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?”
