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Started By
Message
A stunning conclusion: Private Dicks II: Dicks in the Night
Posted on 10/16/24 at 12:47 pm
Posted on 10/16/24 at 12:47 pm
Disclaimer: all content herein is completely fictional, and meant for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to anyone living or dead is coincidence and should be treated as such.
This is the second part of an OT noir Fiction inspired by
Again,
thank you to Mr. Chicken for allowing this.
The first part of our tale can be found here
Private Dicks: An OT Noir Fiction
And now, without further ado, the riveting conclusion to
Private Dicks II: Dicks in the Night
The Tiger Dicks pulled back up at the office and took the stairs to the two bedroom apartment above it. Squirrelypenny, their secretary and Dick Long's on again off again dame answered the door sleepily. "Got time for a little spoon, Dickie?", on again. "Not tonight toots, spoonin' leads to forkin' in the middle of the knife, and I've got no time to get in your drawers. We're on the case."
"Oh, that stolen tailgate? Mikel and the boffins sent a fax through the xerox. The trailer's been recovered." "And the perp?", queried Zinner. Squirrelypenny yawned, "the fuzz said they ain't got time for that. There's inspection sticker checkpoints to run in the nice parts of town. Said to let it go." Zinner scowled, "that's just what's wrong with this world. First a tailgate. Then a gazebo. Then a whole damn circus, clowns and all."
"Maybe we should just let it wait, they'll never do anything to him anyway." Dick Long dickered with his dick double, who dealt Dickens, "'Procrastination is the thief of time, collar him.' It's a hot trail and I'll be damned if I'm frozen out." Zinner walked over to the wet bar and poured himself a Schrute Awakening. Bourbon and beet juice, swirled. With an onion. He threw it back, wiped his chin and grimaced. "It never gets any easier."
"Dammit...Dick," Long took a long time saying it. "Okay, I'm a sold sailor. Let's pore over some of these sales on Facefriend and see if we can't come across someone selling more goods from that tailgate. It's likely he cleaned it out as soon as he got it." They scrolled and they perused and they skimmed and they did a lot of words for looked until at last, they saw it. An embroidered cornhole set. 'Never used.' Being sold by 'Brother'. With a lead to finally go on again, they sat down in their recliners, reclined, and closed their eyes.
The clock read 3:50.
It was the middle of the afternoon when they awakened to a loud thump on their door, sleep still in their tired eyes. The sound of footsteps scuffling away, and then...a kazoo. Zinner wrenched the door open to find a penknife stabbed through a piece of note paper. It read
there once was a fellow named Umber,
Who likes moving things while you slumber,
If tailgate goods you seek,
Try the Fence by the creek,
But move quickly for he has your number
Zinner crumpled it in his fist. "Okomo.", he sneered. "A fence by a creek?" asked Squirrelypenny, "gee willies dicks, whatever does that mean?" Long answered, "a fence, for stolen goods." Zinner shook his head "up on Cripple Creek, he sends me. O'Weelo." All three spat at his name being uttered. The dicks put their capes on, instructed Squirrelypenny to notify the boffins and set off.
They got in the Chevelle and were headed towards Cripple Creek when the phone rang. It was the boffins, "Well dicks, good news. We've made contact with 'Brother' and enlisted some of our other dicks from social media to help track him and it's been...interesting. Seems our dicks like to send that dick pics of their...well...dicks. He said 'you sent me a dick pic this morning and now you're acting concerned', not many people react to a concern dicking, but he's responding! Confused, sure, but he says he didn't steal the trailer at all! He bought it!"
"Bought it!?" The dicks exclaimed in unison, together. "Yes. In fact he claims a man named Antonio...Chacere just asked him ever so politely to move it for him for his back was old and weak and paid him $33. So he hitched it up and went to the... man's truck, but it had turned into a 1970 avocado green AMC Gremlin, which had then been towed away. At which point the man decided he'd never wanted the trailer at all, and didn't even know what was in it anymore, despite it being on campus, and decided to sell it to dear brother for $350. Which coincidentally was the exact amount Plymothy had at the time."
