The missions were stacking up.
I can't say I really had much skin on skin except when the nurse put a band-aid on my thumb to cover up a scratch.
If you can call that skin contact, then that was the extent of it.
'What about the belts behind your ears?' asked Max, who whacked me hard again over my ears, with both hands, 'does that count?'
I said all this talk of missions and big tits had to stop.
'Who are we trying to kid?'
'Well, it certainly kept us entertained,' said Max.
He lived next door to Stephen King and was a Vietnam Veteran.
'Without your stories, my life can get pretty tepid,' said Max, who was going all teary eye on me.
We did most of our communication via Skype.
'But I might have an idea,' said Max, who reckoned he came into some kinda inheritance.
'I could really do with a trip,' I told him.
I was also a disabled old man on the outskirts of Perth. I couldn't even get it hard without the aid of Viagra. And what made matters worse, my fucking doctor wouldn't even prescribe me any.
'Sad days are these, no more,' said Max, who told me to check my bank account and to catch the next Delta flight to Bangor, 'fucking Maine'
Max was good like that, and after thanking him, I said apparently the food, even in economy, was pretty yummy.
'Free booze all the way,' said Max, who told me to get that 10 pm flight tonight. 'And we'll catch up for real in about 24 hours.'
Apparently, his pet puddle had died at a ripe age of 25 years.
'And I insured the fucker for 150 thousand.'
Don't know how Max does it, one thing to say about him, the best bullshit artist I've ever met besides myself.
'Keep that up and I'll really belt you behind the ears,' said Max, who told me they had a Hooters nearby his place, 'so let's get drunk on Coors and fondle some fun bags.'
As far as offers go, it was the best one I've had in a decade, I was telling a passenger sitting next to me.
'Please put your seat belts on.'
And in about ten minutes, I'll be landing.
'Good to see you cunt,' said Max, as we walked out to the airport car park.
'Just call me an ankle,' I replied, 'I'm two feet under a cunt.'
It was good to see an old friend, we had been through a lot.
'And been through nothing, until today,' said Max who handed me a vape cigarette.
'Marlboro, my favorite,' I said, happy to be back in the good old US of A. It had been over 30 decades since I was there last.
'And you'll make up for lost time,' said Max, who didn't bother driving back to his house.
And before we knew it, we were at Hooters.
'See that big rig,' said Max.
Yes, I could, it was loud.
'It means that Stephen King is inside.'
I can't say I really had much skin on skin except when the nurse put a band-aid on my thumb to cover up a scratch.
If you can call that skin contact, then that was the extent of it.
'What about the belts behind your ears?' asked Max, who whacked me hard again over my ears, with both hands, 'does that count?'
I said all this talk of missions and big tits had to stop.
'Who are we trying to kid?'
'Well, it certainly kept us entertained,' said Max.
He lived next door to Stephen King and was a Vietnam Veteran.
'Without your stories, my life can get pretty tepid,' said Max, who was going all teary eye on me.
We did most of our communication via Skype.
'But I might have an idea,' said Max, who reckoned he came into some kinda inheritance.
'I could really do with a trip,' I told him.
I was also a disabled old man on the outskirts of Perth. I couldn't even get it hard without the aid of Viagra. And what made matters worse, my fucking doctor wouldn't even prescribe me any.
'Sad days are these, no more,' said Max, who told me to check my bank account and to catch the next Delta flight to Bangor, 'fucking Maine'
Max was good like that, and after thanking him, I said apparently the food, even in economy, was pretty yummy.
'Free booze all the way,' said Max, who told me to get that 10 pm flight tonight. 'And we'll catch up for real in about 24 hours.'
Apparently, his pet puddle had died at a ripe age of 25 years.
'And I insured the fucker for 150 thousand.'
Don't know how Max does it, one thing to say about him, the best bullshit artist I've ever met besides myself.
'Keep that up and I'll really belt you behind the ears,' said Max, who told me they had a Hooters nearby his place, 'so let's get drunk on Coors and fondle some fun bags.'
As far as offers go, it was the best one I've had in a decade, I was telling a passenger sitting next to me.
'Please put your seat belts on.'
And in about ten minutes, I'll be landing.
'Good to see you cunt,' said Max, as we walked out to the airport car park.
'Just call me an ankle,' I replied, 'I'm two feet under a cunt.'
It was good to see an old friend, we had been through a lot.
'And been through nothing, until today,' said Max who handed me a vape cigarette.
'Marlboro, my favorite,' I said, happy to be back in the good old US of A. It had been over 30 decades since I was there last.
'And you'll make up for lost time,' said Max, who didn't bother driving back to his house.
And before we knew it, we were at Hooters.
'See that big rig,' said Max.
Yes, I could, it was loud.
'It means that Stephen King is inside.'
