The F List Spirals Out Of Control Rapidly, Creator Feels Like Dr. Frankenstein

Even I can’t believe this shit is still going. It really did take on a Life of its fucking Own thats for sure.

For Those Brave Enough To ENDURE reading the ENTIRE LIST, Well Thats far beyond impressive. Give yourself a Cigar.

And Now Ladies&Gentlemen Here For Your Entertainment (and Possible Demise) THE FUCK LIST PART FUCKING FOUR.

!Warning: Prolonged Exposure to this Post can Cause Your Eyes To Bleed!

Fuck Fiber Glass. Fuck Dyson Vacuums. Fuck Dust Busters. Fuck Sams Club.

Fuck Early Mornings. Fuck Dude Ranches. Fuck Jackson Hole. Fuck Whip Its.

Fuck Fly Paper. Fuck Chili’s Baby Back Ribs. Fuck Laser Tag. Fuck OSI.

Fuck Flu Shots. Fuck Local Government. Fuck Bake Sales. Fuck Tube Tops.

FuckGarage Sale Early Birds. Fuck Storage Wars. Fuck Duck Dynasty.

Fuck The Lawrence Welk Show. Fuck Gift Shops. Fuck Imitators.

Fuck Couples That Sit On The Same Side Of The Table. Fuck Diamonds.

Fuck Wedding Registries. Fuck Honeymoons. Fuck No Paternal Leave.

Fuck Heavy Flow Days. Fuck Costume Jewelry. Fuck Monopolies.

Fuck Extradition Laws. Fuck Strep Throat. Fuck Tonsils. Fuck Mono.

Fuck Crotch Rot. Fuck Sweaty Balls. Fuck Heat Rash. Fuck Heat Stroke.

Fuck Pork Rinds. Fuck Jay Leno. Fuck Dr. Phil. Fuck Opera. Fuck Sea Lice.

Fuck Boy Bands. Fuck The Jonas Brothers. Fuck Jehovah Witnesses.

Fuck Clocking 60 New Artists Every Time I Listen To Spotify for 3 Hours.

The TV Show Jack Ass. Fuck Jim Verde, Fuck Office Art. Fuck Watercolor.

Fuck Waiting Room Art. Fuck Box Jellyfish. Fuck Station Wagons.

Fuck Crowds. Fuck Lines. Fuck The Band Sugar Ray. Fuck Mark McGrath.

Fuck Methadone Clinics. Fuck Chore Boy. Fuck Shitting In The Woods.

Fuck Zip Ties. Fuck Garbage Ties. Fuck Irritable Bowel Syndrome.

Fuck Bewilderment. Fuck Confusion. Fuck Do Dates. Fuck To Do Lists.

Fuck Team Building Exercises. Fuck Office Birthday Parties. Fuck IBM.

Fuck ADD. Fuck ADHD. Fuck Adult ADD. Fuck Restless Leg Syndrome.

Fuck The Price For Dentures. Fuck Fractions. Fuck Smoker’s Cough.

Fuck Mass Appeal. Fuck The General Public. Fuck Flat Beer. Fuck Luck.

Fuck Vermouth. Fuck Prim & Propper. Fuck Homecoming. Fuck Chick Peas.

Fuck Planking. Fuck Internet Challenges. Fuck Grilling Vegetables.

Fuck Stinky Cheeses. Fuck Closing The Carnegie Deli. Fuck Power Rangers.

Fuck The Jurassic Park Film Franchise. Fuck Agism. Fuck Gary Busey.

Fuck Parsly. Fuck The Today Show. Fuck Erotic Asphyxiation.

Fuck Voyers. Fuck Spies. Fuck Tear Gas. Fuck Jude Judy.

Fuck Souvenir Shot Glasses. Fuck Wearing A Band T-shirt To Their Concert.

Fuck The Drake Passage. Fuck Jimmy Fallon. Fuck Maggots. Fuck Blisters.

Fuck The TV Show Cheaters. Fuck Mosquito Bites. Fuck Hummer Limos.

Fuck Party Buses. Fuck Gift Baskets. Fuck Edible Arrangements. Fuck Frack.

Fuck Being Under Appreciated. Fuck Carpet. Fuck Pink Eye. Fuck Tumors.

