”“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. I had to find a way to meet you. And to get your cock out of your pants, and down my throat. When I saw you heading for the bathroom, I came up with a plan.”“So you acting all crazy, really was just an act?”“Yeah,” Emily smiled. “Sorry about that. But my plan worked, didn’t it, Mike? I can still taste you in my throat.”“That damned flight attendant gave me two cans of seven-up,” Mike explained. “After how long it took before we finally landed, I really needed to piss.”“Well, then, I should. More

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