Seconds later, the pizza delivery boy blinks in surprise to see a vaguely familiar, large-busted girl wearing Jim's clothes (which did not at all fit) answer the door. "Uhh... isn't Jim the one who usually orders the pizzas at this place?" He asked, a little confused and more than slightly distracted. "What do ya... I'm... Jim will be back in a bit," s/he says, flustered. "Okay, so that'll be twelve breasts... I mean dollars! Plus tits... no, I didn't mean that! Aaargh!" Geez, what a loser, Jim thinks, and goes to fetch some money.
On the way back, though, s/he trips, causing h/is/er shirt to rip open. "Eeep", exclaims pizza guy, and faints. "Yep, definitely loser," Jim mutters to h/im/erself, growing even more annoyed by the moment. "I didn't think that even happened in real life. Oh, well, free pizza. What the, pineapple spinach supreme? That's not what I ordered!" With h/is/er annoyance reaching a peak, s/he kicks the unconcious guy in the head. "This day is going waaay downhill. And fast."
Then Jim had a thought. An evil thought. A nasty evil thought. One more drug cocktail later, plus a call to the hospital, and three unconcious, drooling, twitching bodies were hauled off in an ambulance. "Good riddance to bad rubbish. Maybe I should get out of here, the police will be here and I don't want to deal with them. Say, why am I talking to myself?"
Wed Oct 10 00:24:08 2001