Written by Jean Le Fete
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Tags: The Spoof

Friday, 5 November 2010

image for Born To Spoof: Epilogue - #4 #4

"She would never say...where she came from...Yesterday don't matter, if its gone.".....(the music in the Spoof Bar always had an uncanny knack for impailing one's feelings of the moment.)

I had spent several weeks, as we all had, recovering in a padded apartment next to Masterchev's and JOs upstairs at The Spoof. The Oracle had left us all in a state of chaotic, unimaginable madness. My head healed fine and with the drugs finally out of my system I could stand solid chocolate covered raisins again. But #3 was gone, where I knew not. Nobody would speak of it, they just shook their heads when I asked and begged. I sat at the bar, Skoob served me my favorite dark from Ireland. He shook his head as I downed half of it at one time. Merde, I thought, what careless bastard was allowing jasmine perfume loose near me.

"Come here often sailor?" her voice said, I dared not turn to look at the red head of my dreams, she continued, "They call me #4, but you can call me... Carina".......

"Okay," I said, slowly turning my head..."Meet me at the laundry chute in five minutes."........Somewhere a gerbil squeaked...

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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