"How convenient." Said Long. "Almost too convenient," replied Zinner, stroking his chin, "con-veeeen-ient...", the dick kept stroking. The boffin continued, "but get this gumshoes. When another dick messaged a dick pic and he replied, he told them it was a young man named Femoral...Lagasse...and probably someone who had a grudge and HE, had him bring the trailer to the quad, but this time the truck turned out to be a 83 Ford Pinto. Lime Pink."
"Hey now.", Zinner looked at Long, "the 83 Pinto was never made in Lime Pink." Mikel chimed in, "Precisely. And this time the guy traded him some magic beans to move the trailer, and decided to sell it because he'd decided to become a Florida State fan." And as one, they said "and no one wants to be a Florida state fan this year." Long gasped..."you know, I have a hunch this guy is lying. And also has a tiny atrophied penis. It's the only explanation." They gave the boffins some special instructions and hung up just as they reached Cripple Creek. "O'Weelo", they said, and spat.
They passed the fence's picket fence and got out the car. At the top of a long ramp sat O'Weelo, and his evil helper monkey. "Well dicks, seems you got the poem this time", missing the obvious rhyme. He then started in on a long, boring, rambling story that didn't make any sense and featured wholesale lies, made up characters and not a semblance of self awareness, the irony of which was not lost. "...and that's why I paid the poet to have you come here."
Zinner walked up the ramp, pulled a banana out of his pocket, gave it to the monkey and tipped O'Weelo's chair over. Then he calmly walked back down the ramp, got in the Chevelle with Long, and drove away as the helper monkey smeared his patchy beard with feces. "What was the point of that, Zinner?" Dick grinned. "Precisely. A red herring. And I just wanted to tip his chair over. The boffins already gave us what we need. Time for a drink. And a think."
This is the second part of an OT noir Fiction inspired by
Again,
thank you to Mr. Chicken for allowing this. The first part of our tale can be found here
Private Dicks: An OT Noir Fiction
And now, without further ado, the riveting conclusion to
Private Dicks II: Dicks in the Night
The Tiger Dicks pulled back up at the office and took the stairs to the two bedroom apartment above it. Squirrelypenny, their secretary and Dick Long's on again off again dame answered the door sleepily. "Got time for a little spoon, Dickie?", on again. "Not tonight toots, spoonin' leads to forkin' in the middle of the knife, and I've got no time to get in your drawers. We're on the case."
"Oh, that stolen tailgate? Mikel and the boffins sent a fax through the xerox. The trailer's been recovered." "And the perp?", queried Zinner. Squirrelypenny yawned, "the fuzz said they ain't got time for that. There's inspection sticker checkpoints to run in the nice parts of town. Said to let it go." Zinner scowled, "that's just what's wrong with this world. First a tailgate. Then a gazebo. Then a whole damn circus, clowns and all."
"Maybe we should just let it wait, they'll never do anything to him anyway." Dick Long dickered with his dick double, who dealt Dickens, "'Procrastination is the thief of time, collar him.' It's a hot trail and I'll be damned if I'm frozen out." Zinner walked over to the wet bar and poured himself a Schrute Awakening. Bourbon and beet juice, swirled. With an onion. He threw it back, wiped his chin and grimaced. "It never gets any easier."
"Dammit...Dick," Long took a long time saying it. "Okay, I'm a sold sailor. Let's pore over some of these sales on Facefriend and see if we can't come across someone selling more goods from that tailgate. It's likely he cleaned it out as soon as he got it." They scrolled and they perused and they skimmed and they did a lot of words for looked until at last, they saw it. An embroidered cornhole set. 'Never used.' Being sold by 'Brother'. With a lead to finally go on again, they sat down in their recliners, reclined, and closed their eyes.
The clock read 3:50.
