Chapter 13: This Chapter is so Motherfucking Long
OUR prisoner's furious motherfucking resistance eventually subsided after he realized that he had been thoroughly owned by me, for after I had pistol-whipped him into motherfucking next week he smiled like a douche, and expressed his hopes that he had not hurt any of us in the scuffle. Oh fuck you, you asshole! "So, when you get arrested, you go to jail, right?," he asked Sherlock Holmes. "Hah, we should totally go, jail sounds awesome!"
Gregson and Lestrade exchanged glances, as if they would rather bone each other in the closet than take this douchenozzle down to the station; but Holmes had realized that the sooner the case was solved, the sooner he could get back to his favorite crack-addled hobby, so he released the prisoner. Damn, that bitch had muscles, he was like all powerful and built. But I wasn't into him or anything, I was just noticing his physique, it wasn't turning me on or anything, don't get any ideas.
"Dude, you should be like, the chief of police, because you figured out who I was haha," he said, gazing with admiration at my roommate. "I mean, I know I was stupid enough to drive a cab here and come up to the room, but still, damn, I never expected to be caught."
"Haha see I'm like a total genius, let's get you arrested and shit," said Holmes, enjoying the fact that at least someone was marginally impressed with his methods.
"I can drive," said Lestrade, "I just passed the test after like fifty tries I'm awesome by now."
"Ok let's go, and John motherfucking Watson should come too in case he wants to put this shit in a book or something." Fat chance, asshole. Who would want to read about you?
But whatever I decided to go anyway. We went to the motherfucking police station and stuck him in one of those funky-ass interviewing rooms like you see in all the crime shows with the cool one-way mirrors, it was tiiiiight bitch.
"I'm gonna tell you all about my story," our prisoner said slowly. "And it's really long and boring as fuck but whatever at least you didn't have to read the long, Mormon-hating version right.?"
"Thank God," said the inspector, "But why don't you say this shit in a motherfucking courtroom where there are people who actually give a shit?"
"Bitch I'm not even gonna go to court," he answered. "You're a motherfucking army doctor, right?" He turned his fierce, sexy dark eyes upon me as he asked this last question.
"Bitch hello what have I been saying this entire goddamn time goddamnit of course I am a motherfucking doctor I am a motherfucking badass doctor don't even ask that question it is the dumbest question ever asked by a homosapien on this planet Earth," I answered.
"Then touch my chest with you hand," he said, with a smile, motioning with his manacled wrists towards his chest.
I did so, trying to hold my obvious arousal. Luckily, my boner was extinguished by an oh-so familiar ticking sound coming from his torso.
"Why," I cried, "You're a suicide bomber!"
"Damn straight," he said, placidly. "I got this bomb implanted in my chest and I could set it off any minute. Y'all better sit down and listen to my motherfucking story or I will blow this police station to high heaven!"
The inspector and the two detectives had a hurried discussion as to the advisability of allowing him to tell his boring-ass story versus killing everyone in the building.
"What do you think, John motherfucking Watson, are the lives of hundreds worth listening to this ass talk for an hour?" the former asked.
"Don't fucking ask me, you're the fucking police officers, do your stupid-ass job you bitches," I answered, "Policemen are supposed to save lives duh. I just take 'em away."
"In that case it is clearly our duty, in the interests of justice, to take his statement," said the inspector with a puffed-out chest. "You are at liberty, sir, to give your account, which I again warn you will be taken down by John motherfucking Watson."
"Oh, FUCK YOU."
"Sure thing biatch," the prisoner said, "And none of what I say is a lie or anything, I'm saying this so that people don't question it later, 'cause my word is all good and shit. Can you vouch for their accuracy John motherfucking Watson?"
"Whatever," I said lazily, looking out the window, trying to get a boner by thinking about Christina Hendricks, but it wasn't working this time.
"Listen, I'm not gonna tell y'all the whole stupid story of why I murdered those fucks," he said; "Actually I totally am haha, sike. Anyway, they murdered some dude and some chick, and I was like, that aint cool! I mean, murdering people is totally not cool. Even though I did it haha!!!! So like, I knew they were guilty but nobody else did. And if you guys had any balls you would murder them too.
"So like I saw saying, I was banging that chick they murdered. Actually they didn't murder her, she committed suicide, but only 'cause she was forced to marry that Drebber bitch, and he was so dang ugly she couldn't look at him anymore."
"Understandable," said Holmes.
"So I like followed them around the world trying to murder them and shit. It was hardcore. Fuck I don't care if I died I just wanted to murder them and I did so it's like, awesome, you know?"
"Mmhmm." sighed Lestrade, who was clearly over this case.
