You’re getting sloppy Joe. See what I did there? What? You act like butcher knives can’t have a sense of humor.
But you are. Getting sloppy that is.
Blood on the carpet, bloody fingerprints on the door jam, hair on the victim.
You left enough evidence here to put you away for life pal, what were you thinking? It’s like I’m almost screaming at Sgt. Lindsey : “He’s over here! I’ve got all the prints you need!”
Let’s not talk about you not wiping me off pal. We’ve been through a lot of vics [that’s what they call it on those crime shows Joe, don’t you do your research?]. Haha, been through a lot, get it? Oh what do you know.
You left me behind. Me! Key evidence, I thought I was your best friend. You and me used to talk all the time before a “game”. Now it’s like I’m a tool that can be discarded. Was discarded. Pardon me for refusing the past tense, I’m still shocked. Or is it steel shocked? I crack me up.
Remember the first broad we did together? Long tan legs, black hair. She sure was a screamer. Did it feel as good going in for you? Her insides were like a juicy steak marinaded in onions and tangy A-1 sauce. Did she taste as good for you? You sure took your time draining her dry. Ugh. And I thought vampires had cornered the market on drinking blood.
And that little boy! My god did he cry. It sounded like angels weeping, Snot nosed, blubbering cherubs. He truly was a porcelein statue.
But this one? Or these ones, I should say. Should’ve scoped out the condo. Shouldn’t known her boyfriend would be home. We didn’t even have time to savor it. And her bellowing probably tipped that neighbor off.
You’ve gotten sloppy.
Sloppy and ungrateful. You just took off and left me Joe. After all the fun times we had together. God help you if Sgt Lindsey finds me here, kicked under the coffee table by the boyriend’s shoes.