SCHEHERAZADE’S 1,001 BYTES // Let’s Knife!

Whilst investigating the case of a missing local fishmonger, a brave captain by the name of Beth Chan uncovered a legend about a cursed, weathered knife circulating throughout Africa. These two things were not at all related, and seeing as the knife sounded more interesting, Beth dropped the fishmonger case and went to Africa instead.

Well, we said Beth went to Africa but actually everything’s quick and easy only in fairytales. Of course, she first needed to investigate which African countries were open for entering from Sápmi, then pass the COVID-19 and serological tests, and fill in a hellscape of official papers and other such bullshit. (We sincerely think it would’ve been easier for Beth to find the missing fishmonger. Moreover, he wasn’t missing at all. He was just sleeping off a three day bender beneath the porch of the Screaming Barnacle.)

Anyway, back to Beth. Once she got into an African country with an unpronounceable name, she began to realise that she needed a bit more to go on than some old fishermen’s tales about a cursed, weathered knife circulating throughout Africa in order to find the cursed, weathered knife that was circulating through Africa. In fact, it could have been anywhere, and Africa was a ridiculously big place. Perhaps Beth ought to have secured herself some kind of mythical treasure map leading to said knife in the first place. This was like leaving for an opera performance without some bladder filtration device strapped inside your pants—she was woefully unprepared.

But Beth was a smart girl and she had a watertight plan. It was as simple as it was genius. If one thing was circulating through Africa and another thing was also circulating through Africa then obviously they would meet somewhere along the way. The odds were fifty-fifty as to whether they would meet or not. So, all Beth had to do was start circulating throughout Africa in order to run into the cursed, weathered knife that was also circulating through Africa. Clever, right?

And so that’s what Beth did. She circulated like a plastic bag in the wind, drifting here and there and everywhere. She flitted across the savannah, dodging the playful swats of lion paws and furry knob catching of giraffe heads. She swooped above the storm water drains of post-apartheid slums and weaved posthaste through the canopies of foreboding jungles. She floated around every nook and cranny and even bypassed a few choice fannies. She and the knife were sure to cross paths at some point. Even if it wasn’t inevitable, she would make it be, no matter what.

Now, back to the missing fishmonger. When he realised that no one was searching for him, he felt deeply insulted. So, he climbed out of the hole beneath the porch, brushed himself off, donned his fisherman’s cap, then curled his mustache and went to Africa. He was going to give that Beth Chan a right old talking to! Fancy calling yourself a ‘brave captain’ and then not following through on the expected heroics that accompany such a title! The bleedin’ cheek of her!

Of course, the fisherman had no idea where in Africa to begin looking. Perhaps if he relied on dumb luck then that might get him somewhere. He’d had dumb luck before, like the time when a great white shark tried to bite him in two but succeeded only in flossing its teeth with him. Who said losing weight and a strict yoga regimen wouldn’t have its benefits? Aye, not the fisherman!

Another thing that would have its benefits is filling you in on the cursed, weathered knife’s backstory. Why was it circulating throughout Africa? Where did it come from and where was it going? Was it circulating for love? Did it have hopes and dreams? Did it have a mother and a father? Was it carrying a gun? No one knew. All that was known was that everything the knife touched turned to sand. (Is this why Africa has an abundance of sand?) Oh, and we guess there was no gun because it would’ve been turned to sand with cute little sand bullets that crumbled amusingly between the eyes of would-be murder victims.

Anyway, we vividly remember that sunny day, the fifteenth of May. Or was it the rainy twenty-first of September? It might even have been Bavaria’s National Cow Milking Day. Whatever. It was a big day in Africa, not Bavaria. It was a day when, as crazy as it sounds, three parallel lines finally crossed. Beth, the fisherman and the cursed, weathered knife would actually meet.

This is how that went down: The fisherman saw Beth and slapped her upside the head with one of his wellies. Her head smacked into a wall, causing it to buckle then collapse in on itself… and a bunch of kittens that happened to be playing harmonicas nearby. Well, that shut them up quite definitively! However, the ghosts of said kittens were quick to take revenge, nudging the cursed, weathered knife onto a new trajectory, thudding it into the unsuspecting fisherman’s back. This, of course, turned him into sand. Let’s just say he’d had better days.

