"Excuse me, Mr. Morton, but your coffee has urine in it."

It sounded like the hooker was back, and it sounded like she knew just how Mr. Morton liked his coffee.

"Where am I?"

"Exactly where youve been for the last 6 weeks, Mr. Morton. my name is Mr. Shaw, and I need to ask you a few questions about the little accident we had this morning. The one with the blunt object."

"I have no idea what you're talking about." Mr. Morton began sucking in his mouth, collecting saliva. Preparing to show this filthy whore how he really felt about her.

"Dad, Jesus Christ, you killed a man! This is no time to play these fucking games!" There was another person in the room, aparently. Mr. Morton racked his impressive mind, but couldn't match a face to the strange voice. He concluded that this new person was someone he'd never met before. Unless...

"And also, as I said earlier, Mr. Morton, there's urine in your coffee. When you need to go, please use the bed pan. And if you have no other choice and have to use the mug, just call the nurse to get rid of it. For God's sake, don't keep drinking it."

The whore snatched the mug off the nightstand with her diseased claw of a hand. Mr. Morton saw his chance.

In a blur of action he slung his hand across his body and landed a direct hit. The fork settled into the whore's face, nestled neatly between her eyeboll and her orbital bone. She made a lot of noise, and the stranger on the other side of the room scrambled out the door in a terror. Suddenly Mr. Morton remembered all the spit in his mouth and attempted to lay one on the whore for good measure. The loogie just narrowly escaped his lips as he spat, landing on his own chin and oozing down his neck. He grunted.

REVIEW
Bill Clinton
4 Stars (Out of 5)

one hell of a mayor, huh? plus, he wrote atomic dog. er, i mean, the DOMA. or if he didnt write it, he passed it. or whatever. vetoed. something.