Why am I even here? This is stupid! This is-
"Um, excuse me? You Courier Six? The guy I sent for? 'Cause if you're just some junkie vagrant - which would explain why you just kicked down my door and are now standing here, silent, dumbstruck and smelling of booze - you can get the hell out of my office!" cut a freakish Ghoul, sitting on a child-sized pink plastic chair next a bed stacked with papers.
Courier Six, cut from his thoughts and caught off-guard, quickly blabbered a response:
"Oh... Oh! Right, yeah, sorry 'bout that. I just came here for a job application-"
"It's not a job application. It's an assassination contract. Christ, you people..." interrupted the Ghoul again. He facepalmed, taking off some skin off his forehead. He must do that often, seeing as there's a hand-shaped indent on what was probably once a still-ghoulified yet less leper-like face.
"Right," the Courier huffed, pulling out a wet letter smeared in his sweat, "I received this. Thought I might take you up on that offer."
The Ghoul took the letter right off Six's hands. He inspects it for two seconds then tossed it onto the bed into the pile. The zombie pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
"Why the hell didn't you get the passphrase right? I mean, like, come on, how hard can it be?"
"I got it wrong?"
"Hello? I heard your bush wasn't working?" asked Courier Six, banging at a door.
"What? Who the hell are you? And 'your bush wasn't working'?" rasped a man from the other side.
"Yeah, you know, your bush, your balls, your ballsack, your nutsack, testes, carpet, clockweights, your cockweights, cojones, nads, gonades, sweetmeats, teabags, cherries, chicken nuggets, acorns-"
"Are you done?"
"... knackers, loins, love spuds, nuts, twins, watermelon, marbles, yarbles, yams, tests-"
"I swear to God..."
"... giggle berries, and testicles. You know, those kinds of things? Anyway I got a request to come here or something." he finished after an innumerable amounts of time. Half of it incoherent.
No response.
"Well," carried on Six, "guess Imma have to kick down this door!"
"Right, I stopped paying attention halfway through and got myself a drink. Anyway- wait, how long were you enumerating synonyms for balls for?" asked the Ghoul.
"About five straight minutes."
"... your crown jewels, your cubes, eggs, goolies, plums, gears, gearbox, jawbreakers, nadgers..."
"You know what?" said the annoyed Ghoul, "Never mind that, and let's get back to the question: Why the hell didn't you just say the passphrase correctly!? I mean, for crying out loud, I've even written it down on the letter I sent you!"
"Sheesh, alright, alright, I'm sorry. When you wrote 'we heard that your carpet was dysfunctional', I thought you meant 'we heard you've got ball problems' " Six responded, "Anywho, ya wrote something 'bout hiring me? For an assassination? Let's discuss that instead."
"Yes, step outside and we'll talk all about it. Name's Stilton Blue. You can call me Sue." Stilton replied, getting up and taking a bottle of booze with him.
"Is that whiskey?"
"No, bourbon. Guessing you partake, based on your smell alone. Want some?"
"Gladly."