Max, you are a dick head.
This isn't a setup.
They want to kill us.
If I don't act fast, we will both be killed.
I had eaten baked beans last night.
I had a lighter in my pocket.
I undid the rope tied around my arms, yes I had watched that Youtube video out of boredom and knew it would come in handy.
That bitch had a knife.
She was going to cut off Max's balls.
Vlad wasn't a barman.
He was Kremlin, to the bone.
He even had a KGB tattoo on the back of his neck.
'And once I'm done cutting off Max's balls,' said the Russian vixen, 'yours are next.'
Not on my shift.
First I let off a silent fart, easing into it.
Mustard gas stinks, my farts, when high on the fermentation cycle, are just caustic.
'No, don't cut off my balls,' yelled Max.
He never lost his cool.
I winked at him.
At least they had the courtesy to take off the bag from his head.
Then I conjured up all the gases deep in my bowels, at the same time, dropped my pants, lit the lighter and directed the fart both at Vlad and the vixen.
Escape was easy after that little explosion.
'But my hair, why did you fucking singe my fucking hair.'
Get over it, Max, I said, over a celebration drink on the Oriental Express that would make it ways to Moscow in seven days.
My farts are intoxicating.
That vixen wanted to fuck me there and then.
I handed her my card and said if she ever wanted to reform, to call me.
This isn't a setup.
They want to kill us.
If I don't act fast, we will both be killed.
I had eaten baked beans last night.
I had a lighter in my pocket.
I undid the rope tied around my arms, yes I had watched that Youtube video out of boredom and knew it would come in handy.
That bitch had a knife.
She was going to cut off Max's balls.
Vlad wasn't a barman.
He was Kremlin, to the bone.
He even had a KGB tattoo on the back of his neck.
'And once I'm done cutting off Max's balls,' said the Russian vixen, 'yours are next.'
Not on my shift.
First I let off a silent fart, easing into it.
Mustard gas stinks, my farts, when high on the fermentation cycle, are just caustic.
'No, don't cut off my balls,' yelled Max.
He never lost his cool.
I winked at him.
At least they had the courtesy to take off the bag from his head.
Then I conjured up all the gases deep in my bowels, at the same time, dropped my pants, lit the lighter and directed the fart both at Vlad and the vixen.
Escape was easy after that little explosion.
'But my hair, why did you fucking singe my fucking hair.'
Get over it, Max, I said, over a celebration drink on the Oriental Express that would make it ways to Moscow in seven days.
My farts are intoxicating.
That vixen wanted to fuck me there and then.
I handed her my card and said if she ever wanted to reform, to call me.
