My Life Of Crime

Part 2

by

Flexman

Please send comments to flexman3@hotmail.com

The characters in this story, with the exception Riley Parkin and Kitty, all belong to DC comics. This is a not for profit story. No one under eighteen should read it.

I like to thank Blinkmanx for his ideas and contributions to this story.

Two weeks later. 

         Diane Laurel Lance, A.K.A. the Black Canary showed the photographs to Batman and Nightwing. Both men examined them carefully. It showed a tall, thin, young man with short brown hair and glasses. He was dressed in jeans, gray tee shirt and Nike runners with a backpack draped over his right shoulder.

         “He’s the only common denominator,” Black Canary began her report. “I set up surveillance cameras on the entrances of Barbara Gordon and Helena Bertinelli apartment buildings. In the last three weeks he’s visited both their buildings on an average twice a week each, on different days. The pattern is always the same, he goes in early in the evening and comes out in the morning. He always changes his clothes and looks like he showered when he comes out, but the backpack is always there. He looks like a student and that’s not all.”

         Black Canary pulls out another photograph and puts in front of both men. “This was taken last Friday.”

         “Holy shit!” Nightwing remarks.

         The photo shows the young man leaving the apartment building holding hands with Helena Bertinelli. He was dress in a sports jacket, dress slacks and a blue shirt. Helena was dressed in a hot black cocktail dress, matching black pumps and small purse. The dress shows off a lot of leg and cleavage. Her hair was put up and makeup was tastefully applied. She looked stunning and both of them appeared very pleased with each others company. Black Canary then placed the next photo on the table. That photo showed them returning to the apartment. They had their arms around each other and Helena’s head rested on his shoulder.

         “They left around seven-thirty that evening and returned around three in the morning. He did not come out of her apartment again until one the next day,” Black Canary report.

         “If you think that blows your mind wait until you see the next one.” Canary took out the next picture. “This was taken the following evening, Saturday night.” Same scene, the young man leaving the apartment dressed for a night of clubbing. The only difference was this time he was escorting Barbara Gordon out of her apartment building. She looked even hotter then Bertinelli did the previous night and they had their arms around each other. Batman and Nightwing both looked amazed.

         “This is them leaving a little before eight, it was almost four in the morning when they came back.” She put the next set of photos on the table. “These photos are all stills of the video from the surveillance cameras. They don’t do justice to the scene. When they came back Babs was all over him. She couldn’t keep her hands off, even had it on his crotch. She looked like she couldn’t even wait until they got in to her apartment. The guy had his hand all over her ass.”

         “This is fucking insane,” Nightwing exclaims. “He’s sleeping with both of them? This can’t be and if your right about him working with Catwoman, then he might be doing her too. He looks like a geek, how is this even possible?”

         “Any idea who he is?” Batman asked without looking up from the photographs.

         “No. He drives an old pickup truck. I ran the plates, it belongs to a company, Parkin Electrical Contractor. I checked them out. The owner is a Fred Parkin, he’s in his early fifties.”

         “Maybe we should have a talk with this Fred Parkin,” Nightwing suggested. “Ask him who’s driving his truck around.”

         His comment fell on deaf ears. Batman was still fixated on the photographs. After a moment he looks up.

         “I’ve seen this guy before,” he says.

         “Where?”

         “I don’t remember.”

         “That’s new. You’re memory is usually infallible. Is it someone you tangled with?”

         “No, nothing like that. I don’t think I’ve ever met him. I think I just seen his picture, but I can’t remember where.”

         Black Canary laughs. “Listen to you,” she tells Nightwing. “Is he someone you tangled with? Look at this guy, late teens, no older, he’s a kid. He’s a little young to be a criminal mastermind. He looks like he’s still in high school.”

         Batman looks up at her. “College,” he remarks and looks back at the picture again. “Wait a second. Who did you say his truck belongs to?”

         “A Fred Parkin.”

         Batman gets on the computer and punches up files from the Wayne Foundation database. After a few minutes of navigating he finds the file he needs. A profile with a picture comes on the screen. He turns to Black Canary. “Is this him?”

         “Yeah, that’s him.” She and Nightwing get closer to the screen. “Riley Parkin? Who is he?”

         “This kid was awarded one of the Wayne Foundation’s scholarships for academic excellence. He’s attending Gotham University on it. I remember him because the director of the program mentioned him in her quarterly report. This kid’s grades are lighting up the boards and guess what his majors are; electrical engineering and computer science.”

