The atmosphere within the confines of the

The atmosphere within the confines of the orange skin was rib-cracking. My body ached as I tried to find my balance and sift the remnants of the night before out of the crevicesof
my brain. They're all dead! Crocker, Sandra, Jimmy and his crew... this must be a dream. Only yesterday we were all drunk and merry with the victory of the elections, what with
the case of J&B we found and those pills Sandra had, it was quite a night. We hadn't counted on the militant seizure of the Capitol as we slept it off. I had to get to Bangladesh
Bob out of the bush league whorehouse. Bangladesh Bob always got sour and weird when alcohol mixes with military action. Sandra and myself watched the capitol burned as Bangladesh
erupted in civil war. Pakistan, Afghanistan, and India were on tenterhooks. Nuclear conflict seemed certain. We sobered up Bangladesh Bob and got him in front of the nightly news.
I put apple juice in a whisky bottle & put it in his hand. "Just pretend, Bangladesh Bob, you're our only hope!" Next morning he arrived at the Nepali negotiations with 7 translato
rs & a colorful dhaka topi perched jauntily on his head. Bangladesh Bob wanted to fit in & thought that between the whiskey & the hat, the Nepalese delegation would be willing to
Negotiate a treaty where they could trade whiskey for hats. The site where they they sat a table was beautifully embroidered with jealousy. There were free resources to be found at
the poke-stop, but most of them had already used it and had to wait a good 20 minutes before it was refreshed. The hat whiskey trade hit it's peak, however, when a Mr. James "Bowl
O'Rama" Johnston ordered a ten gallon hatful and suffered renal failure. Sales went down considerably after that, even though the whiskey was perfectly good in spite of the lint.

Started: 2013-07-10 21:35:41
Finished: 2016-08-08 12:11:27

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