It was the middle of the afternoon when they awakened to a loud thump on their door, sleep still in their tired eyes. The sound of footsteps scuffling away, and then...a kazoo. Zinner wrenched the door open to find a penknife stabbed through a piece of note paper. It read
there once was a fellow named Umber,
Who likes moving things while you slumber,
If tailgate goods you seek,
Try the Fence by the creek,
But move quickly for he has your number
Zinner crumpled it in his fist. "Okomo.", he sneered. "A fence by a creek?" asked Squirrelypenny, "gee willies dicks, whatever does that mean?" Long answered, "a fence, for stolen goods." Zinner shook his head "up on Cripple Creek, he sends me. O'Weelo." All three spat at his name being uttered. The dicks put their capes on, instructed Squirrelypenny to notify the boffins and set off.
They got in the Chevelle and were headed towards Cripple Creek when the phone rang. It was the boffins, "Well dicks, good news. We've made contact with 'Brother' and enlisted some of our other dicks from social media to help track him and it's been...interesting. Seems our dicks like to send that dick pics of their...well...dicks. He said 'you sent me a dick pic this morning and now you're acting concerned', not many people react to a concern dicking, but he's responding! Confused, sure, but he says he didn't steal the trailer at all! He bought it!"
"Bought it!?" The dicks exclaimed in unison, together. "Yes. In fact he claims a man named Antonio...Chacere just asked him ever so politely to move it for him for his back was old and weak and paid him $33. So he hitched it up and went to the... man's truck, but it had turned into a 1970 avocado green AMC Gremlin, which had then been towed away. At which point the man decided he'd never wanted the trailer at all, and didn't even know what was in it anymore, despite it being on campus, and decided to sell it to dear brother for $350. Which coincidentally was the exact amount Plymothy had at the time."
"How convenient." Said Long. "Almost too convenient," replied Zinner, stroking his chin, "con-veeeen-ient...", the dick kept stroking. The boffin continued, "but get this gumshoes. When another dick messaged a dick pic and he replied, he told them it was a young man named Femoral...Lagasse...and probably someone who had a grudge and HE, had him bring the trailer to the quad, but this time the truck turned out to be a 83 Ford Pinto. Lime Pink."
"Hey now.", Zinner looked at Long, "the 83 Pinto was never made in Lime Pink." Mikel chimed in, "Precisely. And this time the guy traded him some magic beans to move the trailer, and decided to sell it because he'd decided to become a Florida State fan." And as one, they said "and no one wants to be a Florida state fan this year." Long gasped..."you know, I have a hunch this guy is lying. And also has a tiny atrophied penis. It's the only explanation." They gave the boffins some special instructions and hung up just as they reached Cripple Creek. "O'Weelo", they said, and spat.
They passed the fence's picket fence and got out the car. At the top of a long ramp sat O'Weelo, and his evil helper monkey. "Well dicks, seems you got the poem this time", missing the obvious rhyme. He then started in on a long, boring, rambling story that didn't make any sense and featured wholesale lies, made up characters and not a semblance of self awareness, the irony of which was not lost. "...and that's why I paid the poet to have you come here."
Zinner walked up the ramp, pulled a banana out of his pocket, gave it to the monkey and tipped O'Weelo's chair over. Then he calmly walked back down the ramp, got in the Chevelle with Long, and drove away as the helper monkey smeared his patchy beard with feces. "What was the point of that, Zinner?" Dick grinned. "Precisely. A red herring. And I just wanted to tip his chair over. The boffins already gave us what we need. Time for a drink. And a think."
This post was edited on 10/18/24 at 9:49 am
13
Posted on 10/16/24 at 12:47 pm to fr33manator
They arrived at the OT-Lounge just in time for Sonnet Night, the night Dick Zinner hated above all others. Tiger Hippo's HOA security team had been hired to contain the madness. It was night of drama. The rush of the iambic pentameter, the roar of the couplet. But he had a job to do, dammit. He walked to the bar and ordered a Schute Awakening, swirled, With an onion, from Gin Rummy, who sold Bourbon. He tried to drink it, but then came Okomo and his kazoo with the Poet's Corner in tow.
