I don’t have much time to chat. Coast Guard officers are currently making a mockery of the Fourth Amendment by scouring my yacht, the Donkey Punch, with a fine-toothed comb, and I’ve barricaded myself in my cabin until my attorneys can arrive.
They might be awhile, though; the Punch is drifting a mile or so offshore, and I’m not entirely sure of our exact location. All the OxyContin, Viagra, Old Fashioneds, and call girls I consumed earlier probably aren’t helping, either.
Not that I literally consumed any hookers. Two of them are missing, along with the yacht’s captain, but I assure you I had nothing to do with it. Nor was I involved with the sinking of a charter fishing boat a few hours ago. Just because the Donkey Punch has cannons doesn’t mean I go around using them, after all. Frankly, I’m offended by your accusatory tone.
Curses. I think I just heard one of the Coast Guarders say something about taking an axe to my door, so I suppose I should wrap this up. I doubt there will be any further updates today given my circumstances, but I’ll try to let you know how it all turns out tomorrow. Toot toot.