So there was this guy I knew called Jack. Skinny bugger. Marital troubles. Died last night outside my house. Bummer.
His wife was there at the PD, bawling her eyes out, though I couldn’t see her eyes. Eatin’ all the time, too. She had more than marital troubles. Not no more though, she died too, this morning.
Right on my doorstep. What the hell.
Turns out Sprat had a will. Turns out he named me his kids’ godfather. Geez cries.
So get this, I show up at the PD this morning and the twins are already there. They ain’t cryin, they’re quiet as stones. Golly bit weird they are. They’re here now. They don’t eat. They don’t even sleep. Don’t know what the hell to do. Want to get rid of them.
They just sit here on the couch with a platter, I had a roast with greens on it tonight, which they did not partake of. They just sit here freakin’ lickin’ the platter, half is Pak and the other half is the lickerty of Rak.
And I DON’T think it’s gonna be clean any time soon, nosir. Freakin’ beasts. Take after their ma.