The horror of that horrible limerick tragedy echoed in his mind as Okomo relentlessly attacked him. A Quadrain here, a Villanelle there. He was two lines into "a man from Nantucket" when the body of a guitar hit Okomo square in the face, spraying blood like a fountain. His cohort drug him away as Zinner rose, frazzled, so see the Swamp Angel standing tall. He was aged and grey, but proud. "What can men do against such reckless fâggotry?"
They made their way to a quieter corner of the lounge and he spoke low. "I know of what you go to do tonight. It reminds me of a tale by the original Swamp Angel, my grandfather. 'There were three of them trapped in an old Chateau,
Black Wolf, Terry and Dale.
And around them clamored the howling Huns, With weapons that would not fail..." When the story was finished, Long and Zinner looked at each other and nodded. There was danger, yes. But a job that must be done.
They got with the boffins and made their calls to OTers, savory and otherwise. A plan of action had been formulated and communicated among the backchannels lest those like O'Weelo or others alert the wrong people. But then, the firm, familiar hands on their shoulders, and the darkened room. The door closed with an audible click. A cock crowed, unnerving the dicks. Mr. Cluck spoke.
"I think you know what this means, gentlemen. I'm afraid your little private dicking must come to an end." A bleeding, blubbering Okomo emerged from a corner, "seems you sicked your own duck too hard."
"We'd never sick our own ducks!" Raged Long, "that would be fowl." From behind the desk Mr. Cluck rose, "it's too hot for dicking now. Though it pains me to do this, though I know your hearts are in the right place, I'm afraid I have little choice. The time for whacking has come, dicks."
Gin Rummy, who sold Bourbon , was uneasy. "Gee Boss, don't you think we could give 'em a warning? A timeout maybe?" Mr. Cluck shook his head. "No...it's whacking time." Zinner and Long gulped. Zinner spoke up, "I'll take it. But do me this one favor. Spare Mikel and the boffins. They don't deserve it and he's spent too much time in the hole already. " Mr. Cluck considered and stroked his feathery cock. "Granted. But gentlemen....gentledicks, the moment is now. Hand over your TD Premium memberships.
Rummy turned his head as he took them. "I can't look boss." From beneath his desk Mr. Cluck withdrew a massive mallet, the Banhammer. It was made of platinum and gold, wickedly heavy with silver filigree, bejeweled in topaz and amethyst. It glittered in the firelight. The TD premium memberships were laid upon the desk as Mr. Cluck raised his hammer high! Okomo laughed an evil cackle, like a demented presidential candidate! And the banhammer came down!
BAM!!!
And again
SMASH!!!
The TD Premium memberships lay in ruins, and the dicks were crushed. Escorted out into the chilly night, like men without a country, dicks without a hole, now possessing only meager OT lounge privileges. "May God save their souls." Said Gin Rummy, who sold Bourbon. And Festus wept.
The news swept around the OT-Lounge, to mixed reviews. Some decried the whacking, calling it feckless in the face of the anemic powers that be. Others thought it wise, for why rock the boat? That's what the Dinghy thought, before he jetted. But still, in the darkness, others still plotted in the backchannels, undaunted by the events at hand. For justice, you see, must still be served. The boffins were clicking and dicking away still, albeit more quietly now, drawing 'brother' into ever deeper lies.
The beaten dicks returned to their office/apartment, and were greeted by a sobbing Squirrelypenny, her mascara turned to rivers. "Say it ain't so Dickie! Don't tell me my dicks have been whacked! Can they even do that? Whack two dicks at the same time? A double dick whacking?" Her voice was pleading. Zinner's voice was as gravelly like a coach that had won a dream season and then pissed it down the drain,"They can, and did. Seems like every time a case around here gets too hot and the wrong feathers get ruffled, a lot of things get whacked."
Long shook his head, "do you recall that nasty business with the Barcia Basement Builders?" Squirrelypenny blurted, "Barcia bonked my brother!". Zinner seethed, "indeed they did, but you'd never know about it now. Every dick on that case was whacked, and every thread you'd follow? Gone. Almost as if they'd just been deleted. Like someone just pressed a button. The banhammer swingeth harshly I'm afraid. Some dicks stay whacked forever."