         “This may more serious than we first thought,” Nightwing said. “What if he’s like the Mad Hatter and has a way to hypnotize them, or worse, suppose he’s a metahuman, like Max Lord, and he’s telepathically controlling them. We have to do something.”

         “That’s an interesting theory,” Batman answers. “I think it’s time we meet Mr. Parkin and shake him up a bit.”

Three days later.

         I’m sitting up on the bed, my back against the headboard, my legs spread in a wide V. Bats is lying on her stomach in between my legs, her face in my crotch. In the year we been together, she’s become an excellent cocksucker. I guess the old cliche is true, practice does make perfect, because she’s logged in a lot of cockpit time on me. Of course, my tongue has also clocked in a lot of time on her clit and hole, but fair is fair. She knows how I like it. She starts on my balls and takes a good long time licking each one individually. She even put each one inside her mouth for some individualized attention. Then comes the base of the stem, she works her tongue all around. All the while I watch her terrific ass and when she bends her knees, I look at her feet. So this is what Haven feels like, I always wondered. She starts working her way up the stem slowly, still going round and round. After an agonizingly long time she gets to the head and completely engulfs it with her tongue. She knows how to polish the knob well. Then takes the whole thing her mouth; so warm, so smooth, so satisfying. Finally, she deep throats it, in and out, up and down. I hold it as long as I can. I don’t actually time it, but I know my hold time has gotten much better this last year. After a great long time I have to tighten my ass to prolong it, my balls hurt and my hands grip the pillows hard. Finally I can’t hold it in anymore and I blow my load. Bats keeps pumping away while swallowing the whole thing. They say a blow job is for the pleasure of the man, but I can never shake the feeling she enjoys it too. Maybe it’s just ego talking but she always does it with such enthusiasm it’s hard not to feel that way. Anyway, now it’s my turn. She lies on her back, stretches her arms over her head and waits for me to start. Her tits are also stretching and her hard nipples are pointing up toward the ceiling. I grab her ankles and bring her legs up, putting her thighs against her chest. Bats is already very wet. I take one of her tampons, lube it with her own cum straight from her cunt and gently shove it up her asshole. She moans as it goes in. She really likes getting it up her ass, it’s just her thing, doesn’t matter if it’s a tampon, one of her didos, my finger or my cock in a straight butt fuck, it gets her off. Some women hate it and some like. For whatever the reason it’s Bats’ thing and I aim to please. I put her legs back down on the bed and I attack her pumped nipples, licking and gently biting. My hand is firmly massaging her inner thighs, then I have two fingers going up and down her labia lips. As her nipples fatten and get even harder she gets even wetter. I take my time, no hurry, but I finally stick first one finger and then two inside her cunt and work her special spot; I know exactly where it is. Her moans become louder and more intense. She tells me to go faster. I can almost time it, her first orgasm hits her a few minutes later and she makes some serious noise. Yes boys and girls, Batgirl is a real screamer; who would have figured. By this time I’m ready to fuck her again, so I turn her on her stomach and put her on her hands and knees. With the tampon still in her ass I enter her cunt from behind. I also reach down, grab her tits and pump away. I love doggie style and I especially like to watch us doing it in the mirror. That orgasm is the best one of the night for both of us, that is if you can measure that sort of thing.

         It’s not over yet. Yeah, I can go a third time; I’m young, remember. To get me hard again, Bats starts dancing for me. I sit on the edge of the bed happy at watching my own personal nude show. Her body gracefully moves around the room. She’s had training in gymnastics, martial arts and yoga, so she knows how to move her body well. It’s not just classical and modern dance, she goes out of her way to shake her hard ass and swinging her tits. On the rare occasions Hunty comes over for an orgy, Bats will frequently dance with her for my viewing pleasure. They get very friendly in these dances, if you know what I mean. She turns her back to me and bends at the waist, keeping her knees straight, so her ass smiles; I marvel at her flexibility. She finishes by giving me a lap dance. She once told me she use to fantasied about what it would be like being a cheap tramp in one of those strip club. Now, with me, she can play out that fantasy for real. Oh yeah, all that get me hard again and she goes from lap dance to impaling herself on my cock, just like Cats did the other night. Before she starts pumping, she push my upper body down on the bed. Bats likes to be on top almost as much as getting it in the ass. It’s something she has in common with Hunty and Cats. I figured they like it because it lets them maneuver my cock to hit their favorite spots. Hunty frequently passes out during hot sex. The closes Bats ever comes to passing out is when she’s on top. In fact, a couple of times she actually did. She really gets in to it. The next orgasm hits us both a few minutes later and she collapses on top of me.

