Skyblaster III: Clouds Of Joy And Terror
film
Cinematic Suppositories
Pink Noire
Tepid need be the shamus. Know why they say that? Because the turds that live in the city only to make life stink don’t care about you or anyone and if some gumshoe is gonna put their rumpled lives on the line to see that them that stink get stunk out and scraped off the sidewalk, well, let’s just say feelings can’t see no part of it. That’s why us private dicks carry guns and flasks. They’re both a kinda medicine against death and cynicism in no particular order. Whiskey and lead are the only two assholes you’ll ever meet that never lie: one’ll get you high the other dead. Now you tell me which one does which. And I’ll tell you you’re stupid and wrong. Because it’s the other way around. Believe me I know, I’ve been shot as many times as I’ve been drunk and I’m as tight as a squirrel’s anus right this very second. Also I’m writing this banger of a note to self from a hospital bed trying my hell best to get my mind of the pain of the thirty-eight caliber sized hole in my side. Christmas Christ, I need a drink. Wouldn’t of been so bad if I didn’t go against my goddamn thesis statement and go off with a hotheaded high hat on some manure flavoured city dweller with a sharp tongue and a quick draw. So here I am. And like I said, I need a drink.
To probably be continued…
the Leather Douche 