Chapter 4

Long, Boring Consequences of Losing Mrs. Applebottom, Here

The long, boring consequences of losing Mrs. Applebottom here we known to me, alright. I was talking to my boss, the chancellor of the Angel City detective agency Maria Plume, and we were retching in disgust. This young girl here would be unmasked soon. I was reaching for the pile driver maneuver I once learned in band camp back when I was a believer, not a far sight from being too cool to maneuver back myself, once I had learned what not to do with a tuba and a trombone at the same time. And this chicky right here was the cause of my concern. She was still in dire straits. We had to give her an off-hand push and shove right out the doorway right before she lit us all up like cobwebs are sometimes eaten for fun. I told my boss, Mr. Chancellor, who had a name but I couldn't care less about it, one whit less than for fun the fun I had had in that deep, dungeon crusade at the metal-man's pachinko parlor-styled palace of the incontinents. He said unmask is to unwind, and so here we have it, one hot chicaa, I hope, coming right up! It wasn't a neutron bomb she was strapped with, it was the same dress that bimbo bozo from before was wearing! Except this one had a chica in it that had green hair! It was almost too much to bear! I was screaming in my lederhosen to skedaddle was to scram! She could blow at any time! I was right, she was a sore tooth to bear. Hey, though, boss man? Are we gonna, uh, call it quits with the phony business now, hombré? He told me yes and no. Yes, she was the right one for the firestarter quiz, but no, this wasn't the end of the phony bologna on the tip o' my grits, not even one spit less than a lonester in a boinster oven, no way, for sure, how do we get that paycheck, my man, if this Tits McGee girl right here isn't the lonely oyster in the paycheck department regarding me with such fine turnstyle moray's as my mind must be on? He said this was the end of it, all right. He paid me and we departed the ways we go, I guess, if I had to guess the ways and not the morass. More morass than rumbles, and then it caught me. Caught up to me, rather.

"Mr. Detective, are you leaving now? Can I come with you?"

Hot damn! This almost tied my plinketts in a kurmuzzle flesh suit and bounced me out of the allotropes in worry fuses! I told her to please be fucking off now, missy, and she wouldn't take no for an answer, as if I had fucking told her no in the first place. She clung to my arm like a little horny goat and I was embarrassed for her, to be seen like this was insenstile. I had her held in a wedding lock before she told me her name. It was Exanova Chronicless. She must be smoking the chronic all the damn time with a name like that. I hoped she would reconsider. She told me she planned to relax in the first oven she found, I had hoped, but this seemed not to be the case. Why, oh why, was she bothering me this way and that about her sister? Huh?

"It's all right to go now, Mr. Detective. But shan't we see if there's more to find there?" she told me repugnantly to my face in the disguise of a disgusting nonsense trader.

What the fuck was I carrying if not 5 stones less of this shit that I wanted her to fucking "consider finding out more" about, huh? I told her we were over there, not under the fucking lampshade eating spaghetti and lightning matches with our keisters in the firing lane of her fucking what did she say?

"It's like Mr. Detective and I are on a date! Oh, how fortuitous, Mr. Detective! We can find much to gloat about here, if I may be so bold! Oh, and I must! Because here in Angel City there sure is a lot to gloat about, Mr. Detective!"

She said these putrid words and laughed her heart out. I was trying to escape my cajónes being bitten off by the sugariest of the sugar plums here. She was talking about dining out, I suppose.

I took her to some fucking craptacular spit joint and roasted her beany-brachos in the ovens of St. Sinclair, but she had no fucking idea what a nicety it was that I even brought her the dunked biscuits instead of shockingly, she was poised in the most beautiful way on the concrete barrier but, if I looked twice, this could be bad. I saw her without her gloves on. We were eating some shit from the canteen from Hell back in Oysterville and she was lounging like a purty doily that was unstained from oh, whatever! I was ending this nonsense right here and now.

I actually tried to leave her behind.

But when we got to my place, oh, shit she didn't not just walk right the fuck in like she wasn't here, oh no. She even sat right on my couch! I was angry. And not just because she was fucking around in my shoes, but because I was the goddamn man of the hour for her and her fucking sugarplum ideals! She was now in the shower and I was eating my way to the corner store to find me more sugarplum devils when she appeared, once again, in the most bemusing tunder-funder of a noculus quest but ever. She was still wet and dripping on my carpet no less than three times faster than a fucking wet dog would do if it was still pre-nibbed nopped off, you know what I'm saying? Just stay in the fucking shower while you're wet, missy! I was beyond annoyed, you know, perturbed is what the word was if I could no, and no, you can't wear what!? She was wearing my suit! I was angry as fuck and livid at the same goddamn chica who was now driving a powderpuff behind through the willywacks to chase Heaven and bemoan, not surmise her doily-self into the outhouse, posthaste, my good Simone! Or what the fuck kind of Condoleezza Rice bullshit was this in her little is that a fucking pocket watch? When did she get that?

"Oh, it's so fun and fucking rich and famous and expensive and the jewelry is expensive as fuck! to tell the time this way, and fuck you over and out of nowhere, are you fucking seeing this, dumbshits with a fucking turd lover like Pat Sajak's worst nightmares on a television, no, T.V. show from another Autumn or somewhere more awful like that, alright, Mr. Detective?"

Isn't it so, Mr. Awright need another nutcrack because yours has been demoted to "Are you all right, Mr. Detective?" she said to me. Like she was going to fucking finish it with "Do you want some scones with that order of Pilsner and nachos, sirrah? Are you alright?" in that Flemish tone of hers that seemed to be coming from her arse. Her fanny, my behind, am I right? Folks at home, this is when she hit me with this shit so hard it hurt from Sunday to Monday and back again in the Fall, not the Autumn, all right?

I wonder if she's dead now, alright?

No, she was just taking the sights in while I was doing all the hard work driving her sorry ass around Topic Hardware Store and not Hot Topic or wherever she preferred to go, alright, Misses Madbottom with the limp wrist and the funny doilies or whatsoever a glance in me direction, eh Miss Primp and Pompered in the old snowcone alley all jizz-covered and at a glance she said it roasted her to see it like so, and not alright, yeah bacon sounds nice right about now. What!?

She had bacon in her purse!? What the fuck!? And it was delicious, but unheard of, and certainly not how I fucking what!? "It's like my fucking arse eating uncle humping limp dicked mighty parrot fucking favorite thing, sweety! Nice, fine!" I almost said to her in the back seat of my car.

We got out and I even swabbed the poop decks with her pampered arse before we got into my bosses, oh, right. She'd say it like, "Before we soothesayed our ways into your bosses bedchambers, my good man with the bed curling iron and the flat face and features that said no way, sweetheart, that's okay! Before we left for Egypt or whatever in the night over biscuits and scones and whatever Jeeper's Creeper's over there said last week on the tootin' bus or whatever the fuck was she still eating my bacon? When had she made that? The glance over my left arm before, oh, sorry."

I was still in quotes over her bad posture and lady bits all over my nutcase and cracker jack barrels the elves would've loved to tear apart if they ever managed to get in between me and bacon once again, here, twixt begone because I was gone as well as soon as what!?