And so the amount of sand in Africa was increased and the amount of kittens playing harmonicas was decreased. Beth, meanwhile, had picked up the knife and was examining it carefully. You’re going to ask why she hadn’t turned into sand as well, aren’t you? Easy-peasy. She had taken one of the ghost kittens and wrapped it around her palm like a handkerchief. Everyone knows that if you touch a cursed, weathered knife circulating throughout Africa with the ghost of a freshly deceased kitten that used to play harmonica that all curses will be absolutely and irrevocably shattered! It’s science, don’t you know? Pure, unadulterated science!

Anyway, Beth returned home with the knife and now uses it in the kitchen when cooking with the fisherman’s widow (who, by the way, is pretty happy that her worthless hubby was never found).

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2021

SCHEHERAZADE’S 1,001 BYTES // Where Does Bender Come In?

Satan is an accountant, and he’s having a spectacularly bad day.

It begins with Hitler calling him at three that morning. He’s in a tizzy about the shit he still owes the tax collectors that are banging down his door. Ever since his bid to take on Bunnings with an Aryan-branded homewares empire fell completely apart, he’s been bothering Satan with this cloying non-issue and that, and at any time of the day or night. What an irritating man-shaped dick he is.

Still, death and taxes cannot be avoided. Hitler lives under the delusion that they can, which Satan can’t help but sigh at. He should be sound asleep right now, but instead he’s sat in an office rummaging through a daunting mess of documents. Satan will have to drive a coach-and-four through it all, otherwise Hitler will drive him to an early grave—and not even bother ordering an orchestra along the way.

So… legalities and loopholes. These are what Satan will have to correctly identify if Hitler is to stand a chance. It also occurs to Satan that he’ll need a second pair of eyes to pick up any details he may himself overlook. He glances at his watch. He’s been here for bloody hours and it’s only finally hit seven. It’s probably safe to give Cthulhu a shake by now surely? Well, screw it. He’ll do it anyway.

Cthulhu’s still laid out on their queen-sized bed. He’s stretching, luxuriating, scratching a lazy left heel with his right. Upon seeing his boyfriend’s head pop through the doorway, Cthulhu demands coffee and be quick about it. Satan turns his back before daring to scowl, and by the time he gets to the kitchen he’s cussing silently. He has no intention of starting another row. Last night’s blazing ruckus had been more than enough. Jesus.

He brews up the coffee, strong and black—it’s like a pot of hot tar. Still fuming, Satan wonders what in hell has happened to them. Where have he and Cthulhu gone wrong? They had used to be so happy together but lately Cthulhu has been… well, openly hostile. Anything Satan says has been an excuse for much eye-rolling and melodramatic yanking of tentacles. Cthulhu’s not one to hide how he feels.

Something else Satan doesn’t understand is why he had to go and offer Hitler his accounting services. What had he been thinking? That would-be führer is so pathetic he couldn’t even sell magic condoms to sex addicts. How had Satan let these pugnacious idiots enter his peace of mind and fuck with it? Everything had been normal before they came along and shat in his life sandwich.

He places a tiny, fragile coffee cup on a tray, then next to it adjusts a black rose in a small, porcelain vase. He adds the morning paper to this idyllic still life and takes a step back to admire his handiwork. Satisfied, he picks up the tray, takes a couple of steps forward, and is soon re-entering the bedroom. It’s beyond ludicrous that Satan’s slovenly boyfriend refuses to do even this much. The sight of Cthulhu reclining on satin sheets like that—shamelessly naked as you please—makes Satan want to puke. He could at least cover up his many chthonian naughty bits!

“You heard the rumours, Satti?”

Christ on a pogo stick. That fucking nickname again. Fucking ‘Satti’?! Satan would love to call Cthulhu ‘Fatty’ but he knows better. He’d never get away with it—Cthulhu would see to that. The pouting alone would be unbearable. Even the clinically dead don’t have the necessary fortitude to outlast that shit. Fine. Might as well play along with this tiresome attempt at conversation.

“No. Pray, do tell.”

Cthulhu shoots him ‘the look’. “You’re being sarcastic.”

I can’t imagine why you’d think that,” sniffs Satan, making space on the vanity for the tray. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He looks like hell, and not in a good way.

“Bender and his meat sack Fry moved in together.”

