goofballs

"My condolences Jimbo," said Sergent Wilcox as he shook James' hand vigorously. "You know, I've been hearing that a lot," said the newly minted Detective First Class James Bradford Radcliff. James set the moving box on his new desk. The box was branded on all sides by the moving company the city contracted. It was the type, used for small moves, with the elaborate folding diagram on the top for the morons who couldn't figure out how to fold a boxtop so it would close. James allowed a brief flashback folding similar boxes while volunteering for his high school library. The boxes full of books that were to be thrown away. Years later, in his 20s, restless and floundering, James drove a semi back and forth between Utah, Nevada, Arizona and New Mexico and Indiana, Illinois, Ohio, Michigan and Pennsylvania. All day he'd drive, punctuated by loading cardboard boxes onto and off his rig. Occasionally he'd be put on a route to California - a ta...

"I wonder if Bill Moyers and Kathleen Hall Jameson do it." "What?" "Bill Moyers and Kathleen Hall Jameson. Do they hump? I mean, the guy is solid liberal gold, right? He's unimpeachable. So... does he hunker down with Kathleen Hall Jameson, kiss her tenderly, and stick it in... Do they fuck?" "Who the fuck is Kathleen Hall Jameson?" Steve does another line. The snorting sounds as loud as God. "She's a pundit... and intellectual, I think she's a professor, she's on Moyer's Journal all the time." "Who is Moyers," says Steve with a sniffle. Mike grabs the cocaine, laid out on a plastic faux ceramic tray, and cuts a huge line. "How the fuck do you not know who Bill Moyers is? What..? You're 30-something... 33? 34? Bill Fucking Moyers... on PBS!" Mike snorts, Steve grabs the tray back. "Don't know him." "Fuck," Mike, sniffling, "seriously? Bill Moy...