by P. Parker
Get ready to have your socks knocked.
|Albert Squab and the Robust Bust of a Busty Robusto Gusto
"A day I dont regret is a day I dont remember. "
-H. Stanson the Rat Bastard
"I hate myself," Stanson said as he stared into the bathroom mirror. He slicked back his long greasy hair, skipped the shower, and scraped a layer of scum off of his teeth. Old clothes with mysterious burns all over are assembled around his monstrous body. One last moment of regret for choosing to wake up is felt. He is now ready for the day.
"Gross," said Albert Squab, wiping the last bit of cum off of his mirror. "Soon I will have a fine bust to pleasure myself to instead of you," he said to his reflection. Squab hoses down in perfumes, polishes his shoes, and puts on his mystery solving cap. Blowing one last kiss to himself, he is ready for the day.
Handsome Stanson the Rat Bastard and Detective Albert Squab arrive at Squab Detective Agency early to see if their precious package had arrived. It had. Stanson darts for the box in a fit of passion reaching low for it, paying little attention to his surroundings. A furious Albert Squab pushes Stanson propelling him past the box and right into the Agencies door. Stansons teeth shatter on the handle and blood begins to poor out of his mouth. Squab picks it up and states, "This is my package so I should be the one to open it." Stanson had trouble hearing Squab over his own desperate screaming. Squab felt the punishment of perminant facial damage was fair considering the crime so he moved on.
Squab enters the agency with a physically and mentally broken Stanson following behind. "Hello bois!" squeeled the always upsetting receptionist, Lassarus. Squab walked past her without saying a single word as usual, but Stanson hesitated. He planned on asking Lassarus to call an ambulance, but decided not to because he didnt want to miss the revelation of the glorious bust of, the one and olny, Robusto Gusto the Circus Strongman. Stanson only truly cared about this bust because Squab was so excited about it, proving what a rat bastard he was.
Squab places the box on the table and Stanson joins him. A moment of anticipation is felt amoungst the two best friends. Squab felt butterflies in his stomach and an oakwood trunk in his trousers. They both tear off the brown parcel paper to reveal a box filled to the brim with sardines. The dissapointment in the crime solving duos faces was hard to bear. The sardines were a snack that the stupid whore Lassarus would import from Quebec. She would gobble those slimy fish until the whole office stank. Each naturally lubed sardine, sliding down her throat with such ease, would, for some strange reason, make a crunching noise on the way down her gullet. The biology of this desk slut was always up for debate, due to anomalies like the crunching swallow.
"I guess it hasn't arrived," sighed Squab.
"Yeah, I guess not," Stanson couged through his shattered face.