Fuck Brain Surgery. Fuck Neurological Disorders. Fuck Boss Hog.

Fuck More. Fuck Less. Fuck Stubbing Your Toe. Fuck Paper Cuts. Fuck Veal.

Fuck Lift. Fuck Ocular Degeneration. Fuck Degeneration X. Fuck InfoWars.

Fuck Dorian Fruit. Fuck GM. Fuck Shitty Weed. Fuck Man Caves.

Fuck Hot Yoga. Fuck Car Shows. Fuck Treachery. Fuck Broken Ribs.

Fuck Back Problems. Fuck Electric Chainsaws. Fuck Electric Lawn Mowers.

Fuck Police Response Times. Fuck Restraining Orders. Fuck Hiccups.

Fuck Inflation. Fuck Exchange Rates. Fuck Currency. Fuck Auto Pay.

Fuck The Gold Standard. Fuck Mixed Nuts. Fuck Internet Cat Fishing.

Fuck SO You Think You Can Dance. Fuck America”s Got Talent.

Fuck The x Factor. Fuck The Voice. Fuck Not Getting a Promotion.

Fuck MV2. Fuck FXX Streaming. Fuck A Dead Tooth. Fuck Dogma.

Fuck Anything Repetitive. Fuck Commercials. Fuck The Penny Saver.

Fuck Pizza Bagels. Fuck Natural Peanut Butter. Fuck Miley Cyrus.

Fuck Rhetoric. Fuck Global Warming Dismissal. Fuck Indoctrination.

Fuck Influence. Fuck Peer Pressure. Fuck Cult Mentality. Fuck BRAVO.

Fuck Exclusion. Fuck Stylists. Fuck Fashion Magazines. Fuck Models.

Fuck Personal Shoppers. Fuck Regional Hospitals. Fuck Road Rash.

Fuck Carpet Burns. Fuck Purple Nerples. Fuck Wet Willies. Fuck Delays.

Fuck Static Electricity. Fuck Perms. Fuck Obscurity. Fuck Fading Away.

Fuck Saying “Bra”. Fuck Saying “No Homo”. Fuck The Delaware River.

Fuck Sunday Sunday. Fuck Set Backs. Fuck Short Comings. Fuck Dyslexia.

Fuck Limitations. Fuck Sweater Vests. Fuck Selfie Sticks. Fuck Compulsion.

Fuck The Dark Web. Fuck Aesthetic Classes. Fuck In School Suspension.

Fuck Private Jets. Fuck Yachts. Fuck Armani. Fuck Corporate Buy Outs.

Fuck Gutless People. Fuck Passionless People. Fuck Pleasantry.

Fuck White Knuckling It. Fuck Photos At The End Of Roller Coasters.

Fuck Jacked Up Beer Prices At Concerts. Fuck Not Using Ones Turn Signal.

Fuck Gender Announcements Parties. Fuck Self Destruction.

Fuck Self Fulfilling Prophecy. Fuck Ms. Manners. Fuck Cutting.

Fuck People Who Bitch But Don’t Do Shit. Fuck Velcro. Fuck Speedos.

Fuck Welcome Mats. Fuck Metal Wind Chimes. Fuck Litter. Fuck Gin.

Fuck Horse Racing. Fuck Slot Machines. Fuck Online Gambling.

Fuck Mark Zuckerburg. Fuck Religious Persecution. Fuck Mormons.

Fuck Child Molesting Priests. Fuck Shunning. Fuck Tow Truck Fees.

Fuck Uninsured Drivers. Fuck Weigh Stations. Fuck Rest Stops.

Fuck Contradiction. Fuck Guessing. Fuck Anticlimactic Shit.

Fuck Probiotics. Fuck Anti Oxidants. Fuck Consumer Culture.

Fuck Duck Duck Goose. Fuck Choosing Teams. Fuck Sunday School.

Fuck Smart Cars. Fuck Wildfires. Fuck Sun Burn. Fuck Fake Balls On Trucks.

Fuck No Pain No Gain. Fuck Daylight Savings. Fuck Craft Cocktails.

Fuck People Who Are Nice To Your Face & Then Talk Shit Behind Your Back.

Fuck IPA Beers. Fuck Folly. Fuck Complacency. Fuck Taint Piercing.

