Ghost Town, N.J., Mayor Martin Forrest Thwaite knew that within just months, he would most likely be out of a job. He was defeated in the last election by a landslide. So he did what any guy with a valid law degree would do - he struck out to get a job with one of his lawyer cronies. This equated to doing a lot of lawyering and a lot less politicking. Either way, the booze would flow and those orb-like fannies would wiggle around under his crooked, beaked nose.
As for the law firm he was seeking as employ, this meant being a professional ambulance chaser. Yes, Mayor Martin Forrest Thwaite was sitting in the office of long-time friend, drinking and smoking pal, partner in skirt-chasing frolics, fellow driving while inebriated lane-crossing fool, and fellow pencil-headed jack-off, whose name is Pelovier Demetrifish-Yazpolotonickiznk, Attorney At Law.
"I need a job. I'm going to be out of one soon and you're the only hope I have of keeping things afloat," Thwaite told Demetrifish-Yazpolotonickiznk.
Demetrifish-Yazpolotonickiznk, a proud full-breed BongBongSlibiviaian, just shook his head, which had a large rope winding around it, and snapped, "That old saying? A friend in need is a friend indeed? Well it should say, 'A friend in need is a mutherucking pest!'"
[For anyone not familiar with BongBongSlibivian culture and the regalia worn by these primitive people, who pre-date the dinosaurs, seeing a large rope wrapped around the head of some other person with dried fish and dead, sun-baked insects attached to this rope is a true eye opener. Most who see such a sight look away quickly or run away quickly.].
Demetrifish-Yazpolotonickiznk also wore a gown around town, as part of his religous identification. It had paisley designs on it and its field was colored a psychedelic orange, pink, green, grey, yellow, light blue, dark blue and lavender - it was a hazy mixture of hellish colors that sort of jumped right into the air and lunged at you.
A member of the Yap Yip Yipe Yong Yizzle Yazzle Yop Club, which in BongBongSlibiviaian translates to "You Stab Them and We Sue The Living Shit Out of Them and Kick Their Fatalities Over to Our Relatives Who Own Funeral Homes so that They Will Slab Them and Dump Them in God's Brown Shit," Demetrifish-Yazpolotonickiznk was the current vice president of this national organization, entirely comprised of full-breed BongBongSlibiviaians holding law degrees and practicing the ambulance chasing side of the legal profession.
The way this organization could tell if a candidate is a true BongBongSlibiviaian is if they have sickly orange skin dotted with purple and green freckles. Some BongBongSlibiviaians are born with pink hair and purple retinas in their eyes while others have (respective) navy blue and burnt orange coloring of the same. Of course, wearing a rope around one's head and dressing in a robe that looks like it was a neon sign in the red light district helps out a lot, too.
"I need a job, Pelovier. It hurts my pride crawling before you and begging for one, but believe me, times are tough. My wife's having another baby and I want to trade in my 45-foot schooner for a 126-yard freighter," Thwaite said.
"That's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard," said Demetrifish-Yazpolotonickiznk, who cracked opened a fifth of Dalmore 62, which with a price tag of $215,000 per highly decorative bottle, is one of the most expensive bottles of Scotch whiskey in the world. "Yes, Martin Forrest, I've been hungrily waiting for a special occasion to open this - like seeing your sad-assed, bedraggled, hunch-backed, gimped-up, rueful figure crawl into my office and beg me for a lawyering job. Ha ha ha. Hee hee hee. Ho ho ho. Haw Haw Haw. Hoot hoot hoot."
Now just as Demetrifish-Yazpolotonickiznk was now letting Thwaite into the "big office" of his law firm, which for some strange reason or another also had a king-sized bed and overhead, a mirror the size of the side of a small Dairy Quikkie Moo Moo Moo @ Da Zoo Shoppe in its corner, he was involved with a Twitter storm argument with Rosco "The Rat" Gallo, the politics writer of The Daily Jersey Devil. Rosco Gallo did some investigative reporting and discovered that on weekends, Demetrifish-Yazpolotonickiznk was operating an escort service out of his law firm.
