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"Really? He's your third cousin on your mother's side?"
"That's what I said, damn it."
"Could you get me a deal?"
"Could you get me a high-class hooker with a peg leg, a tramp stamp of Terrence Stamp in full on Zod regalia, and a lisp?"
"Well, I do know this girl..."
"Bullshit!"
"I'm a lawyer...it's what I do."
"Ask me a damn question or let me get back to searching for Mrs Right."
"The high-class hooker is your idea of Mrs Right?"
"Of course not, you imbecile. I want the tramp stamp to be of me, not that Zod fellow."
"Good luck with that, Mr. Bastard." The prosecuting attorney said. "Ahem. On the morning of...this past Easter-"
"What the fuck? You don't know the date?" Gnome Bastard balked.
"Blame Mr. Artist. He's writing this, and he's a bit of a pothead."
"I see, I see. Continue..."
"As I was saying. This past Easter Sunday, Mr. Bastard, do you recall where you were?"
"Of course. I was at home with me family. The Mrs cooked up some wonderful rabbit stew-"
"Objection!" I bellowed. "He said he's looking for Mrs Right!"
"Listen up, Sonny Jim." Gnome Bastard stared at me as he spoke. "Us gnomes like to get freaky. Last week the Mrs brought her version of Mr Right home. You think my want is weird, you should've seen this yahoo."
"Do tell..."
"Two words for ya: Abe Vigoda."
"No shit," I pondered aloud. "Vigoda is still living?"
"No one knows for sure."
"Getting back on topic, Mr. Bastard, you were at home on the morning in question. Is this correct?"
"Yes sir. And us gnomes never lie."
"My ass!" I screamed.
Gnome Bastard replied, "Get bent!"
"Go to hell!"
"Objection!!" Mr Prosecutor yelled.
"Fuck your mother!" Gnome Bastard yelled.
"I fucked your wife!"
"Who hasn't?"
The doors burst open.
"Me."
Standing there in full on Elmmer Fudd garb, carrying the biggest shotgun I have ever seen, and very much alive stood...
Abe Vigoda.
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