Just finished yelling fire in the jam-packed cineplex, when Peaches said, What are you trying to tell me, Eddie? Of course, I wasn’t at liberty to divulge any trade secrets, so I said, I prefer it when my stove cooks itself. While we were being escorted to the parking lot, Peaches reminded me that there’s nothing more beautiful than a fat man who can dance, but the angry satellites continued to circle overhead like a pack of jackals orbiting a nest of fire ants. Nothing good happens when your back is turned. I was just about to take a swig from my weekday flask, when I remembered a lawyer may not assist a client with a crime. So, I asked Peaches if, after she threw the bodies into a shallow grave, she would mind lighting them on fire? She didn’t say no right away. Hurry up, I said. We haven’t got all night.