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Trickery is reserved for those who don’t have the capacity to make my life miserable, as you well know.”
You’ll need answers to the puzzle you’ve laid. To seek such, refer to all things from your favorite decade.
“That’s a completely inappropriate, personal question, and I’m so glad you asked,”
I need a drink. Or an orgasm. Or both.
I’m constantly dealing with taco blocko?” I counter, leaving him with the same debacle of deciding to do the math or presuming the question to be rhetorical. “Taco blocko?” he groans. “Beaver dammed?” I amend. He blinks at me. “Twat swatted?” I suggest when the other two seem to puzzle him. He just glares at me when he realizes I could do this all day. “Clam jammed…” I let the words trail off and decide to stop when he starts looking slightly murderous.
“Rafael,” Lucifer tells me, watching for…some spark of recognition, I’m sure. “The only Rafael I know is green, wears a pointless red mask on his eyes, and is a hero in a half shell,” I ramble,
“You fucking told her that shit?” Kai growls. Aww. His angry scowl makes him my favorite. Then again, the bar is set pretty low right now.
“I vote we let her heal and start setting fires of our own for a change. Fuck them. Fuck this. Fuck the fucking balance or what-the-hell-ever is going on right now.”
“Just so we’re clear…we’re going to walk in, fuck shit up, and walk out like the evil bosses we are, right?”
“I’m the one with a crown,” I remind him. “No…you’re the one with a lower back tattoo,” Ezekiel drawls.
It’s like howler monkeys crawled up a gorilla’s ass and had a dinosaur baby that fucked a radioactive Godzilla…and had an even worse baby. If any of that makes sense.