Fuck Credit Cards. Fuck AnyDesk. Fuck Supremo. Fuck Team Viewer.

Fuck Team Viewer 13. Fuck Google Chrome. Fuck Curry. Fuck FBI SCAMS.

Fuck Illegal Call Centers. Fuck Scammers. Fuck Nagaland. Fuck Eating Ass.

Fuck Changing A Flat. FuckColonial Rule. Fuck Electric Bill Scams.

Fuck Ransomware. Fuck Grant Scams. Fuck Refund Scams. Fuck Tea.

Fuck FastSupport.Com. Fuck TechLiveConnect.Com. Fuck News Max.

Fuck Paddle Boats. Fuck Kayaks. Fuck Free Diving. Fuck Night Dives.

Fuck Tea Cozy’s. Fuck Dollies. Fuck Paying For Porn. Fuck Point & Click.

Fuck Dog Strollers. Fuck Instant Gratification. Fuck High Society.

Fuck Galas. Fuck Balls (Dance). Fuck Tuxedo Rentals. Fuck Bowling Shoes.

Fuck Sky Mall. Fuck Country Clubs. Fuck Civil War Reenactments.

Fuck Pink Slips. Fuck Blue Slips. Fuck No Fault States. Fuck Online Bullies.

Fuck Online Grooming. Fuck Rosemary. Fuck Pita Bread. Fuck Bland.

Fuck Common Place. Fuck Annexes. Fuck Sarah Collins. Fuck Saudi Arabia.

Fuck Classic Definitions. Fuck Grammar. Fuck Calculations. Fuck Al Gore.

Fuck Micheal Moore. Fuck The Worst Case Scenario. Fuck The Senate.

Fuck Fishing Licenses. Fuck Hunting Licenses. Fuck Gone With The Wind.

Fuck Girls Gone Wild. Fuck Black Friday. Fuck Cyber Monday. Fuck Futons.

Fuck Lawn Gnomes. Fuck Electric Weed Whackers. Fuck Lawn Furniture.

Fuck Electric Hedge Clippers. Fuck The Hair Of The Dog. Fuck Asbestos.

Fuck Whicker Furniture. Fuck All Bark & No Bite. Fuck Lead Paint Chips.

Fuck HBO’s Real Sex. Fuck Cultural Bias. Fuck The New School.

Fuck You CAn’t Teach An Old Dog New Tricks. Fuck Jeanie Pirro.

Fuck Metaphorical Crutches. Fuck The Band Green Jello. Fuck Tom Farr.

Fuck Standing Room Only. Fuck Selling Out. Fuck Compromising Principles.

Fuck The Band The Impotent Sea Snakes. Fuck John Bolton. Fuck Jeff Flake.

Fuck Scalpers. Fuck Limited Time Only. Fuck Rick Santorum. Fuck Sulfur.

Fuck Amway. Fuck Timeshares. Fuck Tupperware Parties. Fuck Gluten.

Fuck The Next Big Thing. Fuck Jerome Corsi. Fuck Mike Pompeo.

Fuck Cosmo Magazine. Fuck Artificially Flavored. Fuck Based On True Story.

Fuck Carbs. Fuck Lee Press On Nails. Fuck Immaturities. Fuck Bark Collars.

Fuck Mary Kay Cosmetics. Fuck Toxic Shock Syndrome. Fuck Pet Birds.

Fuck Tainted Drinking Water. Fuck Pipelines. Fuck Underwater Drilling.

Fuck Soft Paws. Fuck Declawing Ones Cat. Fuck Cheap Kitty Litter.

Fuck Fake Laughter. Fuck Laugh Tracks. Fuck IRS Scams.

Fuck Cindy Hyde-Smith. Fuck Saudi Prince Mohammad Bin Salman Al.

Fuck Mitt Romney. Fuck Rand Paul. Fuck Scott Walker. Fuck Marco Rubio.

Fuck Conservatives. Fuck Conservatism. Fuck Chris Christie.

Fuck Mike Huckabee. Fuck Judge Roy Moore. Fuck Wes Goodman.

Fuck Homework. Fuck The SATS. Fuck A Dull Knife. Fuck Omarosa.

Fuck Pat Meehan. Fuck Jeff Hoover. Fuck Herman Cain. Fuck Mike Duvall.

