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Tropical Leaves

The Great Extend-o-Johnson Conspiracy, chapter 144.1

Bryson Buxtable here.

What's that? No, that doesn't sound like me.

Surveillance footage? Oh please. That'll never hold up in a court of law. You ain't got nothin'. You ain't got no nothin'. You ain't got the slightest thing on me, sirrahs.

Oh yeah? What am I, Cinderella? Very well, put it on me.

You see? My Johnson is far too large to be contained by such a meager cassock. What's that? Well, yes, I am grossly engorged. My member always throbs thusly when justice is being actively thwarted-er, I mean . . . when good honorable constables are performing their civic duty.

Riddle me this, officers: Wouldn't a man's cassock be tailored to accommodate his engorged piston just as easily as its flaccid step brother? I'm afraid you are barking up the wrong tree gentlemen, if you'll pardon the pun, for clearly my own fleisch cylinder thoroughly outsizes that of this cassock's true owner.

What's all this, then? You boys-in-blue found a canister of Extend-o-Johnson in that hedge yonder? Why, that is most concerning news indeed, for what dithering madman would discard so priceless a treasure? Not I, my boys. Not I.

Now what precisely is this that your mouths are jabbering, and my unfortunate ears are receiving and converting into purest hog-drivel?

You say that "Old-Geezer Muttley" spied me as I lobbed said canister into the aforementioned traitorous hedge? I tell you now, Muttley has been harboring a vendetta against yours truly, practically for eons, and he only now pounces on my perceived weakness, carrion crow that he is.

Are you gentlemen stark-blind? Or merely supremely dim-witted? Do you not see Muttley's pulsating pillar? Even now it quests for the rift in his cassock. Look!

Alright, alright! I'm sorry! I shouldn't have fled, that was low of me! It's hardly my fault you incompetents can be diverted so easily. Quit tugging on that! Alright, can we be civil?

Now, where were we . . . ?

Ah, yes. Muttley's member. If you question him, he will undoubtedly tell you that justice arouses him, the old fox. True enough, he once was the revered chieftain of your very own department, but believe him at your peril! I assure you all most sincerely, that canister of Extend-o has only just recently vacated its long-term residence amongst Muttley's medicinal menagerie.

Alright boys, look. I can see I'm making no headway in penetrating your thick skulls. Allow me to be frank with you: Unhand me at once, forget this little mix-up ever transpired, and there is a bulging canister of Extend-o-Pecker in it for each of you.

What's all this? You're taking me to the chief? 'Bout time I spoke with someone reasonable.

'Course, there's nothing the chief would fancy more than to sever my stranglehold on the Extend-o market.

Hypothetical stranglehold! Disregard me, boys. Whew, I sure can prattle! Ol' Bryson's merely speaking hypothetically here, honest! But mark my words, I'll make the chief see reason, one way or another.

Quit shoving! I'm going, aren't I? Cretins.

Not the cudgel!

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