I prodded Max in his love handles.
'Look behind me, don't make it fucking obvious, it's those bozos who were at the Rocket Man summit in Hanoi.'
Max made it obvious as possible.
He feared nothing.
He knew more than most.
On stage were about twenty contestants.
All we could smell from our front row were fanny farts, cover-up-bad- smell perfume and sweat.
I had purchased a stink bomb canister.
It smelt of rotting flesh.
Yep, you got it, that fertilizer that plants thrive on, especially roses, made from gristle and offal that the meat works provide the delicate 'flower' industry, for a very high price of course.
It reeked.
That's why I bought it.
And just as I was about to say what was coming next, Max instinctively pulled the pin on the canister. It not only released noxious gas, but it also secreted a green fog that floated around the four North Korean delegates we could now be sure, were to be given poison darts to shut them up forever.
It had happened before, in Kuala Lumper. It was the half brother of Rocket Man and that little bitch dressed up as a Samurai, boy if looks could kill, was sent by Rocket Man to finish the four senior North Korean officials.
Max fired one shot from his Glock into the would-be assassin. He was wearing infrared goggles.
'No, they are glasses that double up as infrared.'
We had saved the day.
The contestants kept on flexing and showing as much of their camel toe as possible while Ba Ha Men's Who Let The Dogs out contributed to the general party atmosphere of 'I'm going to get laid if I play this right.'
What a doozy, said Max, who texted someone in Langley.
'We just saved the President a lot of embarrassment,' said Max, who straightened up the assassin in her seat so no one would notice that she was dead.
There'll be no trending about it on Twitter, I said.
And before we knew it, we struck up a conversation with the North Korean delegates, who passed around a bottle of Johnny Walker.
They knew we had saved their lives and they were about to show us some gratitude.
As Tanya Chung went through her routine, obviously she was a top contender to winning the contest, Max winked and said, 'It was a tranquilizer dart I fired at this pretty thing next to me, in about twenty minutes we'll be able to interrogate her.'
Well fuck a duck, I was speechless. I hate to see so much talent end by a bullet.
'She's more than talent,' said Max,' she is no other than Miss Universe Bikini, hailing from Osaka in Japan.'
Well double fuck a duck.
Looks like me might have a rival for Suyin Wong, I speculated.
'You do indeed,' whispered Tanya Chung, who either had acute listening skills or could lip read.
She then did the splits and the Koreans applauded.
'Wait for the after party,' said Kim Ding Dong, the senior of the four delegates.
And wait we would.
And lastly, you may wonder about the sulphuric rotten flesh smell that wafted around the auditorium.
No one thought anything of it. They, like most full-blooded males (which consisted of most of the judges bar one dyke), thought it was just a gust of excessive estrogen emanating from the girls on the stage who were straining every inch of their fine muscles to get the points to win the crown of Miss Fitness China.
'Look behind me, don't make it fucking obvious, it's those bozos who were at the Rocket Man summit in Hanoi.'
Max made it obvious as possible.
He feared nothing.
He knew more than most.
On stage were about twenty contestants.
All we could smell from our front row were fanny farts, cover-up-bad- smell perfume and sweat.
I had purchased a stink bomb canister.
It smelt of rotting flesh.
Yep, you got it, that fertilizer that plants thrive on, especially roses, made from gristle and offal that the meat works provide the delicate 'flower' industry, for a very high price of course.
It reeked.
That's why I bought it.
And just as I was about to say what was coming next, Max instinctively pulled the pin on the canister. It not only released noxious gas, but it also secreted a green fog that floated around the four North Korean delegates we could now be sure, were to be given poison darts to shut them up forever.
It had happened before, in Kuala Lumper. It was the half brother of Rocket Man and that little bitch dressed up as a Samurai, boy if looks could kill, was sent by Rocket Man to finish the four senior North Korean officials.
Max fired one shot from his Glock into the would-be assassin. He was wearing infrared goggles.
'No, they are glasses that double up as infrared.'
We had saved the day.
The contestants kept on flexing and showing as much of their camel toe as possible while Ba Ha Men's Who Let The Dogs out contributed to the general party atmosphere of 'I'm going to get laid if I play this right.'
What a doozy, said Max, who texted someone in Langley.
'We just saved the President a lot of embarrassment,' said Max, who straightened up the assassin in her seat so no one would notice that she was dead.
There'll be no trending about it on Twitter, I said.
And before we knew it, we struck up a conversation with the North Korean delegates, who passed around a bottle of Johnny Walker.
They knew we had saved their lives and they were about to show us some gratitude.
As Tanya Chung went through her routine, obviously she was a top contender to winning the contest, Max winked and said, 'It was a tranquilizer dart I fired at this pretty thing next to me, in about twenty minutes we'll be able to interrogate her.'
Well fuck a duck, I was speechless. I hate to see so much talent end by a bullet.
'She's more than talent,' said Max,' she is no other than Miss Universe Bikini, hailing from Osaka in Japan.'
Well double fuck a duck.
Looks like me might have a rival for Suyin Wong, I speculated.
'You do indeed,' whispered Tanya Chung, who either had acute listening skills or could lip read.
She then did the splits and the Koreans applauded.
'Wait for the after party,' said Kim Ding Dong, the senior of the four delegates.
And wait we would.
And lastly, you may wonder about the sulphuric rotten flesh smell that wafted around the auditorium.
No one thought anything of it. They, like most full-blooded males (which consisted of most of the judges bar one dyke), thought it was just a gust of excessive estrogen emanating from the girls on the stage who were straining every inch of their fine muscles to get the points to win the crown of Miss Fitness China.
