Treachery at $3.50 a box: Part Three

February 7, 2011

It’s two in the afternoon and Marlie has just woken up from her previous day of drinking whiskey out of a coffee pot, spooning out cat food into a dish for her husband Bernie the Half-Cyborg Cat, probably bringing out the sparkly stick for Bernie to chase, and generally wandering around drunk.  Maybe there was an Irish soccer or rugby match on the teley, we’re not quite sure.  The point is, Marlie is awake and hungover and is not in the mood to see Ninja Vicki in her kitchen.

“Te feck ye want, ye blonde pajama-wearin’ cunt?”  Marlie mutters, being all Irish as she shuffles into the kitchen, her bathrobe pulled tight around her because she hasn’t had any whiskey yet today to keep the winter chill away.

“Where are the Peanut Butter Patties?”  Ninja Vicki says, her finger tapping the sheath of her sword.   “Just tell me where they are, and I’ll take them off your hands and be gone.”

“Ye’ll be gan’ right feckin’ naw, ya cunt-flap,”  Marlie growls as she takes down a fresh bottle of Jamison’s from the top of the fridge and pours it into a coffee pot.  “I’m within spittin’ distance a’ bein’ sober an’ I feckin’ dan’t care far it.  And I certainly dan’t care far dumb cuntfaces bein’ in me kitchen… sober or pissed.”

“Just give me the cookies and I’ll go,”  Ninja Vicki says.

“Are ya the daftest cunt ta ever perfarm cuntery?”  Marlie says.  “An’less they start makin’ biscuits that are full of feckin’ whiskey, I dan’t give a shite or a bollock or a tit about any gahdamn cookies.”

Ninja Vicki scrunches her nose.  “Wait… so you didn’t buy all of the Peanut Butter Patties in town off a girl scout?”

“Girl Scouts dan’t cam’ ta are door anymore, ya cunty shite,”  Marlie says.   “Nat since Bearnie hit one with a missile two years ago.”

Ninja Vicki scratches her chin under her mask.   “So who else would buy all the Peanut Butter Patties whilst wearing a robe?”

“I dan’t kna, but if’n ye dan’t leave my feckin’ house I’m ganna cunt punt ye inta next week,”  Marlie responds.

Ninja Vicki climbs out the window, because ninjas never use doors, and wanders out to the street to think of her next move.  “Who else owns a robe and would buy all of the Peanut Butter Patties?”

So Ninja Vicki comes to my house, knowing that I also like Peanut Butter Patties and that I own a robe.  And she finds there’s a note taped to my door, addressed to Ninja Vicki, not written by me, instructing her to go to a certain address in town where her Peanut Butter Patties are located.   A trap?  Perhaps.  But Ninja Vicki will march through Hell’s asshole itself for Peanut Butter Patties.

To be concluded…



  1. What does Admiral Ackbar think?

  2. if you ever make the “Renal Failure Movie”, can i play Marlie?

    • Can I be Samurai Cathy?

  3. It cannot be too hard to ensnare anyone with tagalongs, ninja or no.

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