Squirrelypenny stood up straight and wiped her eyes, then grabbed the pair by their shirt fronts. "But not youse two! You'll bounce back, I know you will. You're rubber dicks, and I've been around long enough to know how rubber dicks take care of business!" Just then the xerox started beeping as a telefax came over the line. It was a grainy picture of a big rusty building with a G on it. The two dicks were confused and pointed everywhere on the paper except the building. Then Squirrelypenny put her finger right on top of the G with feminine ease. "It's obvious. G marks the spot."
Mikel and the boffins rang them up on the phone. "We're pretty sure we've got him. There's an old Garvin MacMerman building on the outskirts of town. You know, where it used to be nice once but then Section 7 came and crime moved in and ruined it? Well, he's linked his OnlyGlans account there.," The sound of a puke in unison, "seems like a great place to run an ethical and respectable boat shingling business. Anyway, we've set up a deal, if you whacked dicks are still hard enough." The pair grinned.
They discussed the plans with the boffins. They were going to buy the pink unicycle that had never been used. "You know, a lot of the regulars didn't agree with all the whacking. Thought it was political. Some are even wanting to help, if you want it." "We'll take all we can get.", Zinner said and hung up.
A little later, the phone rang again, it was Mikel, "you sure you want to go through with this? No one would blame you for letting this go." Long sighed "Well, the worst is over. What can they do to us now?" Zinner spoke up, " we're in too deep. All done but the crying now. Let's finish this." They drove in silence to the warehouse where the exchange was to take place, with only the peaceful sounds of gunshots and sirens in the night air. The bugs danced around the flickering lights as they passed through the chain link fence on the gravel drive.
Pitbulls barked, on long chains. They got out the Chevelle. Sitting against the fence, a Hobo reclined. "Nice *burp* night for a clandestine exchange of ill *burp* gotten goods, eh? Can I get about *burp* Tree-fiddy?" The dicks nodded and tossed him a thirty five cent piece. The warehouse door opened and light flooded out. There in the doorway stood a figure with a terrible goatee, and a ninja sword in hand. He laughed, and pulled a pin with his free hand releasing the chains. "It seems you've been out-pitted" in a weaselly voice. The pitbulls charged towards the dicks, foaming at the mouth.
This post was edited on 10/16/24 at 9:24 pm
Posted on 10/16/24 at 12:47 pm to fr33manator
BLAM!
KA-BLAM!
Their heads turned to pink mist as they slumped forward.
"Wha-wha-what!?" Exclaimed Plymothy, confused. Long clicked a button on a hidden mike, which had been previously checked. "Nice shooting Shrubmaster. We owe you one." Another shot rang out and the katana flew from 'Brother''s hand. He retreating into the warehouse and the dicks followed in hot pursuit. Inside were many tailgate trailers and supplies. Plymothy turned around, Judge in hand (not the Charlize Theron kind). "Looks like you're getting another sort of hammer tonight too!" The dicks checked their knuckles.
As 'Brother' leveled the Judge at them, suddenly a mechanical whirring filled the air. From a corner of the warehouse an entire fleet of mechanized model tanks rolled towards Plymothy, and began to fire off shots. He turned his Judge towards the new mini-enemies and began to blast away, blowing them to smithereens...but before long the Judge just went click-click-click. "We'll have to get you a 'New Model Army' DV." Zinner quipped over the radio. "Well, they fight better than Auburn this year that's for sure. Consider that thief mud-checked."
As the dicks closed in on their foe, he began to blubber about how he never stole from anyone was the most ethical used boat shingle salesman in the land and could save them money. And how he had seven kids and was just trying to help Gordon Prudhomme out and thought he was getting blessed is why he was selling all the stuff. They readied their tandem strike but then he did the unthinkable! He pulled down his pants!
