O' Halloran: The Stamp of Death: Part 6

Written by Jesus Budda

Friday, 7 May 2010


The story you are trying to access may cause offense, may be in poor taste, or may contain subject matter of a graphic nature. This story was written as a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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Part 1|Part 2|Part 3| Part 4 | Part 5

Part 6

O' Halloran's Bedroom - Early Morning

After a period of deep consideration and reflection, O' Halloran decides to take up Detective Suicide Jones' offer of sweet, sweet love.

"Ok, Baby. Lets make love", O' Halloran purrs.

"Oh, O' Halloran! Make me sweat!!!"

O' Halloran loosens the string which is holding up his rubber underpants.

"I have a problem with my bowel movements. Sometimes I piss and shit myself at the most inopportune of moments", he explains.

Bizarrely this seems to arouse Suicide Jones even more.

"Shit on me, O' Halloran. Cover me with your excrement".

O' Halloran raises an eyebrow, Roger Moore style.

She screams louder. "Shit on me, O' Halloran. Shit on my face!!!"

O' Halloran hasn't had an experience like this since that time his sister-in-law visited in 1989.

"Well, Ok then..."

Suicide Jones leans back across the bed, legs spread wide apart, her wet pussy displayed for the entire world to see.

"Thats one adorable kitten you have there, Baby".
O' Halloran lifts up the cat and strokes it, then holding it by the tail and feet, he wrings it out and hangs it on a washing line to dry.

"I always carry a cat. It helps keep me warm in winter and also soaks up excess moisture from my nether regions", Detective Suicide coos.

O' Halloran removes his rubber underpants and tosses them onto the beside table. He turns around and prepares to unleash a warm, messy load of steaming cack.

"Wait!", she says.

"What is it, baby?"

"I want us to discuss the case while we do it."

"You want me to talk to you about these random stamp-related murders in Psychotown while I shit on you?", O' Halloran asks, bemused.

"Yeah. It will be sooooo hot!"

O' Halloran nods in agreement and then resumes his position above her.

"Why do you think these murders started?", Suicide Jones inquires as he tweaks her hardened nipples.

"I dunno. Psychotown is noted for its odd, freakish and downright stupid murder cases. I haven't given it much thought, to be honest". O' Halloran clenches his buttocks and pushes, but with no result.

"I just find it all very peculiar. Back in my district we had one case like this where a man and a woman were murdered beneath a bridge and covered head to toe in Penny Black stamps. But why did the killer move here?"

O' Halloran is preoccupied with his pushing and grunting. He can't understand why he can't shit. He had a whole bag of peanuts last night for his supper, not to mention the ginger nut biscuits and brown bread he had for lunch. That normally would flush out his insides but somehow its just not working its way out through his rectum now.

"Maybe the guy got bored. It happens to psychopathic serial killers sometimes: they get tired of the monotony of a place and move on. Psychotown seems like the ideal spot for a nutter to resume his crime spree - what with the attractive tax breaks the city offers to those in the killing game."

Detective Suicide sits upright.

"O' Halloran? Where's the shit? I can't wait all day, you know"

"Sorry, honey-chops. I can't explain it. maybe it's nerves or my piles? Maybe I could piss on you? Maybe you'd like that, huh?"

"Ok. Lets forget the shit. Let's just have straight sex instead. Do you have...protection?".

O' Halloran grins that toothy grin of his.
"Sure I do. Top drawer is where I keep my home insurance policy. Never can be too careful about safety."

"No, O' Halloran! I meant PROTECTION. Ya know....sexual protection?"

O' Halloran eventually gets her drift.

"Ahhh. Yeah. I have a box load of condoms in the same drawer. I helped out a rubber plantation owner with a bit of a slave revolt a few years back..."

He points to the drawer nearest to Detective Suicide.
She opens it and rummages about inside.

"Hey, what are these?", she asks as she comes upon (oo-er!) a pile of letters addressed to O'Halloran.

"Oh, thats nuthin'. Just some love letters Pip sends me every week. Whats so odd about an adult male detective sending love letters to his partner?"

Detective Suicide gives O' Halloran a what-the-fuck stare.
"Say what?"

O' Halloran grows slightly impatient.
"Come on, Sweet-cheeks. Just get those condoms. I'm going limp here"

She takes out all the letters and sorts them out on the bed.
"Did you ever take a close look at these, O' Halloran?", she asks.

"Not really. The poor kid is in love with me. I get that all the time. No big deal. Why? Whats so special about them?", he shrugs.

She flings a bunch of the letters at him.
"Hey, careful. You could give my testicles a paper cut", he winces.

"Take a look at the envelopes, O' Halloran. Take a good look at them", she instructs, deadly serious.

He flicks through them, at first more out of annoyance, then slowly the realization sets in on him.

"Holy cock-shit!"

Every single one of the envelopes has a Penny Black stamp in its top right-hand corner.

Detective Suicide pulls on a pair of panties and starts to get dressed. As she does so she asks O' Halloran a series of questions about his police partner.

"How long have you known Detective Pip?"

"A few months, I guess...."

"And Pip comes from the 19th century, right?"

"Yeah...he came through some wormhole thingy and ended up in our time..."

"Where else would those Penny Black stamps be coming from if not from the actual time when those stamps were created?"

O' Halloran drops the letters.
"Good lord! It's Pip. Pip is the killer..."


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

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