The fat marker bulged in his pocket. He

The fat marker bulged in his pocket. He looked around and entered the bathroom undetected. Her number was crumpled in his pocket and his hand shook as he removed it. He scrawled
the seven digits on the back of his arm and then slid the sleeve of his tuxedo back into place. He could hear the wedding band begin. The numbers felt itchy but he didn't care
because tonight he was going to show them. He checked the leviton ankle pads. Green. He pulled both sonic blasters out. Humming and safety off. He tucked them back in the
holster he had slung across his hip. Yes, tonight was the night Zaphod would learn his lesson from the uncomfortable end of a sonic blaster. He even chose a witty line to say: "
Don't shoot me! I love Cowboy TV!" With that, the space marines accepted Zaphod as one of their own, as he shared their love for Cowboy TV
and tiny warthogs. Needless to say, these creatures weren't easy to find in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. Thankfully, they always kept a fresh stock of
pickled warthog meat. It could be used in a pinch, and was a tradition in the British navy. Peering over the side, barrel at the ready, they
grabbed a live warthog out of the hold, dunked it in the urine barrel, quickly whacked it in the head, tossed it in another barrel and covered it with sea salt. In one week pickled
warthog would be served on our plates with a side of uncooked potatoes. We didn't complain though because it was a special treat to be finally fed something different than
pork chops and apple sauce. Peter sat alone and fumed while Mrs. Brady told that dirty joke for the absolute THOUSANTH TIME.

Started: 2011-01-07 03:21:05
Finished: 2011-07-24 23:32:45

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