         When it’s over we lay in bed together, both covered in sweat. Her head resting on my chest, slowly running her nails over my stomach.

         “I needed that,” she moans. “Helena once told me we don’t lead normal lives so why should our love lives be normal. I think she’s right, but sometimes it does bother me having to share you with her and that bitch Selena.”

         I thought about it for a minute. “It works both ways,” I answered. “It bothers me that someday some asshole might put a bullet in your head. You’re not going to quit being Batgirl because I feel like that, are you?”

         “No, I guess this is not an easy relationship for either of us.” She changes the subject. “Any luck tracing the money?”

         I smile. “I don’t need luck to follow a money trail. I’m sure I located all of Joker’s hideouts in Gotham City. I downloaded the list on your PDA.”

         “Thank you. I’ll start checking them out tomorrow.”

         “I don’t get it. Batman put Joker in Arkam three months ago, what’s it matter where his hideouts are?”

         “Someone else is using them, I’m sure it’s Harley Quinn. My sources tell me she’s planning something big. If she’s using one of Joker’s hideouts I’ll bug the place and find out what she’s up to.”

         Bats reaches for the side table, opens the draw and pulls out an envelope. “This came for you today. It’s from the Wayne Foundation.”

         I open the envelope as she looks over my shoulder.

          “Looks like you’re invited to their annual scholarship luncheon next week,” she says.

          “That’s strange, why did they invite me?”

         “What do you mean? You are attending on their scholarship. Why shouldn’t they invite you?”

         “They throw this party for the people who are graduating. I’m don’t graduating for another two year.”

         Bats smiles. “Maybe they’re so impress with your outstanding academic record they just want to honor you. Wayne’s no fool, he knows talent when he sees it. I think he just wants to get the first shot at recruiting you for Wayne Industries before all the other companies line up to kiss your ass.”

         “Yeah, but this is bad. It’s a suit and tie affair. I don’t own a suit or tie. I don’t even know how to tie a tie.”

         Bats laughs for several minutes. “Don’t worry, anyone who can ace courses like advance network security and differential equations with linear algebra can learn how to tie a tie. I’ll take you shopping for a suit. In fact, I think Helena will probably like to come along. By the time we’re done you’ll look so sharp, every woman at that luncheon will immediately drop to their knees and worshiping your loins.”

         “As well they should.”

The following week.

         The Wayne Foundation annual scholarship luncheon is held at the Gotham Four Seasons. They spent money; it’s a lavish affair. It wasn’t a sit down lunch, more like a buffet, a nice one. They have a steamship round of prime rib, turkey carving stations, seafood table, ice cravings, even a Viennese table. The only thing missing was an open bar. No liquor served, not even wine or beer. They have a cocktail hour before we go in to the main ballroom, only there are no cocktails. Real strange. I’m standing around in my new suit alone, I don’t know anyone. The only thing I told Bats and Hunty is no brown, I don’t like brown. So they dressed me in this dark blue double breasted with a red silk tie and black leather shoes. Why are the women in a man’s life always trying to make him over? I’ll never figure that out. It must come from playing with dolls when they were kids. I got to admit, I do look good. Anyway, I hanging out waiting when he approaches me with his hand out.

         “Bruce Wayne,” he says.

        I instantly disliked him; he’s everything I’m not; tall, broad shoulder, athletic, ruggedly handsome. Me, I’m just tall and maybe a little cute. He’s wearing a suit that probably cost enough to feed a family of four for the better part of a decade, his shoes look like they cost even more and his watch went with the look, a lot of high tech and precious metal. I think I don’t like him because in a way he reminds me of my father. He was also a hot shot athlete in school and always treated me like shit because I wasn’t. Of course, at his age, my father is not as well built as he use to be and he’s developed a hanging gut. Mr. Wayne has no hanging gut, his is flat and solid. What’s more Mr. Wayne is strong, too strong. My hand is going numb shaking his and he’s dragging it out, the pain is almost unbearable. I’m fighting to keep from showing it and maintain a pleasant look on my face. When he finally lets go I quickly move my hand behind my back and desperately wiggle my fingers, trying to get some feeling back.

