The "Monkeyshines" Case - Entry 6

I managed to escape my encounter with Bernice Sheppenwastein without injury and only a vague feeling of nausea; my conscience hadn’t worked for a long time, instead replaced by an all-too-strong gag-reflex and the constant need for validation...but those facts were neither here nor there. The encounter with this new client had left me unnerved & doubting my own perceptions: Was she really growing as she was talking to me? Getting bigger? The implications of that possibility were outrageous, and far beyond my scope as a lowly Detective...though what I knew for certain was that if I didn’t get this case going in a timely fashion, I was going to have to answer to that hulking-mass of Bernice, the outcome of which remained not at all enviable.

I stopped in at my home for an infrequently-brewed pot of Rwandan Chim-Chim Chigger coffee, as that was the head-clearing blend, and proceeded to the office, where I had some anagram-solving, and revenge-planning, to attend to; Randy had been a thorn in my side for too long, and with his constant jacking-off & various applications of poor-judgment misinformation to long-suffering clients, I had to resolve this situation quickly. I was hand-cuffed by the fact that I couldn’t just fire him; that shock would be tantamount to jamming a tail-pipe in his mouth myself, as Randy was desperately unemployable...no, I would have to resort to a drawn-out, psychologically-taxing spirit-breaking, treating him to the punishments befitting an unwieldy horse.

I pulled into the office parking lot and, for the first time, I perused the anagrams of the lost Sheppenwastein-sibling, and one immediately stood out: Hominy...Tennessee Violins, OK? This was a test of wills, to be sure, and I wasn’t about to let a stinking videographer outwit me. Not with a head full of African java, not ever.

Entry 7