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Yeah, they call me Woody Woodpecker. I don't know if it's the laff--ha-ha-ha-HA-ha--or the whaling accident. Another Tequila Fizz, baby? No? You're leaving? At least I got her number, 1234. It's one of the new short numbers. She hasn't answered yet. Luckily she'd left a clew on the barstool, some fecal matter. I sniffed the stool, bloodhound-like, and it smelled faintly of Mahi-Mahi. "Stop killing the dolphins, bitch," I said. Color me Green, the whaling accident had changed me somehow.
Date Written: May 19, 2008
Author: Master Bates