         “I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Parkin,” he says. “Very impressive.”

         “Thank you. Call me Riley, everyone else does. I was surprised to get an invite, I thought this was just for graduating seniors.”

         “I wanted to meet you. I’ve always been fascinated by high achievers, what they’re about, what makes them tick. You must put a lot of work in to your studies.”

         “I’m fascinated with what I’m learning, so it’s not so hard.”

         “I understand you also have a side job selling computers and electronics? You study and sell it?”

         “Hey, you find what you like and stick with it.”

         “Do you ever take anytime off, have some fun, hobbies? You know what they say, all work and no play, especially for someone as young as you, not a good thing.”

         I shrugged. “I take it where I can get it.”

         “You’re not in a dorm. Are you still living at home?”

         “Yeah, it’s convenient and cheap,” I smiled.

         “Funny, your mailing address is different.”

         All of a sudden this was starting to feel like an interrogation.

         “You know how it is.”

         “Girlfriend?”

         “Like I said, I take it where I can get it.”

         “Anyone special?”

         “Aren’t they all special?”

         He didn’t smile, he doesn’t find me amusing. I hate the serious ones.

         “What are your plans after you graduate?”

          “I’ve heard from MIT and Stanford about their graduated programs, but I’ m thinking of getting some work experience first.”

         “Has Lex Luthor made you an offer?”

         “Excuse me?”

         “You do know who Lex Luthor is?”

         “Yes, I read CNN.com, but I’ve never met him.”

         “Are you sure? When he goes after someone he usually likes to get an inside edge, something that will put him ahead of the competition and take them by surprise.”

         I stared at him for a second. This was strange on so many levels. Before coming here today I went on line to find out everything I could about Bruce Wayne. The articles all said he’s a playboy and a sportsman. They made him sound like some happy go lucky asshole who just hangs around, always having a good time, but that’s not the man in front of me now. His attitude, expression, general demeanor and just the feeling he gives out, all remind me of an old Cheryl Crow song. You know, the one where she’s in a bar with some guy named Bill and she’s wondering if he’s ever had a day of fun in his life. That’s what I’m wondering about Mr. Wayne. Has he ever had a day of fun in his life? It wasn’t just his seriousness, there was something so dark about him. I suddenly felt this was the last man in the world that I’d want to find myself in a dark alley with. He’s intimating.

         “I’m sure,” I answered.

         “That’s so unlike him, but I suppose Luthor probably has other things on his mind. He recently won a big contract in the Persian Gulf.”

         “Really? I hadn’t heard.”

         “Yes, the rumors are already circulating. They say he knew the competition’s bid beforehand.”

         “They? Sounds like ‘they’ are making excuses. You know ‘they’ always have to blame someone; it’s never their fault.”

         His stare is intense. “Yes, I suppose you’re right,” he answers. “Well, you must excuse me. I must see to my other guests.”

         I smiled and nodded as he walks away. What the hell was that all about? Does he know something? No, if he knows, and could prove it, he’d come out and say it, none of this hinting. I’d be under arrest or at very least lose my scholarship. The feds would be all over me, trying to get me to confess. No, he doesn’t know, but he suspects. How does he suspect? Where did I screw up or maybe it wasn’t me? Cats might have messed up somehow.

         All right, no point in getting jacked up over this. Right now there’s nothing to do but play it cool. I’m in a nice, pleasant party, so I’ll just relax and enjoy myself. In a way this is cool, it’s exciting. There’s this feeling in the pit of my gut, electric nerves, like something dangerous is going to happen and as weird as it sounds, I like it.

         We’re invited in to the dinning room. I pick a table with five other students, a mix bunch. I go through the line and fill my plate. I’m not a big eater, so I just get a little bit of each item and go back to my table. By this time my paranoia is kicking in. I keep glancing at Wayne to see what he’s doing. I’m also looking around to see if maybe the cops or feds are standing by the doors. No cops, no feds, but I do notice two people in particular hanging around. They’re not with each others and they stand out. Aside from Wayne, the lady who’s in charge of the scholarship program and the waiters, these two are the only other people in the room who look like they’re older than twenty-two. They’re both Caucasian and in their mid to late twenties. He’s well built, well groomed and dress almost as well as Mr. Wayne, in fact, he looks a like a younger version of Bruce Wayne. She’s easy to look at, she’s gorgeous. She reminds me of that wrestler Stacey Kiebler. She has that kind of body, tall, lean but with fantastic curves, long well shaped legs that I’d love to have wrapped around me, silky blond hair cut shoulder length and a beautiful face with killer blue eyes. She’s wearing a business suit with a tight skirt that ended just above her knees and black pumps. They’re both just standing around watching. They not socializing and but do occasionally whisper something in Wayne’s ear. Who are they; Wayne’s security or entourage? Maybe it is my paranoia because I think they’re watching me. They’re not obvious about it, but they are doing it.