Fuck Larry Craig. Fuck Spoilers. Fuck Disorganization. Fuck Bob Allen.

Fuck Misrepresentations. Fuck Jack Ryan. Fuck Bob Packwood.

Fuck Buz Lukens. Fuck Roman Polanski. Fuck Dan Crane. Fuck Edison.

Fuck Robert Bauman. Fuck Obituaries. Fuck Charlie Crist. Fuck Dimwits.

Fuck Matt Wingard. Fuck ChatBots. Fuck Fitness Tracker. Fuck Fitbit.

Fuck The Echo Dot. Fuck Fire Sticks. Fuck Apple AirPods. Fuck Vinyl Pants.

And Most Of All……FUCK SANITY.

If You Read The Entire List Congratulations.

That is Some Extremely Hardcore Shit On Your Part.

Thanks for Reading

 By Les Sober

Malice The Band That Almost Killed Us All: PART 4

April 1st: Heading into April with the umpteenth line up (consisting of Izzy Sane on Vocals, Mitch Fury on Drums, Maxi Padd on Bass, and Davie Scum on Guitar) met for a band meeting at their manager Harold Slickmann’s Villa in France. Once the entire band was assembled at Stickman’s French Villa they had a proper high end Wine and Cheese Pairing.

During the festivities the band decided to become a Honky Tonk Hillbilly Blue Grass Band. They also unanimously to donate 75% of their earnings to Charity, and Join Green Peace to occupy the time between Tours.

Also while they were at it Malice cured Cancer, Discovered the Secret to Immorality, had a conversation with all the Various Dieties of the World, Ended War, Fought Famine in third world counties, and traveled to the center of the Universe.

(Just Kidding April Fools)

In reality the band hung out at Slickmann’s house lounging around the Pool Day Drinking, and some light Day Drugging until they all got bored and did Ambient Shooters to sleep the rest of the Day.

April 3rd: The band met up at Dinky Kitty Recording Studio’s to quickly record a new EP called “Mental Metal Meltdown” before hitting the road heading out on a 27 day 27 Shows mini Tour promoting the EP. This was Razorback Records idea.

They figured why waste time you could use making money on anything else. Leisure was an Alien Concept to them. And since Malice wasn’t scheduled for their first World Wide Tour until the May 1st Razorback came up the the Ep Mini Tour Package Concept to keep the band productive and (Financially) Prosperous. Plus they figured with a band like Malice keeping them on the shortest of leashes was best for everyone involved.

Malice knocked out the entire EP in 5 hours flat. The Ep featured the songs “Beer Belly Blues”, “The Ease of Sleaze”, “Liquor, Ladies, and Lingerie”, “Sucking Down a Six Pack”, and “PsychoCycle”.

The second side would feature 4 Songs by their opening band during their upcoming World Wide Tour in May The Assholes. The Assholes were a notoriously infamous Underground Punk-Metal band from Detroit known far and wide for their overt aggression.

April 5th: After a 48 hour hangover Malice were in Razorback Records Conference Room for a Unscheduled meeting. Slickmann entered the room accompanied by the band’s long time Lawyer TR McCoy, and took a seat at the head of the far end of the conference room’s large tacky table. A few minutes later Razorback PR Rep. Lila Lascivious entered cold and emotionless as ever her Poker Face in full play.

Lila announced that Malice’s Mini Promotional Tour shows would all be “Secret” (unannounced or promoted or advertised no doubt to save Razorback more money on overhead expenses.) Shows each would be held in an “Untraditional Location”. This could be for example in an Abandoned Factory or some shit like that, but it was all an elaborate promotional campaign by Razorback to amp up Malice’s Street Cred. with Fans, and help spread the mythos of Malice. Lila finished her presentation by informing the band that they would be given the location of the Venue 1 hour before the show starting with tonights initial show.

At 9:00 pm Slickmann received a phone call in his Hotel Room from Lilia, and was told tonights show would be housed in an Abandoned and allegedly Haunted Insane Asylum named  The Leviticus Von Trundle Asylum for The Criminally Insane.

The show was a complete fucking flop. Razorback hadn’t “Put the world out on the street” (remember this is Pre Smartphones, Pre Internet, and Pre Social Media SO word of mouth was actually physically face to face or over the phone (Landlines and Pay Phones) to work.

