Free At Last


“Yes? With whom am I speaking?”

“It’s me, Oz — Oswald Carver, an old friend of Ken’s.”

“Oh, Oswald, of course. How nice to hear from you.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Look, I just heard the good news. You know, about Ken’s exoneration. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Oswald. I just wish he could be here to enjoy it.”

“Well, I’m sure he’s enjoying it wherever he is. Say, on his yacht. Or a private beach in Aruba. Maybe a castle in northern Germany..?”


“Nothing, nothing. I jest.”

“Well, it was in very poor taste–”

“Yes, so it was. But hey, how are you holding up? I promised Ken I’d check in with you, you know, see how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing as well as can be expected. Yourself?”

“Oh, fine,” I said, scratching my testicles. “So listen, you maybe want to get together for sex sometime?”


“You know, sex. A little humping and a pumping? A little you lick my genitals and I lick yours? A little I say it then you do it? A little parlez-vous francais? C’mon, whaddya say?”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Oh, for christ’s sake — don’t play coy with me. We both know your husband died months ago, and that an old broad like yourself doesn’t get many chances for action. Besides, I’m only offering as a favor to Ken.”

She had a few more choice words for me, then the line went dead. That’s when Ken busted out laughing.

“Hoo-hoo-hoo! That was great, Oz — great!” he bellowed, taking another pull from what was now a half-empty bottle of scotch. “Man, I woulda loved to have seen the look on that bitch’s face! Screw you, Linda! Screw you! Poppa’s a free man, and he ain’t never coming back!”

“Yes, so, what’s next for you, Kenny Boy?” I asked, pulling two fine Cubans from the humidor on my desk. “Africa? Asia? Certainly not Antarctica?”

“Don’t worry about me, Oz,” he said, looking around furtively. “I got it all figured out, see? All figured out!”

“Good for you,” I said. “Here, have a cigar.”

He gladly accepted, then it was my turn to laugh when it exploded upon ignition. This wasn’t your run-of-the-mill novelty store exploding cigar, either. No. It blew his head clear off, turning his neck into a pulsating geyser of blood.

Fortunately, the paranoid bastard had taken to keeping his Swiss banking info on his person after faking his death a few months back. The rest, as they say, will soon be history.

Categories: Business, Dating, Drugs, Legal, Violence

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