Instead of sitting on your fat, disabled by an early onset of Bipolar Disorder (think high school) Michigan Street Carondolet neighborhood drunk & drug selling St.L hoosier ass, why not carry me on your shoulders to Lambert New Year's, and the nice Saberliner man will certainly take me anywhere I want to go, given I have borrowed Officer Friendly's gun.
No? Gather around while Mr. Hughes tells yet another 605 Starbucks tale. MARINE le PENN was sitting out there not smoking, and I thought "Gee, she looks familiar" as the SS wise.asses.gov's did not smoke on Taryn's patio either. To add to the excitement, someone actually yelled, "Oh my God, it really is the Secret Service!!" and ran out the door. Now they are selling arms to Lebanon with Saudi money? Those damn French! Take a bath occasionally, please.
As always, I continued writing screenplays later lifted by the Sheriff. For their review, of course, and if the script is good enough, they agree to play the cops in your fictional work. [If you are not murdered by some thieving Jew in "The Business"] Lern & John will "get it," if they let me in the Powerhouse. No? That tower could be a target for A-rabs. See/hear the spotter plane, kook neighbors? Nothing to do with me!
Where is John Goodman when you need him?