Chuck has us chuggin' drinks and cocktails this time. He put up a link to a site which has recipes to these great drinks - 10 to a page - and I found this fine little ditty. Enjoy.
I’m in prison because of him.
My hatred for that little man is beyond anything I can say, but I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him; that is if he stood still long enough! And to think, I trusted myself to be lined up with him through a dating service – a reputable one too!
I’ll start at the beginning – a good place to start.
Fergus was his name. I knew it was Irish – I mean, just listen to it roll off your tongue! By the sound of his voice on the phone I kinda knew he was short, but then he told me how tall he was and it confirmed it: I was going on a date with a little person (no not a midget – that’s not politically correct; and besides, it’s impolite to call them that now).
Besides, I wasn’t going to turn him down all because of his height. He was charming, sweet and made me laugh. And isn’t that part of the experience of dating, that spark?
Well, from the moment we met, I knew something was up with him. One moment he wasn’t there and the next, he was sitting at the table in the middle of a story I hadn’t heard the beginning of.
I thought I had zoned out at some point. But I hadn’t.
I thought something had happened and he popped something in my drink, but he hadn’t – well, not to my knowledge.
Then, Fergus would laugh and touch my hand and I’d laugh too. It was as though I was charmed by him, as though his touch was something of hypnotism and I couldn’t help myself.
Now I think of it, I don’t actually remember accepting our first date. I just remember showing up to the café and sitting down at the table. I checked my phone and its calendar and – sure enough – our date was written in there.
I just wish I knew how that came to be – how I came to be here in prison so quick.
I hadn’t known him a week and I landed here with charges that nobody wants on their records: murder.
The problem was that nobody believed it wasn’t me; not even my lawyer. He just gave me a pitiful look and that pinched expression which told me that he’d do what he could… sure… bullshit.
The truth was that Fergus was gone the moment the trigger was pulled and my ex-husband hit the floor of his house.
How we got to be there was a complete mystery to me too; and perverted in every way: we broke in while Tim was having a shower. Uh, yeah, that really sounds like that’ll hold up in court that we were invited in… but Fergus told me to tell the cops that.
Which – for some reason – I did while they were cuffing me and telling me my rights, which were to shut up and wait until I got a lawyer. Of course I didn’t… I kept on blathering on that I was invited in and Fergus was there.
Well, he was… he stood over there in the corner keeping his mouth shut the whole time they were walking around me taking in evidence that I was the one who cooked up this whole thing and killed my ex-husband on my own.
My lawyer sat there while I was handcuffed to the table watching me carefully. Fergus sat by my side urging me to go on and answer the man… but when I looked back at the lawyer he asked me the dumbest question: “What are you looking at over there?”
I glanced back to Fergus and he was gone!
It was then I realised something was dreadfully wrong and I turned to him, “Okay, I have been on a dating service and Fergus and I were lined up to date. Look in my handbag and you’ll find a business card for the place.”
The guy wrote it down nodding, “Okay, dating service.”
I told him all about our first date and how everything seemed strange, right up until all this stuff about my ex-husband happened, “Please look into it.”
You know something? Nothing ever came of the business card.
I never heard from my lawyer again. Actually I was given a new one.
I wondered what happened to my last one.
So, this brings me to here… sitting in my prison cell.
Fergus is gone. I haven’t seen that little perverted shit anywhere since the lawyer and I talked last. Looking at my hands, I wonder how long it’ll take until they find out what’s going on. I hear another inmate being brought in.
She keeps on talking: “It’s not my fault… it’s the leprechaun… his name is Fergus! I’m telling you, he disappeared when you guys arrested me. Please… he was the one who shot my ex-boyfriend.”
“Listen, we’ve heard it all before, a dozen times from you crazy broads.” The screw snapped as he shoved her into the cell with me, “It’s not going to float.”
As the door slammed shut, she cried out through the small window, “He’s left me here to rot! He’s a perverted little shit!”
Looking up at her as she crumbled to the floor, I realise something and smile, “So, you know Fergus too? What did that perverted leprechaun do to you?”