Chapter 1

I looked like !!^@. Not regular, run of the mill #@#^ either. I looked like three nights straight of Montezuma's Revenge, thrown in a blender with some rotten pork rinds and dead babies. I looked like #%$!. I rolled over on my bed and moaned. That slut-%!$@ing, dwarf-dicked sun was shining through my window, reminding me of the pounding hangover that was completely, one-hundred percent my fault.

#!@*.

The door. Some rabies infested !!^@&*% was knocking on my *$^*ing door. If I opened that door and Jesus himself wasn't standing there, I was going to punch his stupid !@@@ing face until his eyes popped out of his head and each apologized, individually, for disturbing my slumber.

I swung one leg over the side of my bed. It knocked into an empty glass bottle of bourbon on the ground. It rolled loudly across the floor, before clanking impotently into the leg of my dresser. The knocking on my door continued, and every thud resonated in my head like a *@^!ing gong, lined with jingle bells and screaming with the voice of fourteen thousand angry children. !Fuck%.

“One ^!!*ing second! Jesus!” I shouted in the general direction of my torment. I sat up on my bed. The change in elevation made my brain hate me even more. If I moved another inch, I was positive it would pack its bags and find a new worthless pile of muscle and flesh to inhabit; I wasn't worth the trouble. I put my hand over my face and—much to my surprise—had no large bruises or cuts to speak of. That was rare. That #fuck@ing knocking. Still going.

“If you don't stop hitting my door, I am going to skull !!#@ you with this goddamn bottle!” I screamed.

“Detective Vogel, Kinnensberg PD. Open up.”

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updated Jan 6 by TeddyErnest