         The five other people at my table are all talking about the same bullshit; which professor they like and which they hate, what courses are good and which ones are a waste of time, what companies they’re interviewing with and of course, what grad school they’re going to. They’re ignoring me, or maybe I’m just ignoring them. They don’t talk about anything else, no movies, music, nothing except school and which company has the best compensation package. It’s almost like the only thing that defines them is what their majoring in and what their career goals are. Is this the way people see me? The girl sitting to my left smiles and gives me the look. I smile back but I’m not interested. Compare to the three women I’m fucking, she not in the same league. At least the food’s good.

         At around two the party starts to breaks up. After eating there wasn’t much for me to do, so I’m happy to split. Mr Wayne is standing by the door saying goodbye to everyone as they leave. I get on line, dreading having to shake his hand again, but I don’t have a choice. We shake hands and again he’s crushing mine. I may not be able to use my right hand for a week after today.

         “I hope you enjoyed yourself,” he tells me. “Next year you might just be the guest of honor. That is if you don’t get sidetrack and stumble along the way.”

         “I’ll look forward to it and I’m not concern about getting sidetrack. I’m very focused.”

         “One more question, if you don’t mind. How much does money motivate you?”

         “It’s not number one, but it’s near the top.”

         “You should be careful, money makes people to do stupid things. There are more important things in life.”

         I look at him for a second. “It’s interesting that the people who always saying that are the ones that have the most money.”

         “That’s because we’re the only ones who have enough of it to know.”

         “Really? Well, Mr. Wayne you have more experience in these matters then I do, but I still have to disagree. It’s the lack of money that makes people do stupid things and while there maybe more important things than money, not having any will definitely focus your attention very fast. Thank you for a nice lunch.”

         That was that, strange afternoon, but like I said, the lobster tails and prime rib were good. I go back to Bats’ place. I hang the suit and throw the shirt and tie in laundry bin. I put on a pair of jeans, tee shirt and Nikes. This is so much more comfortable. I sit on the bed and try to figure all this out. Wayne suspects something, so what do I do, run for cover or play it out. Think it through Riley, what’s he trying to do? That’s easy, he’s trying to rattle me. When someone tries to rattle you it’s because they want you to panic and make a mistake. That’s not so bad. If he’s trying to rattle me, that means he’s got no proof and he needs me to screw up and give him something to hang me with. So, I do nothing. Just play it cool and go about my business. Sooner or later he either has to give it up or up the ante and try to rattle me some more. If I can get him to do that sooner or later he’ll make a mistake and give me an opening and one opening is all I need. Hey, when it’s all said and done, it’s the game that make life so much fun.

         Bats won’t be home until seven. I’m off today because of the luncheon and the semester has ended, so nothing to study. I feel like some fun so I head for the student union building on campus. I enter the gaming room and challenge this guy to a game of Madden Football. He takes the Indianapolis Colts and my team is the Pittsburgh Steelers....excuse me...my team is,

The World Champion Pittsburgh Steelers

         That’s better. We have a nice shootout. With a minutes, twelve left to play I’m ahead twenty eight to twenty one, but he’s driving and gets to my forty-eight yard line. On the next play I send Clark Haggans on a blitz and he sacks Peyton Manning forcing him to fumble. Chris Hope, also on a blitz, scoops up the ball and runs it back for a touchdown. Even in a computer game the Colt’s offensive line can’t protect Manning from the Steeler blitz.

