Farouq Moneyshaw had a problem. See, he had a thing in a box, he thought hidden, but everyone knew about it. Over the years, he had dropped stupid hints about it, until at last, he was released from his sandwich chicken prep job, "released from contractual obligations", and his moneycheck was in the sands of time.
Just deboning chicken, you know, but somebody at his workstation had did something unsavory and scrawled "GO HOME YE RICH FUKKER", and there he was, having a moment of clarity, smelling the ammonia and chicken blood, a drumstick in his hand and a stupid look on his face.
They called her "Garrison" Blair, because she would supposedly do a whole platoon if left her own devices, insatiable, that one.
Would she want the box and its precious contents?
She massaged his groin and he backed away, as she was saying, "I want that fat monies-check." She put her cheek against his foot.
Her face cheek. Jowl.
And whammo, he had back-stepped into the street and a bus got him.
That was gonna be a Final Destination movie, but the action was so slow. "What's in the box? What's in the box?" Lol.
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