Cocaine is a bad habbit.


"Oh fred! I can't believe it's YOU! I havent seen you in ages. It's been a wholeeee day!"

Charles wavered precariously on the edge of the roof. Fred stared helplessly on. The idea of being crushed by a naked body didn't seem like a good idea to poor Fred.

Fred cussed. That damn boy Rodger had given Charles a line of....well, 'Charlie' and now Charles was as gone to the world as a dispersed fart.

What to do....what to do....

"Hey Charles! I've got some of your favourite Pizzas down here! If you carefully come down, then you can slap people in the face with slices! You love that!"

Charles paused his incesant dancing, and slowly turned. At a snails pace, he climbed down the scaffolding and slowly edged towards Fred.

"Where's my pizza, Fred? Don't make me withdraw those pegs of appreciation now..."

Fred got an oversized potato sack and bagged Charles, tying the rope around his ankles. Then, with a wooden police truncheon, Fred beat the writhing mass that was Charles, until it stopped moving.

Then, distributing his weight carefully, Fred lobbed Charles' unconcious form in the bed of his pick up, jumped into the drivers seat, and sped off towards the place that they called home. For the third time that week. Lordy.

The End

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