it? Is it really? Is it? Could it be? Could it? Could it really? Could it? Is he the one? Is he? Is he really? Is he? Am I the one for him? Am I? Am I really? Am I? Are Gunn and I a pair of star-crossed lovers in a dusty room covered with shattered Hummel figurines and the cremated remains of his mother, his most recent lover who I killed still somewhat warm and rotting in her grave?
Johnny thought he heard organ music. He felt the beginnings of an interesting turn of events.
He actually felt sleepy, but he kept on writing.
But why would Thais kill Cat? Johnny had no idea, so he let his character do some thinking for him:
Why did I kill her? Thais thought. Why? Why? Why would I kill Cat Mann? Why? Why? What possible motive could I have had? What? What? Why aren’t I thinking this all out loud with him in the room as they do on soap operas, which is so cheesy and retarded, I mean, who walks around telling their business to the world out loud? I mean, besides people standing in line on freaking cell phones talking loud enough to implode eardrums, then when they think you’re eavesdropping, they say something like, “Mind your own freaking business!” And you’re like, okay, wench, stop talking because you’re making your business everybody’s business, and no one gives a crap about Deron and how he done you wrong and if that skank keep comin’ on to him you gonna straighten dat—
“ Mama!” Gunn cried again. “Mama!”
So why did I kill Cat? Thais thought. Why? I could say that I hate cats. That’s it. I hate cats, her name was Cat, thus her death. Very, very logical. It’s not the truth, of course, but if they ever catch me, I’ll plead insanity and they’ll send me to a psychiatric hospital to inhale happy pills and allow me to help the FBI solve similar crimes. I’d like that a lot since I need a quiet place to keep all my secrets in one place. I mean, it’s a really big secret about how Cat and I were sisters in Slovenia a long time ago and how I sold her to the circus once.
“ Eureka!” Johnny cried as the man upstairs repositioned himself in his bathtub. “Oh no! Here comes the trombone …”
Blat.
“ Eww,” Johnny whispered, “he must eat a lot of chili.” He looked at the mice. “Just be glad that heat rises.”
What would Gunn do, Thais continued to think for a long freaking time, if he knew that I was actually Scorpion’s sister coming from Slovenia to America via Brazil to wreak havoc with my sexy heels and my very big police-issue gun? He’d probably kill me. I guess I had better not tell him that. What would Gunn say if he knew he had been hot for both sisters of his mortal enemy? He’d probably think some pretty vile thoughts, and then he’d probably wait until I vacuumed up his mother before he killed me in a senselessly violent manner.
“ Mama!” Gunn cried for the fifth freaking time. “Mama!”
I left no physical evidence, Thais continued to think, evidently, because I am an international terrorist and I watch CSI and Forensic Files all the time. I will never commit crimes in Miami, New York, or Las Vegas. The CSI techs in those cities are good, and they solve every crime in less than an hour if you ignore all the commercials, which I always do except for commercials that have clowns in them. Don’t ask me why. Clowns are good sales people. But why does the detective in Miami always stand sideways when he talks to a suspect? That would tick me off. I’d say, “Yo, over here, redheaded detective.” But here I am …
“ Mama!” Gunn cried for the umpteenth time. “Mama!”
Yes, here I am, Thais thought yet again, getting my thoughts interrupted by a manly man yelling “Mama!” like Marlon Brando yelled “Stella!” over and over until I just couldn’t stand it anymore. “Answer him, wench!!” I wanted to yell, but I knew she couldn’t hear me since it was an old movie and I know that movie people can’t really hear me. I am, after all, a UVA graduate
Johnny thought he heard organ music. He felt the beginnings of an interesting turn of events.
He actually felt sleepy, but he kept on writing.
But why would Thais kill Cat? Johnny had no idea, so he let his character do some thinking for him:
Why did I kill her? Thais thought. Why? Why? Why would I kill Cat Mann? Why? Why? What possible motive could I have had? What? What? Why aren’t I thinking this all out loud with him in the room as they do on soap operas, which is so cheesy and retarded, I mean, who walks around telling their business to the world out loud? I mean, besides people standing in line on freaking cell phones talking loud enough to implode eardrums, then when they think you’re eavesdropping, they say something like, “Mind your own freaking business!” And you’re like, okay, wench, stop talking because you’re making your business everybody’s business, and no one gives a crap about Deron and how he done you wrong and if that skank keep comin’ on to him you gonna straighten dat—
“ Mama!” Gunn cried again. “Mama!”
So why did I kill Cat? Thais thought. Why? I could say that I hate cats. That’s it. I hate cats, her name was Cat, thus her death. Very, very logical. It’s not the truth, of course, but if they ever catch me, I’ll plead insanity and they’ll send me to a psychiatric hospital to inhale happy pills and allow me to help the FBI solve similar crimes. I’d like that a lot since I need a quiet place to keep all my secrets in one place. I mean, it’s a really big secret about how Cat and I were sisters in Slovenia a long time ago and how I sold her to the circus once.
“ Eureka!” Johnny cried as the man upstairs repositioned himself in his bathtub. “Oh no! Here comes the trombone …”
Blat.
“ Eww,” Johnny whispered, “he must eat a lot of chili.” He looked at the mice. “Just be glad that heat rises.”
What would Gunn do, Thais continued to think for a long freaking time, if he knew that I was actually Scorpion’s sister coming from Slovenia to America via Brazil to wreak havoc with my sexy heels and my very big police-issue gun? He’d probably kill me. I guess I had better not tell him that. What would Gunn say if he knew he had been hot for both sisters of his mortal enemy? He’d probably think some pretty vile thoughts, and then he’d probably wait until I vacuumed up his mother before he killed me in a senselessly violent manner.
“ Mama!” Gunn cried for the fifth freaking time. “Mama!”
I left no physical evidence, Thais continued to think, evidently, because I am an international terrorist and I watch CSI and Forensic Files all the time. I will never commit crimes in Miami, New York, or Las Vegas. The CSI techs in those cities are good, and they solve every crime in less than an hour if you ignore all the commercials, which I always do except for commercials that have clowns in them. Don’t ask me why. Clowns are good sales people. But why does the detective in Miami always stand sideways when he talks to a suspect? That would tick me off. I’d say, “Yo, over here, redheaded detective.” But here I am …
“ Mama!” Gunn cried for the umpteenth time. “Mama!”
Yes, here I am, Thais thought yet again, getting my thoughts interrupted by a manly man yelling “Mama!” like Marlon Brando yelled “Stella!” over and over until I just couldn’t stand it anymore. “Answer him, wench!!” I wanted to yell, but I knew she couldn’t hear me since it was an old movie and I know that movie people can’t really hear me. I am, after all, a UVA graduate
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