Satan tries to recall their faces. Who are they, and why he should give a rat’s patootie about another pair of freaks? “And?”

Cthulhu doesn’t like this response. He picks up the tray and throws the whole damn lot at him. “Yeah?!” he screams. “Well, screw you, flame boy! You can shove that pitchfork tail up your own arse!”

Satan beats a hasty retreat. May as well go outside and catch a bit of fresh air. He’s been up since the middle of the night after all and deserves something far less stressful. And the weather is lovely, so that’s a good start. There’s the aroma of freshly baked croissants from the small bakery across the street too. So devilishly good! Satan takes a coat and hat, and strides out into the street with purpose.

That turns out to be a mistake. Satan is striding so purposefully that he unwittingly steps into a puddle. And, naturally, he trips. The ‘fallen one’ has truly earned his name, faceplanting on the sidewalk next to a fresh dog turd. (Small mercies!)

Goddamn arse tits!”

Satan is unaware if he’s saying this due to the pain of sharply connecting with concrete or relief at having avoided a jobbie facial. It’s all an emotional muddle really, and there’s blood pouring out of his nose too. It splats in copious, black gobs on the sidewalk.

“Never mind the onlookers,” he tells himself. “Walk on!”

So, Satan raises himself up, dusts himself off, and walks—bloodied nose in hand. When a black cat crosses his path, he starts to giggle like he’s lost his mind. A black cat? Seriously?! But at that very moment his face distorts—and not with laughter. He clutches at his chest and collapses.

And you know what? He goes straight to Heaven. So maybe the day hasn’t been so spectacularly bad as thought.

Well… he is a nice guy after all. It’s just bad luck he has THAT name.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

MMORPB // Tati & Tony in Raiders of the Lost Snark Part Ten [Finale Part Deux] (Moderately Multiplayer Online Role Playing Book 18+)

or: EPISODE 10 [FINALE PART DEUX] // Where Tati Takes on Royalty and Tony Takes on Porn

 

In our previous episode, Tati and Tony unpacked Princess Bubblegum’s sordid past as a porno star, and discovered a very special candy with extra special properties...

Tony nearly jumped out of his skin. Tati merely looked back over her shoulder at the princess, fixing her with a withering look. “Hell’s teat!” she hissed. “What is your issue, woman?!”

Bubblegum was pale. Actually, more than that, she was visibly shaking. She was pointing right at the lollipop in Tony’s hand. The princess could barely contain herself.

“That… that…” She was struggling to get the words out. “That is… That’s the Sloppy Toppy Gobstoppy Lolly! Where in the Land of Ooo did you find that?!”

“Obviously sex with hamsters ruins the brain,” smirked Tati, “and now you’re babbling like one! It’s a cheap lollipop with a fresh, minty taste that I bought in duty-free. Its one redeeming feature is that it slices through air like an anvil through butter and hits its targets well. The taste is shit though.”

Bubblegum looked at Tati.  “I have a feeling you don’t understand how lollipops work. Are they all just cannonballs to you?”

Now Tati looked preoccupied. “Hmmm. Maybe I have got it slightly wrong. What do you propose I do with them instead?”

Bubblegum pointed at Tony’s lollipop again. “Well, if you’d just give me that then maybe I won’t have to kill you.”

Tony’s bottom lip wobbled. “But I’m hungry!” he whined.

“Oh, shut up!” snapped Tati, snatching the lollipop out of his hand. “I’d rather get this silly business over and done with so that I can get home and have a nice, hot bath!”

Bubblegum had her hand outstretched to receive the coveted candy when Tati suddenly yoinked it back again. “Wait,” she said to the princess, looking down and studying it with a suspicious eye. “I have a question. What exactly does this Sloppy Toppy Whatchamacallit do anyway? And why do you need it?”

Bubblegum sighed. She took the crown from her head and pointed to a big, blue pearl that adorned it. Tati hadn’t noticed this before, and was slightly annoyed at herself for not having done so. Moreover, the pearl seemed to have lost its shine, which is a detail you’d think would normally stick out like legs on a slug.

“Its protective properties weaken over time,” Bubblegum was saying. “Do you see? It loses its power, and becomes very dull. So, I need to replace it, otherwise the Lich will hold me and the Candy Kingdom in its thrall!”