First, the awful, horrid stench hit them. The dicks began to choke and cough. Then they saw his pathetic, mangled member and began to laugh uncontrollably while coughing, which can cause you to shite your pants. But then, worst of all, he turned around and showed them his flabby, misshapen chocolate starfish, and their eyes began to burn, approaching blindness. Well, at least three quarters of them. It seems he would win after all.
What's that? A hellish cry rushing towards them!? What can it be!? It's the Hobo from before, making a scooping motion in his shorts. He hurdles over the downed dicks with a banshee cry of "DICK CHEEEEEEESE". Shoving his cupped hand in the face of 'Brother', Plymothy gags and reels, his eyes turning red then bursting like overripe grapes. The horrific stench making him violently vomit whilst shitting himself, falling on the floor in a mix of his own waste, surrounded by his ill-gotten gains...
The Tiger Dicks slowly rose, still retching and laughing alternately. Plymothy 'Brother' Umber writhed in horrid agony on the ground as his orifices tried to turn themselves inside out. The pair looked at him and said
"Suck that, Tiger Dicks, Bitch."
The sounds of the Sheriff's office sirens approaching from the distance make the dicks look at each other, then the scene. The poor Hobo, who's Dick Cheese had saved them, lie motionless in the mess. "He gave himself." Croaked Zinner. "So that tailgating might live." Cried Long. The two dicks wept, then crept away before the cavalry could get there, tearing off into the night in their purple and gold Chevelle.
The clock read 3:50
~~~~~~~~~~
EPILOGUE
One Week Later
The Tiger Dicks sat around a table eating boiled shrimp they had caught that day on the boat of LargeSac-a-lait, Zinner's confidant. Throwing the shells to the cats, Zinner slurped and said, "what a week, eh?" Sac-a-lait said, "Talk about. First 'brother' gets apprehended, then his lawyer Helmet Head takes him in front of Judge Eyevorï Jackson-Brown and she immediately releases him. And now he's threatening to sue! The world is a mess." Dick Long agreed, "and that's after she tried to make all the shrimp queer. She's a bad egg that one."
Zinner shook his head and cupped his mangled eye. "We were so close. Yet so far. So much wrong in this world and we had a chance to put it right. So we took it, damnit. Maybe we don't play by the rules. Maybe we bend them as far as they'll break. But at least we're doing something." Sac-a-lait nodded his head and said, "the fuzz don't give a tin shite about folks like us. They've got their hands so full of murders and rapes, even the ones that care don't have the time to worry about someone's stuff." Long took a puff on his pipe and said, "I suppose you're right."
Zinner slammed his fist, "but what to do in a world that the people we're supposed to turn to can't or don't care!? That's not a world I want to live in. And if it means being a hunted man without a premium TD membership, it's a price I'll pay gladly. This dick may be whacked, but he's not been whacked so much he's gone soft." Just then, LargeSac-a-lait's mimeograph went off.
There was a buzz and whirr as the paper printed out, then fell to the floor.
Long picked it up.
It read
If you have a dilemma, if no one else can assist you, and if you can locate them, maybe you can recruit ... the OTeam".
_~~~~~~
fin
KA-BLAM!
Their heads turned to pink mist as they slumped forward.
"Wha-wha-what!?" Exclaimed Plymothy, confused. Long clicked a button on a hidden mike, which had been previously checked. "Nice shooting Shrubmaster. We owe you one." Another shot rang out and the katana flew from 'Brother''s hand. He retreating into the warehouse and the dicks followed in hot pursuit. Inside were many tailgate trailers and supplies. Plymothy turned around, Judge in hand (not the Charlize Theron kind). "Looks like you're getting another sort of hammer tonight too!" The dicks checked their knuckles.
As 'Brother' leveled the Judge at them, suddenly a mechanical whirring filled the air. From a corner of the warehouse an entire fleet of mechanized model tanks rolled towards Plymothy, and began to fire off shots. He turned his Judge towards the new mini-enemies and began to blast away, blowing them to smithereens...but before long the Judge just went click-click-click. "We'll have to get you a 'New Model Army' DV." Zinner quipped over the radio. "Well, they fight better than Auburn this year that's for sure. Consider that thief mud-checked."
