I was sitting in my office, drinking scotch and looking at a dirty magazine when she walked in. Her demeanor spoke volumes of her past. She had cankles a mile long, the sweat on the nape of her neck turned me on and made me remember my days as a trailer park manager. As she hobbled toward my desk she began to tell me her tale. Apparently someone had stolen a box of original twinkies, a rare kind, the Maltese twinkies. This was the case that would bring me back from the shadows and into a new light as the man I was once before. She wore a silk blouse with her gigantic sagging double D's stretching her bra. The white suit was spotty with stains of sweat and shame, a kind of of shame that was related to a long incestuous relationship with her uncle Earl the Pearl McCoy. This was the start of some kind of something.