Tati had no idea if Bubblegum was just speaking bullshit or if she was for real. And where was her nose anyway? She’d suddenly noticed that the princess had no nose. That was… disturbing. Tony didn’t seem to care in the slightest. He was eyeing the lollipop like it was a condemned man’s last meal.

It wasn’t an easy decision. For some weird reason, Tati knew that Bubblegum was speaking the truth, even if it sounded like the ravings of a hamster on crack. But she needed to ask another question. “Okay, so let’s suppose that any of this is true. But what the fuck with Tony’s suitcases? How do they have any connection to your idiotic Championship thing?”

“Yeah!” nodded Tony a little too sycophantically. “Explain that one, O High and Mighty Hamster Humping Princess!”

“I told you it was a rule of The Whistling Choir Death Match Championship!” shrieked Bubblegum in exasperation. “Every participant must have a crystal clear reputation, otherwise they will be banned! I don’t know why they insist on such prudish silliness but it’s not a chance I can take!”

“So…” Tati narrowed her eyes uncharitably. “So… you got the whole universe into a tizzy, and you kicked Tony and I headlong into a crazy mindfuck of a journey… and for what?! Because of some stupid, silly rules of a stupid, silly pennywhistle contest I’ve never heard of before?”

Bubblegum gave a tiny, almost embarrassed nod, as if to concede Tati’s point.

Tati stood there, arms folded across her chest, and still holding the lollipop in one hand. She studied the princess’s face closely. “Do you have something to eat at least?” She unfolded her arms and hiked her free thumb at Tony. “It looks like my friend is ravenous. I could probably do with a bite too.”

“And maybe some clothes,” chimed Tony.

“Oh, yes. Clothes!” Rueful, Tati shook her head. “And that aforementioned hot bath.”

Bubblegum finally relented, the hard line of her mouth finally melting into a teeny tiny smile. “Come with me. I’ll make sure you’re well and truly looked after. Pampered even.” She pointed at the lollipop in Tati’s hand. “As long as I can have that.”

It was at this point that Tati finally allowed herself a smile too, and it wasn’t much bigger than Bubblegum’s. Tony’s smile, however, was much bigger, shameless, and incredibly gormless—as was his wont.

“It just so happens that my new ‘Adventure Time’ movie is opening in theatres today. How about I treat the both of you to a slap-up meal at Shirley’s Rack & Grill, and a rub down at Poontang Po’s Shady Massage Spa before we check it out?”

Princess Bubblegum’s offer was a generous one, so Tati decided then and there to take her up on it. “Yes. That is acceptable. What do you think, Tony?”

Tony merely nodded like an overexcited labradoodle.

“First, let’s get you some clothes.” Bubblegum walked over to her wardrobe and flung open the doors. “I hope you like pink!”

 

Catch other episodes in this series:
THE PILOT // Where Tati Makes Tony Blush
EPISODE 2 // Where Tati Makes Tony Choke
EPISODE 3 // Where Tati Gives Tony a Fungus Face
EPISODE 4 // Where Tati Rescues Tony’s Suitcase
EPISODE 5 // Where Tati Grabs Tony’s Shirt
EPISODE 6 // Where Tati Supercalifragilisticexpialidociouses Tony to New Heights
EPISODE 7 // Where Tati Cocks the Hamster and Tony Watches
EPISODE 8 // Where Tati Refuses to be the Mother of Mutants and Tony Pouts
EPISODE 9 // Where Tati Battles Demonic Barbers and Tony Falls for a Bounteous Bouffant
EPISODE 10 [FINALE PART UN] // Where Tati Takes on Royalty and Tony Takes on Porn

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

MMORPB // Tati & Tony in Raiders of the Lost Snark Part Ten [Finale Part Un] (Moderately Multiplayer Online Role Playing Book 18+)

or: EPISODE 10 [FINALE PART UN] // Where Tati Takes on Royalty and Tony Takes on Porn

 

In our previous episode, Tati’s magical umbrella dropped her and Tony into the middle of a zombie pandemic. She decided to use it once more to get them out of strife but made the mistake of relying on Tony’s imagination for the next destination...

Princess Bubblegum was combing her luxuriously long, pink hair in front of her crystal pier glass when it happened—a flash of light and two sticky, naked bodies tumbling onto the floor beside her. While Tati was looking with ill-concealed contempt at all the pink and white bells and whistles lying about, Tony rushed to the corner nearest the door with a happy, girly scream.