As the dicks closed in on their foe, he began to blubber about how he never stole from anyone was the most ethical used boat shingle salesman in the land and could save them money. And how he had seven kids and was just trying to help Gordon Prudhomme out and thought he was getting blessed is why he was selling all the stuff. They readied their tandem strike but then he did the unthinkable! He pulled down his pants!
First, the awful, horrid stench hit them. The dicks began to choke and cough. Then they saw his pathetic, mangled member and began to laugh uncontrollably while coughing, which can cause you to shite your pants. But then, worst of all, he turned around and showed them his flabby, misshapen chocolate starfish, and their eyes began to burn, approaching blindness. Well, at least three quarters of them. It seems he would win after all.
What's that? A hellish cry rushing towards them!? What can it be!? It's the Hobo from before, making a scooping motion in his shorts. He hurdles over the downed dicks with a banshee cry of "DICK CHEEEEEEESE". Shoving his cupped hand in the face of 'Brother', Plymothy gags and reels, his eyes turning red then bursting like overripe grapes. The horrific stench making him violently vomit whilst shitting himself, falling on the floor in a mix of his own waste, surrounded by his ill-gotten gains...
The Tiger Dicks slowly rose, still retching and laughing alternately. Plymothy 'Brother' Umber writhed in horrid agony on the ground as his orifices tried to turn themselves inside out. The pair looked at him and said
"Suck that, Tiger Dicks, Bitch."
The sounds of the Sheriff's office sirens approaching from the distance make the dicks look at each other, then the scene. The poor Hobo, who's Dick Cheese had saved them, lie motionless in the mess. "He gave himself." Croaked Zinner. "So that tailgating might live." Cried Long. The two dicks wept, then crept away before the cavalry could get there, tearing off into the night in their purple and gold Chevelle.
The clock read 3:50
~~~~~~~~~~
EPILOGUE
One Week Later
The Tiger Dicks sat around a table eating boiled shrimp they had caught that day on the boat of LargeSac-a-lait, Zinner's confidant. Throwing the shells to the cats, Zinner slurped and said, "what a week, eh?" Sac-a-lait said, "Talk about. First 'brother' gets apprehended, then his lawyer Helmet Head takes him in front of Judge Eyevorï Jackson-Brown and she immediately releases him. And now he's threatening to sue! The world is a mess." Dick Long agreed, "and that's after she tried to make all the shrimp queer. She's a bad egg that one."
Zinner shook his head and cupped his mangled eye. "We were so close. Yet so far. So much wrong in this world and we had a chance to put it right. So we took it, damnit. Maybe we don't play by the rules. Maybe we bend them as far as they'll break. But at least we're doing something." Sac-a-lait nodded his head and said, "the fuzz don't give a tin shite about folks like us. They've got their hands so full of murders and rapes, even the ones that care don't have the time to worry about someone's stuff." Long took a puff on his pipe and said, "I suppose you're right."
Zinner slammed his fist, "but what to do in a world that the people we're supposed to turn to can't or don't care!? That's not a world I want to live in. And if it means being a hunted man without a premium TD membership, it's a price I'll pay gladly. This dick may be whacked, but he's not been whacked so much he's gone soft." Just then, LargeSac-a-lait's mimeograph went off.
There was a buzz and whirr as the paper printed out, then fell to the floor.
Long picked it up.
It read
If you have a dilemma, if no one else can assist you, and if you can locate them, maybe you can recruit ... the OTeam".
_~~~~~~
fin
This post was edited on 10/17/24 at 4:45 pm
Posted on 10/16/24 at 12:48 pm to fr33manator
I have like "frick around" kind of time every few hours at work, but some of you make me jealous
Posted on 10/16/24 at 12:48 pm to fr33manator
Is Mother going to make an appearance?
