Sentence: I FEEL LIKE THE CHEESY BIRD MAN WHO ATE QUACKAMOLE
Sublime. I had been working the case for months. I had worked day and night, night and day. And it had all been a waste.
Margaret was her name. I had to find her. Oh, and I found her. But I never hoped. I never fathomed like this. The hotel room was cold. The window blinds were broken. The TV was static. And the bathroom was … unpleasant. Margaret was beautiful. Fair for her age. Fair … to the bitter, bitter end. She laid on the musty hotel bed in a pool of blood red as her lipstick.
Words couldn’t process my emotions.
I chased her through thick and thin. Remember the aviary? Ah, the aviary. Oh, Margaret, the birds nearly killed you. Maybe that would’ve been best. I was feathered in feathers and nearly fined a fortune for defiling that bald eagle.
I took her in my arms. She dripped with fresh blood. I cried a bit.
“Maggie,” I whispered. “Maggie, Maggie, Maggie. I don’t know what to say.”
Remember McDonald’s? I thought. She, Maggie that was, she attacked me there. Ha, cheese singles she threw. Like a little ninja, my little ninja. She hated me, Maggie. But I wouldn’t bother giving up. She was a wanted woman. And a delusional one. She was a thief and a … philanderer. A delusional, loose woman who happened to want a small fry the same night I wanted a Big Mac. I decided to take her in when I saw her waiting for her order.
“We have to stop meeting like this,” I said.
“You go straight to hell,” She spat.
“Only if you come with.”
“Sweetheart, we will never be walking into hell at the same time.”
Why was she right? I thought.
“What can I say? I have no words, I – I feel like the cheesy bird man who … who ate quackamole.”
A whisper, “What the hell?”
“Maggie? Maggie, are you aline?!”
She groaned, “Bitch, I might be.”