         I walk out feeling good. It’s almost six-thirty. I head to my truck in the parking lot. By this time, the summer classes have ended and the parking lot is deserted. Then I noticed her. She standing there between me and my truck, blocking my way. It’s the same blond I saw at the luncheon, only she’s dressed differently. She’s wearing a short black jacket over a black body suit which shows off her curves nicely, black thread boots and get this, fishnet stockings. Didn’t fishnets go out sometime in the early seventies? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining, her legs look good in them. There’s a bird shape engraving on her zipper handle and on her utility belt buckle . I know a lot about utility belts, I helped upgrade both Bat’s and Hunty’s. This bitch wore her’s loose, hanging down on her hips. That bird symbol is also the shape of her earrings. Earrings? She’s wearing earrings? How stupid is that? In a fight someone could grab you by them and that would be bad. I’d never let Bats, Hunty or Cats wear earing when their in costume. What’s really odd is she’s not wearing a mask. How do you keep your identity secret without a mask? She staring at me with a nasty look on her face. I get the definite impression she’s not here to make my wildest dreams come true.

         “You know, if you wanted to hit on me you didn’t have to wait, you could have done it at the party, but I’m glad to see you dressed for the occasion.”

         She doesn’t respond, just stands there staring at me. I decide this is a stare down. First one to blink loses. I have no problem staring at her luscious body. I guess she doesn’t like it because she finally breaks the silence.

         “What game are you playing?” she demands.

         “Today? Madden Football. I’ll play you, if you want, but I refuse to be any team that runs a west coast offense. Hey, now that you mention it, there is a way to play Madden strip football. I can show you how.”

         She stood there for a minute glaring at me with serious anger in her eyes. Then she closes the distance between us, brings her face to less then an inch from mine.

         “I know what you’re doing to Batgirl and Huntress, you little pervert, and I’m here to stop it.”

         “What am I doing?”

         “Don’t play stupid with me. I watched you spend nights at their places so don’t insult my intelligence by denying it.”

         “You sound jealous. Seeing as we’re close enough to fuck, shouldn’t we be formally introduced. Who are you?”

         “I’m the Black Canary.”

         I can’t suppress the smile, I find it too funny. I thought naming yourself after a bat is stupid, now this bimbo is calling herself a canary? How ridicules is that?

         “You laughing at me?” She asks. “Perhaps, you care to tell me what you find so amusing?”

         “I’m trying to picture the bad guys being terrorized by a vicious canary,” I broke out laughing. “You named yourself after a little bird who sits in a cage all day singing. Yeah, that will really strike fear in to the hearts of evil doers everywhere. Look out, the canary is chasing us, run for your lives.”

         “Oh, so you think my name is funny?”

         “What’s the matter babe, all the good names already taken?”

         “Well, allow me to show you why I took this name.”

         She turns around, looks at my truck and takes a deep breath. She fills her lung up, making her chest look even more impressive, then opens her mouth and let a scream out. It grows loud fast, my hands shoot up to cover my ears. Even with that it only helped a little. The decibel level is extraordinary. My eyes began to water and I feel a headache coming on. That’s nothing compare to what it’s doing to my truck. All the windows first cracked, then completely shattered, as do my side and rear view mirrors. All the lights blow apart too. All four tires go flat and the hubcaps all popped off. The muffler dropped to the ground, followed by the entire exhaust pipe. That’s when she stops.

         She turn back at me and smiled. My ears are buzzing, but I still hear her say “You still think my name is funny? I’m warning you, stay away from Batgirl and Huntress or I’ll be back.”

         She then walks over to this motorcycle several yards away, a Suzuki Hayabusa 1300 Limited, puts on a slick helmet, mounts up, revs it up and tears away.

         I’m pissed. If I could I would have stomped on that bitches face and broken her neck. That fucking, cunt sucking, bitch! Look what she did to my truck! Who the fuck does she think she is? You don’t fuck with a man’s wheels! I haven’t felt this pissed off since last year when I thought Bats was going to destroy my life. Black Canary is going to pay, pay right through her ass, with interest. I’m shaking, that’s how fucking angry I am. It takes almost five minutes for me to cool off. I finally take three deep breaths and let them out slowly. I stand there staring at my poor truck. That truck means a lot to me, it’s my first set of wheels and you never forget the first one. That fucking bitch, she thinks she can push me around, thinks she can jam me up. I’ll show her, by the time I’m done with her she’ll be kissing and licking my ass like she’s been doing it all her life.

         At a time like this I can take comfort from that great twentieth century philosopher and deep thinker, Bugs Bunny, when he uttered those immortal word: ‘You know, of course, this means war’.

TO BE CONTINUED