Posted on 10/16/24 at 12:49 pm to GrammarKnotsi
I wrote the bulk of this last night. It comes quicker than you think
Posted on 10/16/24 at 12:50 pm to fr33manator
Congrats on the new job. I aint reading all that shite.
Posted on 10/16/24 at 12:51 pm to Commandeaux
But you'll read through a 60+ page thread, right?
Posted on 10/16/24 at 12:52 pm to fr33manator
quote:
It comes quicker than you think
twss
Posted on 10/16/24 at 1:07 pm to fr33manator
Your 15 minutes are up
This post was edited on 10/16/24 at 3:00 pm
Posted on 10/16/24 at 1:10 pm to fr33manator
Back to Tier Three you go.
Posted on 10/16/24 at 1:10 pm to Bama and Beer
I know. But I said I'd finish the story and that's what I did and now it's done.
Posted on 10/16/24 at 1:11 pm to Aguga
That sociopath could learn a thing or two about creative writing from these posts.
Posted on 10/16/24 at 1:25 pm to fr33manator
Golf clap.
Solid work, 33
Solid work, 33
Posted on 10/16/24 at 1:41 pm to GrammarKnotsi
quote:
I have like "frick around" kind of time every few hours at work, but some of you make me jealous
This.
This kind of shite makes me wonder what my coworkers are actually doing since they clearly don't work.
Posted on 10/16/24 at 1:55 pm to fr33manator
quote:
I wrote the bulk of this last night. It comes quicker than you think
how much adderall have you gobbled up the last 4 days?
you haven't slept in almost 80hrs. I also believe you have worked on this story non stop for 24hrs and have done absolutely nothing else in between.
This post was edited on 10/16/24 at 1:56 pm
Posted on 10/16/24 at 1:57 pm to fr33manator
The only person I can visualize reading all of that is Kafka
Posted on 10/16/24 at 2:00 pm to fr33manator
Do you have a job? 
Posted on 10/16/24 at 2:12 pm to Mouth
None, though about 6 energy drinks
I slept a good 3-6 hours ever night. The high of the Ol miss win coupled with the thrill of the hunt sent me into a manic stage (though not a bad one all I do is write really) and then it was just sheer compulsion.
When I get an idea in my head I can't get it out until I write it out. It's cathartic. I used to do far worse things when it would come. I'm on the right meds now and it doesn't come nearly as often but if this is the worst to come out of it? A silly story? I'll count my blessings.
Look, I know you and a good chunk can't stand me or this stuff and I get it.
But the other thread had a 9:1 ratio and people asking for it and contributing. It was a multi part thing from the get go.
I did probably 90% of it last night before I went to bed. Chock full of OT inside jokes too. Garcia did my husband is in there
I'm satisfied with the work. It's tongue in cheek and absurdist and just zany. Doesn't take itself seriously
Just a bit of fun. You want to piss on it, be my guest. Tear it to shreds. But if you're gonna do that at least read it first. Like I said if someone is willing to read 60 pages, what's 5 full posts?
I slept a good 3-6 hours ever night. The high of the Ol miss win coupled with the thrill of the hunt sent me into a manic stage (though not a bad one all I do is write really) and then it was just sheer compulsion.
When I get an idea in my head I can't get it out until I write it out. It's cathartic. I used to do far worse things when it would come. I'm on the right meds now and it doesn't come nearly as often but if this is the worst to come out of it? A silly story? I'll count my blessings.
Look, I know you and a good chunk can't stand me or this stuff and I get it.
But the other thread had a 9:1 ratio and people asking for it and contributing. It was a multi part thing from the get go.
I did probably 90% of it last night before I went to bed. Chock full of OT inside jokes too. Garcia did my husband is in there
I'm satisfied with the work. It's tongue in cheek and absurdist and just zany. Doesn't take itself seriously
Just a bit of fun. You want to piss on it, be my guest. Tear it to shreds. But if you're gonna do that at least read it first. Like I said if someone is willing to read 60 pages, what's 5 full posts?
Posted on 10/16/24 at 2:14 pm to fr33manator
quote:
It comes quicker than you think
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