Jerry lept to his feet. No one would call

Jerry lept to his feet. No one would call him
on a Wednesday except for Gina. It has to be Gina, he shouted as he raced for the phone, knocking aside chairs, tables and his precious caged mice. He never reached the phone...
before the ringing stopped. Even if it was Gina calling it could now be weeks, maybe months before she tried again. "it's my fault!" I should have had the phone close to me,
but I was afraid of getting breast lumps from the cell phone's radiation. So I kept it in a lead pouch that was velcroed to the outside of my car, so sometimes when it rings I
am so startled that I cause an accident. But being blonde and attractive, noone is surprised and I usually get by with a reprimand by batting my eyes and showing some cleavage.
The cop that showed up must have been gay though because he didn't fall for my bullcrap bimbo routine. I practically gagged myself on my blowpop and he just tossed me in the back
of his squealing cop car, i felt naughty. I was sad, i stared out the window looking at my lonely blowpop on the wet pavement as he drove away.
conveniently the coven of nuns down the street owned and operated a convience store that specialized in gum filled treats. the wrapping paper used to keep the candy hygienic was
sadly ineffective as microbes easily penetrated the wrapper and spoiled the
one remaining Trader Joe's tamale. There could be no sadder end than to die from a compromised tamale that had such promise at $2.99 for the pair.

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