It was the beast of Thames, it was the wurst of Thames...
The night was moist. Jennifer Talia stood there, quietly ovulating. She had diarreha, not with her of course, but at home, in a jar. She stood there, staring at me, with love in her eyes, and blood in her pants. My groin itched, and my fingers danced a herky-jerky tango around my thighs not to scratch it.
I was lost in her eyes, utterly totally and completely lost, I glanced at my map again but it was no use, everything looked the same. I took another left at the iris and began to cry.
There was a scent in the air that could not be described; it smelled like fish. It didn't matter anymore what caused the dilemma; whether her bad decisions, her penchant for mustard and banana sandwiches, or her sabre-wielding pet monkey were to blame, the simple fact remained that there was but one way out of this mess, that one way being the door, which was metaphorically out of reach but physically was just over there. It wasn't until the drill reached my colon that I realized the dentist was working on the wrong orifice.
"If only I spoke english!" the chinese girl would have exclaimed. "I'm afraid haven't always been truthful with you" she lied. This all happened the day after the pianist became the ex-pianist. Jenni now had the upper hand, and as she displayed it in its fishtank of a sarcophagus, promptly declared all rights to the current class of graduates.
She knew that, at most, she had five seconds left to live; one one-thousand, two one-thousand, the gun barrel pointing at her face like a scolding finger, three Mississippi, four Mississippi, the hired assassin's grip tightening on the trigger, five white elephants, SIX white elephants, and then a bright blast of light as she wondered which was really the most accurate way to count five seconds.
At this point, it would be guilty of me to give you the illusion of choice in the matter of resuming your normal daily activities. Please ignore what my other hand is doing.