40

I'd been a detective 23 years and I was tired,

  • I'd been a detective 23 years and I was tired, dog tired. Ground in stains on my trenchcoat mapped the sleaze of the city I'd drowned in too long. Deep down I craved to strip off
  • my clothes to show the world that a 40-something man can fit his paunchy ass into vintage Wonder Woman underoos. The lace edges we biting into my upper thighs, but I liked the
  • feel of it, honestly. It was a mix of pleasure and pain like a loose tooth that entices you to continue to play with it. Besides which, Wonder Woman is an amazing hero for us all.
  • Her regal gait, blinding smile, elegant might and bottomless blue eyes punished me with a desire so beneath her that I felt dirty even looking. The honey skin bathed in the flag
  • football team colors meant that she was severely retarded. That would explain the skidmarks I guess. But he was after the creamy filling. He drove like an 8 legged bull until
  • he realized that extra-limbed bovine drivers would not be able to control a vehicle. So he pulled over and puked from the retarded colors, and twinkie fill. This was his last
  • regurgitation of the season, & as he wiped the remnants of psychedelic twinkie puke from his chin, he regarded the octopus cows in the rear-view mirror. How very innocent
  • as if the combination of Seinfeld reruns and too much Christmas fruitcake had this kind of power. But the octopus cows gained on him, no matter how hard he pressed the accelerator.
  • At that moment he regretted choosing the Rascal instead of the Mazerati as his escape vehicle. But the red scooter matched his shoes, and if he was going to die he'd die in style.
  • For the truth is known, but oft ignored, that style trumps utility in the end. And if more gents agreed, it would be a more blissful world.
Started
2010-12-08 09:00:32
Finished
2010-12-30 17:56:20

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