“My suitcases!”

Bubblegum leapt to her feet in order to ‘cut him off at the pass’ as it were, only to be reminded that she herself was in little more than frilly lingerie. She grabbed her terrycloth bathrobe with the blue unicorn pattern and quickly covered herself up with it. The nude girly man was now pawing at the combination lock on one of the suitcases. Hell, was he actually making whining noises like a lost puppy?

While Bubblegum was busy choosing the words that princesses should say in such situations, Tati acted in a much less courtly way. She rolled her eyes, jumped to Tony’s side, and ripped the suitcase from his hands. She then headbutted the combination lock. It popped open without a hassle, springing the lid and spilling the suitcase’s contents all over the floor. It was at this point that Tony’s eyes widened in a look of startled recognition. Tati was about to start another slanging match with him when she noticed the same thing too.

It was just one colourful magazine among many. They goggled down at it, the magazine all plopped open like an unfolded garment on a laundry pile. It was the centre spread that had gotten their attention. Tati and Tony gaped like fish at a bait market, then directed their gaze at Bubblegum. They said in unison…

“Princess Bubblegum has titties?!”

Bubblegum’s face reddened as she covered her chest—even though it was already covered by a bra and bathrobe. “That was a different time!” she blurted defensively. “I had to make ends meet, and Marceline sure wasn’t going to do it with her stupid rock band antics!”

Tati’s face was a mixture of disbelief and disgust. “Yes, but… with hamsters?!”

Bubblegum looked down in shame. She wasn’t proud of it. Not at all.

“I thought it was sexy!” offered Tony politely. He’d seen the princess’s look of shame and sweetly—or was it selfishly?—wanted to wipe that away. It didn’t work. Her eyes flashed with a sudden resolve, and she fixed them with a steely, uncompromising stare.

“You saw it, and now I must kill you.”

Tony squeaked in terror. Tati folded her arms, making sure to stand between him and Bubblegum. She felt quite protective of her hapless friend. “Just try it,” she said in a barely audible voice that clearly meant business. “I will punch your face so hard that you’ll need a staple gun to attach it to your head again!”

“Your empty threats won’t work on me, byotch!” growled Bubblegum.

“Oh, come on!” spat Tati. “What’s the problem anyway, your pink lewd majesty? Everyone was young once. Everyone was making mistakes. You’re in fine company!”

Tony was drooling, his mind lost in recollections of his favourite scenes from ‘Studly & Kitty’s Pussy Party Frolics Vol. 11’, starring a certain young, horny, fresh-faced princess. Tati gave him a slap upside the head.

“Stallone, Jackie Chan, De Niro and Depardieu—hell, even a bunch of other celebrities I can’t think of right now. Do you see anyone of them here trying to kill my boy Tony here?”

“You seem to be doing a swell enough job of that yourself!” Bubblegum narrowed her eyes as if this would somehow underline her point more. And then, just like that, her expression changed to a full on scowl that was really starting to look like a wad of chewed bubblegum. “You don’t understand. I need to win the championship! It’s a matter of life and death!”

Tati blinked hard. “I’m sorry? What was that?”

“The Whistling Choir Death Match Championship.”

“Oh,” was all Tony could manage, his voice sounding rather solemn.

Tati looked rather shocked.

Bubblegum nodded sadly at their reaction. “If the organisers learn of my past in porn, I won’t be allowed to participate. And then how will I win the coveted Sloppy Toppy Gobstoppy Lolly?”

“How long is this chat going to be?” Tony was rubbing his jaw, looking a little emotionally fragile. “I’m hungry!”

Tati quickly regained her composure, and went to dig in her pockets to hand him something to eat. “Shit. I forgot we have no clothes on!” She rolled her eyes at her own forgetfulness.

Tony immediately got an erection.

Tati rolled her eyes again. “Put that away before I tear it off!”

It dutifully went back down, and Tony along with it. In fact, he was soon kneeling on the floor, a visibly deflated wreck of a man, his bald head bowed in defeat.

Tati’s eyes widened. Bald head! What was stuck to the back of it? Nothing other than a lollipop! But how the hell had that gotten there? She’d thrown one at the mysterious man in black back at the Greater Cachalot Mall, but they were hardly boomerangs, so it surely can’t have ricocheted into the back of Tony’s then hairy numbskull.

