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June 24, 2005

Volume 2, Issue 24

There is a corner of your brain that says, "Why the hell not?"

What happens when your code of ethics breaks down?

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Tanya: Appointments

She pulled the final report from its folder, checking the name again, then finished reorganizing her work bag. Smaller equipment like the voltage tester could be moved into the center section. She wouldn't need them this morning.

Two years since her daughter had disappeared, and the police had finally admitted that they'd given up. Smiling bitterly to herself, she slipped the .45 into the now-empty side pocket of her bag, and carried it outside to the Electric Company truck in her driveway. She had been a peaceful woman for 37 years. But today would change that, one way or another.


Laurence - Bureaucratic Conception

Podcast of this storyFive small bodies in the morgue. Their mother strapped to a bed in the jail.

Yesterday, she'd drowned them in the tub.

And Bannerman had snapped.

"SHERIFF BEATS BATHTUB KILLER," screamed the paper.


Bannerman looked through the paperwork. The intake form was a mess, so he rolled another in the typewriter and copied things over.

He got to "PREGNANT: YES/NO" and stopped.

He recalled her berserk rants as they dragged her in. He swore he'd heard "I AM CARRYING SATAN'S SPAWN!"

Screw it. It's Friday.

He checked YES, and then dialed that asshole reporter.

"Enjoy this exclusive," he grunted.


Michele: This Is Not My Beautiful Wife

He watched from the driver’s seat as she moved across the beach, watched the way her painted toes slipped into the sand, how her tanned skin glowed in the moonlight. As she neared the ocean’s tip, she shook her skirt from her hips, revealing a candy-pink thong.

She giggled then, a sound that made Kevin glance at the high-school textbooks on the passenger seat and question his own desires.

When he looked back at the girl again, she was pulling off her t-shirt and walking into the ocean.

Kevin opened the car door and followed the sound of her laugh.

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Ted: Just off of Duval...

He didn't remember her name, just that is started with a "B".

She moaned over him as her hips ground into his.

Or did it start with a "D"?

Her scarlet hair hung down, obscuring his view of the bald "Y" where he bucked back up to her.

DAMN! "G"!

He was unsure how much coke they had snorted, or how much rum they had drank.

She lay on his chest mere seconds before hopping up and asking for her money.

"What's your name again?"


"Can I call you next year?"

"Sure honey, I'm always here for Fantasy Fest."


From the Comments: Darleen

Seven generations. Sarah looks up at her life's home. The gardens in the back have hosted uncounted family weddings, the parlor in front the final farewells. The sweeping porches have welcomed calling Congressmen and humble trick-or-treaters.

Councilman Stroue can't disguise his triumph, "It's mine now. Well, for the good of the community, of course."

Her home's too valuable to be trusted to her. So the city took it.

Stroue is taking over the third floor as his private offices.

Sarah looks into his eyes and pushes the button, the pressure of the blast lifting her straight into Stroue's stunned face.

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Andy: Les Nessman Reporting on "What Comes Around"

Sometimes when your code of ethics breaks down, karma has a strange way of doing the same to the bones in your face.


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