It was a tough city. A crowded city. A violent city. A dark city. Man, that was a cool movie. The guy was… oh, damn, where was I… oh, yeah.
My name is Fuzzy O’Flannigan, private eye. I have this little run-down place on the corner of Nowhere and Fast, the kind of place that not even a mother could love. I run my business from there and do a little sleep on the side. Not that I get much of either one. For some reason, nobody wants to hire a dick named Fuzzy O’Flannigan.
Today started just like any other day. Business was its usual… nonexistent. I decided to make myself the same. I closed the door to my run-down apartment, not even bothering to lock it. Silently, I hoped that someone would actually break into the place, as then it would give me a crime to solve. But I haven’t even been that lucky.
I high-tailed it down to my favorite watering hole, a down-on-its-luck shack wedged between two down-on-their-luck apartment slums, and packed with down-on-their-luck losers like me. Except this time was different. As I walked in, something hit me like a pie in the face. In fact, it was a pie in the face. Lemon meringue. My favorite. Someone was trying to get in good with me.
I sat down at the bar and ordered my usual watered-down horsepiss-flavored beer. I sat back and enjoyed both the revolting beverage and the delicious pie… it was exquisite. And the pie wasn’t that bad, either. But then something took my breath away… it was Joey the Flapper, and he put a vacuum cleaner up to my mouth. I swatted the damned drunkard away, and he wandered off, mumbling something about tin foil and floss.
Nature called, as it often does, and I headed towards the bathroom to relieve myself. But as I approached the slime-encrusted men’s room door, I felt a sensation like I got shot in the face… and this time I’m speaking metaphorically. Sitting in the corner was the hottest pair of legs attached to the most gorgeous knockout I’d ever seen. She was dressed all in white, which meant that she was a bad girl, but I felt compelled to sit down next to her anyway.
She searched me over like a radar tower searching for the B2, meaning that she wasn’t looking at much. I tried to return the favor, feeling much like Jacques Cousteau after he discovered the mermaid.
“It’s not very often that a man would take a seat with me,” she said, pushing her lesbian lover out of the booth, leaving the two of us alone.
“I find that hard to believe,” I replied, playing it cool while my tongue splayed over the table and drool dribbled down my chin.
“You’ll find a lot of what I say hard to believe,” came her answer.
I tilted the brim of my hat backwards and arched my eyebrows.
“I find it hard to believe that a lot of what you say is hard to believe.”
She leaned forward, showing me enough cleavage to rival the Grand Canyon.
“And I find it hard to believe that you find it hard to believe that a lot of what I say is hard to believe.”
My eyes bugged out of my head.
“That’s hard to believe.” Tit-for-tat. Especially the tit.
“You’re an… impressive man,” she continued, her voice dropping a few octaves and reaching a point so sultry that the word “sultry” wasn’t sultry enough to describe it.
“I know,” I said.
“I like a man with a large… ego.” She scooted around the table, coming closer to me and placing her hand on my leg. “Do you have a large… ego?”
Things were going good. I leaned in close to her, so close I could actually feel the sex oozing off of her like mayonnaise from a Jack-in-the-Box sandwich.
“Baby,” I said, “my… ego is so large that I need to make two trips just to get it all to the airport.”
A soft, titillated moan escaped her lips as they approached mine like an Amtrack train speeding towards a bus full of schoolchildren stuck on the tracks. But at the moment just before impact, I felt a sharp twinge in my bowels. My finger jerked up to her lips, stopping her luscious approach.
“One second, baby,” I whispered. “I gotta piss like a racehorse.”
“I’ll be waiting,” she whispered right back. She planted a quick peck on my cheek and winked, subliminally indicating that there would be more to come later.
As for me, I dashed to the can. My fly dropped faster than pennies from heaven. A sigh of relief came from me as I felt what seemed like gallons of pent-up booze and coffee spilling out of my bladder, a stream that made the Amazon look like a mere trickle. And still it kept coming.
“C’mon, c’mon,” I thought, mentally picturing that hottie – I didn’t even know her name – waiting out there for me. Finally things slowed down, and a few moments later I was zipping up… and then I felt an uncomfortable, yet familiar, sensation on my leg. No matter how you shake and dance, the last two drops go in your pants.
But I didn’t care. I ran right back out… only to see the object of my desires gone. I scanned the bar, and caught sight of her leaving out the door. I ran after her, only to see her climbing into a Mercedes… with Joey the Flapper.
“Damn you, Joey!” I called after them. “Damn you to hell!”
I felt emptier than a burnt-out Volkswagen. A hollow scream built up inside me, rising to a crescendo like the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Dejected, I returned to my garbage heap of an apartment, took out a bottle of cheap scotch that I had been saving for such an occasion. It was just another day in the life of Fuzzy O’Flannigan.