"So when I got to London I was all like, damn, I aint got no motherfucking money! So then I decided to live in a dumpster outside the Criterion bar, but it was already taken by some asshole, so then I was like, fuck, I gotta get a job. So I became a cabby lol.
"So then I found out where those who douchebuggers lived. And I was like, yay, I can kill them. There's no way they'll ever recognize me 'cause I have a motherfucking BEARD NOW."
"Genius!" cried Holmes.
"I know right? So I was like following them around and shit. And Drebber was like totally drinking all the damn time, but Strangerson wasn't, and I was like, how I gonna get them both drunk you know? I was like, 'Jefferson Hope, you don't stand a GHOST of a chance of killing this guys!' Hahahahahaha!
"So then one day they were leaving and shit. And Drebber was like 'Screw this I'm gonna go get drunk lol.' So then I was like, dayum, now I can kill that biatch.
"So then I was like, hey, I could be like motherfucking BATMAN and make his death all symbolic and shit! That would be totally interesting! So I was like, hey I'm a cabby, I'll just drive him somewhere and murder him. He was all drunk and crap and drunk people don't know shit. Hey one of you get me a beer or I'll blow this shit to kingdom come."
I handed him the glass, and he drank it down.
"Hey thanks man," he said. "So I'd driven Drebber to this house and he went in and apparently tried to rape some chick and he got his ass kicked by some other French guy and then he got in my cab again."
"JESUS CHRIST I HATE THIS STORY LET'S PLAY SCRABBLE," said Gregson.
"So anyway Drebber got even more drunk and I was like, I'll drive him to this abandoned house I magically knew about! So I did. I had these boxes with magic breakdancing pills that I learned about in magic school, so I decided to use them on Drebber to make him die.
"So when I got to the house I could see my dead girlfriend smiling at me, like, yeah, make him breakdance to death, that's adorable as hell haha, I really want you to murder that dude. So I knew that this was a good idea because my imagination told me so, right?"
"I feel ya man," said Holmes.
"So I got to the house and was like, 'Yo Drebber, get in there biatch.'
"'Kk thanks lol,' said he.
"So I hauled him into the house and I saw the ghosts of my girlfriend and her dad smiling at me, like, yeah, this is gonna be so hilarious, we love violent deaths we're sick bastards.
"'It's like, sooooo dark,' said he, staggering inside.
"'Is it as dark… AS YOUR SOUL?' I asked dramatically, grabbing my beard and ripping it off. 'Recognize me, you bitch?'
"So then he looked at me and was like, OSHIT, then tried to run but I was like, nah, and it felt so good 'cause murder feels so good, yeah…
"So then my nose started bleeding!"
"GROOOOOOOOOOOSSSSSSSSSSSSS," said Gregson.
"WHAT NOW BITCH, WHAT NOW?' I cried, locking the door, and shaking the key in his face. 'I'M GONNA FUCK YOU UP MOTHERFUCKER.'
"'I don't know, what you gonna murder me?' he stammered.
"'Damn to the straight,' I answered. 'You stole my girlfriend and killer her daddy biatch, now you gonna die in the most horrible way known to man!'
"'Okay, but I didn't even kill her father, hello,' he said.
"'BUT YOU ARE SO UGLY SHE KILLED HERSELF,' I shrieked, thrusting the box before him. 'Take one of these breakdancing pills, and we will have a dance-off. The victor will live, the loser will die horribly.'
"So then he took the pill and we both started breakdancing. He got in a weird position and got stuck. I was like, hah, I win, you suck!
"So then I wrote the word RACHE in blood, 'cause like, there would be a RASH of murders in the area thanks to me."
"It's spelled 'rash,'" said I.
"Meh whatever I went to magic school not linguistics school. So anyway I left but then was like, ZOMG I LOST THE RING, so I went back and saw a police officer then pretended to be drunk lol."
"I KNEW IT!" I said.
"So anyway I went and tried to kill Strangerson but he attacked me instead of taking the breakdancing pills but whatever they would have killed him anyway so I stabbed him to death lol."
"So then, I was chilling out, when some kid came saying a cab was needed at this house, and I was like, hey what a coincidence, that's the same house that tried to catch me when I got the ring back! That's so funny! So I came here and you arrested the shit outta me."
So boring had the man's narrative been and his manner was so nauseating that we had sat silent and asleep. So then we just sat there napping while Jefferson Hope waited for us to wake up.
"You gonna blow us up?" I asked eventually, yawning.
"Hah no not yet I wanna see what prison is like I heard it's badass."
"Okay, okay," the inspector said, "Let's get your ass in jail and shit, don't blow crap up." He rang the bell as he spoke, and Jefferson Hope was led off by a couple of warders, while my friend and I made our way out of the station and took a cab back to motherfucking Baker Street. This time, I was gonna do some crack of my own.