Their was also a great deal of misunderstanding  as to what the fuck “Mental Metal Meltdown Mini Tour” actually was. See what happened was that the expected audience of Malice fans turned out to be mainly a larger group made up of rather confused Ghost Hunters. The Ghost Hunters thought the Show was some sort of Paranormal-Con type situation so imagine their surprise to instead of finding Ghosts the found Malice rampaging through the Entire EP.

Malice was than a little pissed off by the entire catastrophe that was that nights impromptu pop up concert. They not only played to a small handful of actual Malice Fans they also avoided selling any merchandise which Malice felt was an insult to injury.

An Utterly irate Slickmann called Razorbacks PR Rep. Lila and demanded a meeting immediately first thing the following Morning. After such a shitty show Malice vanished into the night to ingest intoxicants till the Hallucinatory Cows Came Home.

April 6th: Once again Malice found them selves in Razorback Records well used conference room along with their manage Harold Slickmann, and their Lawyer TR McCoy. Lila the Razorback PR Rep. assigned to Malice entered the room a minute or two accompanied by 6 well groomed, grey haired Record Executives in very expensive suits.

As soon as Lila and her associates sat down Slickmann still quite enraged from the previous nights cluster fucking launched into conversation like a NASA Rocket. Slickmann demanded Razorback release Malice from their current contract as Malice were utterly unhappy with Razorbacks, and were seeking  new Record Label Representation.

Lila listened to Slickmann’s wild rant and then presented Razorbacks position pertaining to the matter of Malice and their freshly started mini tour. Razorback insisted the show was a travesty true, BUT was anything but intentional. Malice and Razorback up until now how been amicable, and thus Razorback refused to terminate their contract with Malice.

TR McCoy requested to speak to the Head of Razorbacks Legal Department in private. Razorback agreed and walked McCoy to the Head of their Legal Department’s office. After 20 minutes or so McCoy returned with Bernard B. Burbler in tow.

McCoy presented the compromise that he and Burbler had come up with. 1st Razorback would cancel the next 12 shows (starting with tonights scheduled show) of the tour to allow time for Fans to find out about the “Secret Show(s)”.  2nd last nights show would be a write off on both ends since arguing would waste time and produce zero results (so Malice wouldn’t be “compensated” in any way for the hassle of last nights fuckfest AND Razorback wouldn’t seek reimbursement for the shows expenses or damages or for violation of contract.) 3rd and last of all after the current Mini Tour Malice could and would be renegotiate and reevaluate  their contract Razorback to assess wether or not  Malice and Razorback could continue to work with one another.

Malice begrudgingly accepted the terms and the deal was official, but Malice wasn’t through as they felt they needed to make their mark as it were. Izzy followed by Mitch and Davie strode over to the group of Razorback Record Executives, unzipped their flies, and proceeded to piss all over the them as the ran willy nilly around the conference room table horrified. Meanwhile Maxi who had drank 2 bottles of Exlax mixed with Gin jumped up onto the conference table, and took a massive 4 Gallon Explosive Diarrhea Shit all over it.

Security was called and a fist fight broke out between the Security Guards and Malice. No one was hurt because no one could land nor throw a decent punch due to the conference room being hosed down by a excessive amount of Urine and Feces. Malice and the Security Guards alike just tried to lunge at one another (in an attempt to grab the opposing party), but they all just ended up slipping and sliding all over in the bodily fluid covered floor.

Malice finally gave up and went home with the entire band smelling like over flowing Port-A-Potties.

April 7th: To help elevate the on going tension with their Record Lable Slickmann decided to book a Luxury Get Away to St. Troy in the Caribbean for the next week. Malice arrived in St. Troy in their Private Jet around Noon, and arrived at Oasis in the Oasis Resort. Slickmann had in the name of Privacy Booked the entire Resort to elevate the stress from the Press.

The first thing Malice did once they arrived at their Suits was to call everyone they knew and invite them to what Malice had dubbed “Rock’n Resort” Mega Party. The next order of business was arranging the almost none stop flights to and from the States shuttling all of Malice’s Guests back and forth.

