We were somewhere,
That much was true, although we couldn’t exactly say… Only the speed cameras knew, they knew exactly where we were.
It had been the kind of journey where you could have been driving round with a dead hooker in the trunk, or a shotgun wrapped in old carpet. This time however, it was a box of lead piping for colonel mustard in the drawing room. He’d had me driving all day, and we really hadn’t thought this through at all. And we knew it.
I had feeling that the lesbians were involved. They had been behind the teaspoon racket all along. It had been them!
And all of a sudden, the road was filled with twats. Flashing their lights and taking their hands off the wheel.
I muttered something, but it wasn’t my own words.
“We can’t stop here, this is twat country”
Apologies to the late Hunter S. Thompson.
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