His accent was a heavy German, a long, white blood-stained coat he wore; he had the nose of Ethel Merman, his rubber gloves were soaked with gore.
My billfold held my papers which I then procured with dexterous hand. "They're not in order," he said, as an itch he scratched at, near his thyroid gland.
"They are in order!" "No, they're not," he cried, as his chainsaw he whipped out. But to ripcord-yanking ere he got, I blew away his Merman snout.
I holstered my gun as he fell to the floor. I took his chainsaw and vehemently slashed the sides of beef, from which did pour the k's of hash so cleverly stashed. ...Thank you.
