Quickly, the lab tech stuffed a twinkie in his mouth and began to speak.
“Rooks ike 'e frangle ong er oh fu ids.” The tech mumbled through a spray of cake and cream filling.
“Slow down! Flu-itis? Who ever heard of such a thing?”
“That’s FLUIDS,” the tech gasped, swallowing hard.
“Uh… right… What about them?”
“Well, these tests show she strangled on her own fluids,” the tech replied.
“Very interesting…” I sighed in relief knowing that I was not the only one to mix up the alphebet
“Yeah, must be lack of sleep,” the nurse replied, embarrassed, as she passed through the lab.
X in this box will you, for my records.
“Z’s would be good… But I couldn’t get to sleep without knowing what happened to Bonnie.”
(Maureen and Sejal_Traurig, I think you should go back to school and re-learn your alphabet, tsk, tsk 
)
Zooming along broadway, Jack was desperate to get to the place that had occured to him when he heard ‘fluids’.
“After all,” he thought, a little desperately “what’s two freakin letters with my ex wife drowned in her own fluids on my kitchen floor?”
But more to the point, what was my ex-wife doing in my house anyway? It had been years since she moved to Arizona to marry that rodeo clown!
Clowns! The mere thought of them threw him into an incoherent rage.
Daddy had been a clown, of course, before that fateful day when he climbed into one of those tiny cars and was never seen again.
Even now, it brought tears to Jack’s sparkling hazel eyes, a lump to his Twinkie coated throat.
Finally, exhausted and heartbroken, he turned toward home and his corpse-free kitchen.
Gradually, his feelings of remorse left him, and he began thinking of happier times.
“Hello?” Jack answered his cell phone as it rang. “Who’s this?”
“It’s Detective Underwood, Homicide Division. I’ve been assigned to the case of your ex-wife’s murder.”