Some of the tweets included -
* Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you! (this tweet was much larger than the 140-character limit but Twitter administrators pulled some strings and allowed it to be posted in full because of its "cuteness and originality".).
* While you're eating your spaghetti & meatballs, or your lasagna, or your veal parmigiana, or your stuffed shells, you horrible Eye-Tall-Onion, I'm fine dining on frog brains, chicken talons, goat guts, scorpion tails, onions, carrots, sycamore tree leaves, brown recluse spider legs and bat's blood that's been slowly boiling over an intense flame for a week. Pour in some sand and limestone along with a dash of 20/50 motor oil and you have a meal to die for! - Your race just doesn't know what good cuisine is! All that tomato sauce, doesn't it give you heartburn?! (And again, this tweet was much longer than the 140-character limit but Twitter administrators pulled some strings and allowed it to be posted in full because of its "cuteness and originality".).
* You're just jealous because you ended up in a profession that has a lot of eggheads clicking and clacking away for hours on end and your recompense is gassed soggy peanuts. I go out and chase a few ambulances, then chase a few skirts, go downtown and hobnob with the judges at the ALL YOU CAN EAT PANCAKE AND EGG HASH FEST and it almost seems like I have the kind of money that grows big and rich on Redwood and Sequoia trees. Ah, the Green Eyed monster grows within you, you hack writer, you horrible person, you frustrated moray eel, you chronic masturbatory relic, you finger-tied wordsmith. . .You should just cut yourself up and throw yourself into a big vat of calamari! Ha ha ha. Hee hee hee. Ho ho ho. Haw haw haw. (And again, this tweet was much longer than the 140-character limit but Twitter administrators pulled some strings and allowed it to be posted in full because of its "cuteness and originality").
The good Mayor Martin Forrest Thwaite took a look over his friend's shoulder, read the archive of tweets and gasped, "Hey dumbass, didn' t you ever hear of 'ink by the barrel?'"
"Nope, what's that?"
"Well, tomorrow, after The Rat gets done reading all those tweets, gets resentful and has a hissy fit, he's going to get right down to writing a scathing editorial, do some more digging into your so-called law firm that moonlights as a whorehouse on weekends, and he's going to blow your ass right out of the water. The Daily Jersey Devil has a circulation of 1.5 million and your cell phone has a circulation of one, which is you. Oh, but you do have six Twitter followers, all of whom are members of the Yap Yip Yipe Yong Yizzle Yazzle Yop Club. And let's not forget Ms. Pickadilly Pricewick, the secretary at the YMCA who claims that you ripped her dress off when you were blind drunk and then tried to pull her panties down."
"Pickadilly unfriended me the other day. . .Okay, you're hired," Demetrifish-Yazpolotonickiznk yapped.
"Great. When can I start?"
"You already have, by telling me I should stop tweeting The Rat at The Daily Jersey Devil. I need you around to tell me that sort of stuff. I do Trumpensteinian antics all the time. There are a few stipulations, though."
"And what may those be?"
"No touchy-feelie with those naked women who lay around here on weekends. Even if you find them in compromising positions. Do you got that? You can look, but just don't touch or worse, grab. We want the merchandise to stay fresh. Besides, you're a very married man."
"And what might the other stipulations be?"
"There's only one other. The keg I have on tap under the sink, well drink from it as much as you want. But stay out of the good booze closet. It's got the Yap Yip Yipe Yong Yizzle Yazzle Yop Club logo on it, which is a circle and inside the circle is a Tyrannosaurus Rex chasing a water buffalo. That's for very important clients and now, my old friend, you are a mere ambulance chasing colleague and a minion of mine. Yes, you'll be a real nobody again right after we get done with our fifth of Dalmore 62," the law firm's sole senior partner said in a firm voice.
"Whatever you say, boss," the mayor answered.