Could it?

Tati tore the lollipop from Tony’s sticky scalp and handed it to him. “Have this, you boob, but I hope for your sake it hasn’t spoiled yet!” He was about to lick said lollipop when Bubblegum suddenly screamed.

“NO!”

 

Catch other episodes in this series:
THE PILOT // Where Tati Makes Tony Blush
EPISODE 2 // Where Tati Makes Tony Choke
EPISODE 3 // Where Tati Gives Tony a Fungus Face
EPISODE 4 // Where Tati Rescues Tony’s Suitcase
EPISODE 5 // Where Tati Grabs Tony’s Shirt
EPISODE 6 // Where Tati Supercalifragilisticexpialidociouses Tony to New Heights
EPISODE 7 // Where Tati Cocks the Hamster and Tony Watches
EPISODE 8 // Where Tati Refuses to be the Mother of Mutants and Tony Pouts
EPISODE 9 // Where Tati Battles Demonic Barbers and Tony Falls for a Bounteous Bouffant

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020

CALIXIAN // The Hangry Woman

The bell tinkles so hesitantly that at first I pay it no attention. But then it tinkles again. And again. So I put the magic tweezers down in my dream, and shake my head awake. I bet I know who this is.

“Do you always visit people’s homes at the butt crack of dawn… whatsyaface?”

He mumbles something that’s supposed to be a name. I’ve had no complaints in regards to my hearing but the only thing I can catch is Zra. That can’t be right. I say the first silly word that comes to mind in the full conviction that this dolt will repeat his name and I’ll get it right the second time.

“Fizra?”

Why is he gaping at me like a fish that’s dropped its keys outside of its water tank? That was a good guess! I scratch under my arm as he mutters something and shuffles in. Okay, what’s this now? The suitcases. Are they fucking big enough? Are they even real? When he opens them up, can I expect a seventy piece orchestra to step out and entertain the neighbours? Jesus.

“Where the hell are you going to put all of that?” I point up the hall. “I don’t want any of your shit cluttering up the place, you hear?”

He mumbles again. Yup. I’m ready to suffocate the guy, good and proper. Or give him a royal kicking. At least I’ve understood him this time. Something about leaving his precious clutter outside. Such a boob.

“No, you boob, just put it in your room.” Oops. It appears I said boob out loud. Well, I don’t care. May as well complete the thought now that it’s dangling between us like an unsightly knob. “I don’t need to be tripping over your junk is all.”

Puffing and panting, he drags the suitcases along the hall. I decide not to waste time. I’ll quickly show him the rest of the flat on our way to his room. Then I can get back to some sweet, sweet shut-eye.

“Toilet.”

He glances in its general direction. Fuck that. I’m going to make a thing of this. Make him really take notice.

“I hope you’re a seat lifter when you’re doing a number one, otherwise I won’t be held responsible for what happens next.”

I study his face carefully. I want to see how he’ll react. He doesn’t. He seems to be going out of his way to remain scrupulously silent. Whatever. The tour shall continue.

“Kitchen.”

What I really want to say is: “Fucking kitchen.” I’m a tad pissed off. But I also have no desire to burn through my quota of fucks so soon in our dealings. It’s best to space these things out, so I keep my fucks up my sleeve.

Suddenly he says (suspiciously loud and clear), “Fascinating.” What? Is that… sarcasm? I don’t believe my ears! Well, if that’s how this smug little goofball is going to play it… then hell, I’m going to wrangle me a chance to have something better than mouldy pizza for breakfast. One question preceded by a slightly menacing pause should do the trick.

The thought of finally getting a decent meal cheers me right up by the way, and my stomach starts to growl in anticipation. Trying to stifle this treacherous sound, I open my mouth and ask Zra… Fizra… whatever his name is… if he can cook. All my fingers are mentally crossed.

“Well, I’m not exactly Heston…”

The rest morphs into a mess of blah blah blahs, the essential point being that he can cook… after a fashion. Good enough for me. As long as I damn well don’t have to do it. I conduct him to his room in a timely manner.

Yep, my plan has gone over easy… like an egg! The quicker he drops his fucking suitcases, the quicker he can cook me breakfast.

 

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2020