Excellent news. My lead criminal defense attorney, Buzz Goldenrod, just called to assure me that I won’t be facing any charges over my latest dead hooker incident. Let’s just say that Buzz is close, personal friends with the county coroner, who’s positive that the autopsy will tell a sad story about a girl with a weak heart and a galaxy of dangerous — and very illegal — drugs in her system when she died.
None of which were provided by me, mind you. I only use prescription medication, and certainly not in a recreational, share-it-with-party-guests manner. Wink wink nudge nudge, eh?
Of course, this does mean that my dream weekend is shot to hell. For some reason, the other two prostitutes didn’t want to hang around after their friend died. And when I saw the third one floating in the pool, I panicked and flushed my stash of Oxys down the toilet. Oh well.
Probably for the best. I’ve already received a sizable stack of applications for my open butler position, and I should really start lining up some interviews if I don’t want to have to do any work around here. I’ll let you know how it goes.
You sure got lucky. Heh heh.
You task me, woman! If you are a woman, that is. Frankly, I’ve begun to suspect that you’re secretly LCF’s president of consumer affairs, Dick Needley, in disguise.