”“Fuck anything anything any time?” John Hunt the bookie from Matson street walked out the bog and started taunting me. Hunt the Cunt as we cal...ed him.“Long as its over 18, and has a cunt and a pulse,” I protested.“Like a cow?” he laughed.“Technically they has a vestibule not a cunt,” I said using my superior intellect gained from watching pointless fucking game shows and similar crap on pointless fucking daytime TV.“Her then,” he said pointing at Boris.“Fuck off she’s a fucking Lesso.” I said. OHHH. Finally, it was over. Oh OH. Lisa could not believe the relief.She ran to the squad car and the burly Sergeant. She saw his name tag, O’Malley,a name she would never forget.Oh am I glad to see you, I am….Slam, she was pushed up against the fender of the car.I gruff voice rang out.You know the drill, up against the hood. What, wait. Not going to warn you again.Stammering Lisa leaned against the car.She felt the billy club up against her thighs. Come on spread them. Don’t tell me the. More

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