Here is the Summation of Malice’s Vacation (AKA Rock’n Resort Mega Party)

April 8th: Malice charters the largest Yacht they possibly could to continuously circle St. Troy for 24 hours straight. Malice had additional Guests brought out to the Yacht on Jet Skies. The raucous Party got the attention of a local amateur Pirate Crew who moved on the Yacht like Fleas to a Dog.

Once the Pirates arrived they were mistaken for Guests in themed costumes and invited on board. The Pirates being thoroughly confused as No One they had ever attacked had remained throwing a Party. After a couple of Mojito’s the Pirates thought since they were now Guests at the Party it would be rather rude to Pirate and Pillage the Yacht at this point. Thus a good time was had by all.

April 9th: Mitch Fury went surfing and was accidentally killed. From what the Authorities said based on Eye Witnesses interviews the following. Mitch was surfing a gigantic wave having the time of his fucking life when the wave caught up to him. Once the wave was on top on him Mitch was thrown in a quite elegant arch through the air directly into an awaiting Great White Shark’s Mouth. The Local Police’s closed the case labeling it a extremely rare instance of”Suicide By Shark” (Its like “Suicide by Cop” but with a Great White Shark.)

April 10th: Malice in lou of the tragic death of their drummer knew they had to keep the band going, and began flying out Auditioning Drummers. The search for the new drummer was going badly to say the least, and Malice was entertaining the idea of just using a Drum Machine. Thats when Rock Harder the legendary Drummer who had played in such bands as Arch Enema, Poisoned Ivy, The Savages, and PileDriver. Needless to say Harder was hired on the spot without every playing a single beat.

April 11th: Slickmann wanted Malice to practice as much as they could during the trip to break in Rock Harder their new Drummer. So Slickmann assumed the responsibility of dealing with Fury’s ashes. See Mitch wanted to be cremated so the band had a Tiki Hut Beach Bash were Mitch’s body had been incinerated  in  the Bon Fire. Mitch being a such an Ocean Lover Slickmann had opted to give Mitch a Burial at Sea by spreading his Ashes out in Open Water. The Boat Left the Marina at 9:37 am headed towards the Bermuda Triangle (because Slickmann thought that be pretty fucking Metal) and was never seen again.

(Above: ^Bite The Turnbuckle ^)

April 12th: To deal with the second horrible death of their trip Malice went into the rain forests of St. Troy and Drank GALLONS of Ayahuasca. Malice then walked down their was to a splendid waterfall and spent the day talking to Trees.

April 13th: Malice got a call at 5:57 am from The American Embassy in Tokyo Japan. To their utter surprise Slickmann was in fact Alive. He had been found by Commercial Fisherman just outside the right side of The Dragon’s Triangle in the Pacific Ocean. The Dragon’s Triangle is reportedly Asia’s Bermuda Triangle. The best Hypothesis the Japanese Physicists could come up with at this time based on the data they had collected was this. Slickmann had entered the Bermuda Triangle and in it accessed some sort of geographical portal that transported Slickmann half way across the Earth. Their additional ideas were just plain ridiculous.

April 14th: After a trip that included the death of their old Drummer Mitch Fury, the hiring of Fury’s replacement Rock Harder, a Bon Fire Cremation, Hallucinating in the Forrest, and the temporary and mysterious (not to mention totally unexplained) disappearance of their manager Harold Slickmann Malice was ready to get the fuck out of St. Troy. Malice boarded their private Jet and flew home to New York (the bands current resident City) on an uneventful Flight. The inflight Movie was Tommy Wiseau’s Cult Classic “The Room”.

Stayed Tuned Readers for Malice The Band That Almost Killed Us All PART 5

Thanks for Reading,

Les Sober 

The Deviant Detective Ep.2 : Getting Directions From The Blind

Readers: There are a great deal of Obscenities and Blasphemies in the following Story. Heads up and Have A Nice Day.

 

 

“Rock Hard that you,” asked the stranger as they leaned against the wall for support.

“Yeah I’m Rock Hard come into my office and tell me what the problem of yours is.” said Rock in his authoritative professional detective voice.

Buy the time Rock reached his office door he knew who the stranger was. It was underground punk rock icon and lead singer for The Furiously Fingered Five Ivy Savage.

She wreaked of cheap gin and cheaper cigarillos. Jesus Christ Rock thought to himself she’s a fucking train wreck. It was obvious the rumors where more than true.

