as well thought out as I’d have liked, but the statistics speak for themselves and nobody can say that the end result hasn’t been consistently of the uppermost banana. Now I think I have blathered on enough and, besides, I’m itching to find out how Sarah Jane and that other chick whose name escapes me presently are getting on in the trunk. Room for one more ladies? This one may require beating my Tetris high score you know. Don’t suppose you remembered to bring a hack saw did you? Well that’s just bloody marvellous, a consignment of rubber chickens is no hardship but one simple dismemberment tool is stretching it. You just stay there rotting, I’ll clean up our mess. This is all being mentally noted for when I write my report you know. Well, the key parts anyhoots. I may leave out the part about Purple Pete as that’s just unnecessary paperwork and some emotional traumas are best left deep-rooted. Besides, I’m sure it will come out in therapy.

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And one more thing, try not to think badly of me for raiding your wallet for the first round of cocktails, as I hear that the prices at The Stiff Russian are simply extortionate. I promise I’ll pay you back in the next life and you’ll be Minnie’s favorite uncle in no time at this rate. Does that warrant a high five? No? Okay you just continue resting in peace and I’ll raise my first toast to you. Salut my fast festering friend and I’ll be seeing you on the other side. But not this night, for this is the night that Desk Sergeant Nick McGovern shoots those hookers.

Click here to read Sixth Bust

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Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely,

Richard Charles Stevens

aka

Keeper of the Crimson Quill

#CreatorsUnite
Copyright: Grueheads Films 2017

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