"Blow the tard!" Fagan scriffed. "Quilous...Quilous!!"

tittified it pingersnap! You ferkwad!!" Fagan snuffed Egan across his smelt, causing bumpledreeps to fiddle. "I blew the tard just like you frumped!" Egan snellied, disfungling his

wangchunger when his bram door conmounted. "Don't be such a Slartibartfast," Egan gismodled. Fagan looked prembated. His gnombx droiked open in frumstation. Then he boiked out a

flabbernugget that looked like a flame-torched pig knuckle wrapped in lizard skin coated with puss. Egan lifted his eye flap at Fagan who plomped a luggersmeem that could kill a

unscrupulous pork hustler faster than a flour dusted corn fritter. Egan shoved the flabbernugget into his rubber parka pocket. Fagan squeezed his face into a breezy wheedle smile.

"What haves you got there, my pretty, my love?" Egan's hand moved protectively over the flabbernugget in his pocket. "Nothing, Fagan," he replied throwing the hood of his parka ove

r his head and chuckling. She hoped he couldn't tell it was fake. All of it.

His bobbleheaded motion was from being on medication. She knew that. He had tried every drug out there, he boasted at one point.

She raised her eyebrows. Surely he didn't mean "every" one. That was a lot of drugs. That would mean that the bobble-headed, boss man had bamboozled her

and smuggled enough dope across the Canadian border to induce a collective hallucinative trance on election night causing the electorate to choose ...