The Meth induced orgies, shooting smack in her snatch, drug smuggling, assault, DUIs, countless rehabs, grand theft auto, drug possession, and possession of an illegal fire arm 4 times in 6 months that fucking Ivy Savage.

Rock jingled his key in the office door until it begrudgingly opened.

The door swung open slamming into the wall so hard the glass shook like a new prostitutes on her first “date.”

Rock walked over to his antique solid oak desk he had salvaged when the city demolished the 1930’s repossession power house Snide, Pompous and Braggart back in 1974. Rock slowly lowered himself into his chair as it creaked in protest.

“So if it isn’t the infamous Queen of Punk Ivy Savage, your reputation precedes you,” Rock said eying his new client up and down.

“I’m fucking used to that propaganda puke, its all horse shit a huge fucking load of steaming hot horse shit.,” Ivy replied angrily.

Ivy was pacing like a jack rabbit on a coke bender constantly fidgeting with her hands. As she spoke Rock took note of her eyes and how the darted around his office unable to stay focused on a damn thing. These were the classic signs of a rock bottom gutter dwelling druggie.

“Whats the problem,” Rock asked bluntly.

“My motherfucking boyfriend is fucking missing and I can’t find my bitch,” Ivy replied coldly.

“How do you know he didn’t just split or end up in the ER for overdosing something along those lines?!”

“I’m his goddamn meal ticket and that little scummy shit damn well knows it. I pay for our booze, drugs, food and hotel room down at The Opulent Oasis for christ’s sake. He’s a fucking moron but he’s not that goddamn dumb.”

“Alright then when did you see your boyfriend last Ms. Savage?”

“Call me Ivy for fuck’s sake, theres no Ms. about me thats for sure. I saw him just last night when we were having a private party in our hotel room. I went to take a shit, it was round 3 am or so and nodded off on the toilet. When I came to it this morning it was 11 fucking thirty and he was gone.”

“Whats his name, whats he go by,” asked Rock as he started to get rather irritated. To calm his nerves he took a long slow sip from his flask and let the whiskey do the rest.

“He goes by Eddie Oi he’s the base player for The Fuck Me Pumps,” said Ivy mattarfactly her voice void of emotion.

“Where does Eddie and his band or friends hang out at. Where do they spend their time? Where do they go? What do they do all damn day?”

“I’m not his fucking biographer. This is the shit I know bout to answer your fucking questions. Eddie doesn’t have any fucking friends just goddamn dope dealers and drug buddies. As for him and his shitty band they spend a good amount of time at The Barfly Lounge down on the skids. He sees his main dealer at least 8 times a day scoring dope and all that drug shit.”

“Eddie got a record?”

“No and thats a fucking surprise and a half. He’s never even been arrested for drunk and disorderly nothing, not a single goddamn thing so that won’t help your search.”

Rock lazily moved the files on his desk around randomly just to look more than what he was a dinosaur and a goddamn drunk with a violent disposition. Rock shunned technology whenever possible unless it was absolutely necessary, but Rock decided to revisit the idea of getting a computer so he could fain interest while surfing the internet.

“Look just find the fucker and let me know so I can bitch slap his stupid ass back in fucking line,” demanded Ivy.

“Calm down I’m taking your case and I’ll find Eddie no matter where he is or where he may be hiding at I assure you of that,” Rock said in total confidence.

“Thank god for that then.”

“I’ll need a retainer of $1,200 plus daily expenses. Take it or leave it I’m not the one with the problem.”

“Call my fucking manager Harvey Schister. His number is 555-7683 and he’s a real son of a bitch but don’t take his shit because he’s full of shit.”

“Alright then I will call Mr. Schister this afternoon and get started immediately after I get my retainer.”

“Well I’m gonna piss off then, but I’ll be on top of you like a 600 pound prison booty bandit, I don’t take shit from anyone ever.”

With that Rock showed Ivy to the door locking it behind her. Rock didn’t want to be disturbed he had to process his meeting with his new client Ivy Savage. Where could he find the best leads he wondered as he lit a cigarette blowing the smoke out of his nose like a exhausted dragon.

This case is going to be a goddamn drunken drugged out insanely dark horror show Rock was convinced of that.

To Be Continued in The Deviant Detective Ep.3 : Finding The Cock Rock King.