ZANEY1.TXT
How Zaney Fixed the Dick, copywright 1995 by Dave Byter,
proliferate freely.

Zaney had pirated the NSS files and learned that Spencer Mitchell "Mitch the
Snitch" McSchnitzell was the dick who had fingered Rudy.  Her solution was
appropriate, if a bit gory.

Mitch was always trying to get her to date him.  Hell, Mitch was always chasing
every skirt within two miles.  Always trying to weasel his way into another
hole, as Steve liked to say.

So it wasn't hard for Zaney to get an invitation to spend the night at his mad
pad out on The Little South Fork Ranch.  All she had to do was not beat him
off.

She was planning to zap him with a shot of insulin, and it was just sort of
serendipity that he handed her a straight razor.  But I'll let her tell the
story like she told it to me the time we camped out in the Lens Room of
Wuckit's Skull.

"Let me tell you what really happened to Mitch McSchnitzell," she said.

"The papers seemed to imply that he committed suicide by slitting his wrists
with a razor, or maybe it was an accident, but no two versions of what happened
were the same.  What's your version?" I asked.

"That's almost, but not quite, true," she said.  "It wasn't his wrists, and I
gave him a little help."

That was news to me at the time, but I knew that Zaney was capable of
anything.  "So what's the story?" I asked.  "Tell me a bedtime story.  I'm not
exactly used to sleeping in a wetsuit so we might as well tell stories."

"I spent Mitch's last night with him.  He thought that he was God's Gift to
woman, and I had to beat him off a half dozen times before he would let me
sleep in peace.  I wanted to shoot him in the morning, when the insulin would
work faster.  But opportunity knocked, and I found a much more appropriate
method.

"That morning I was up before he was, and was taking shower when in walked
Mitch.  'Oh!  Suzanne, I didn't know that you were in here', he said, like his
shower was in the habit of turning itself on all by itself.  He was wearing his
usual shiteating grin and carrying a straight razor and a mug of shaving
cream.  As soon as he saw me, he got a hard-on that would have made Gunsmoke
proud.  I almost wanted to give him a try, just so that I could brag about it."

[You have to know that Gunsmoke was her pet jackass, and that a fully sexually
excited jackass has an erection about the size of your arm.  If you are
Tarzan.  Even John Dillinger couldn't match a ordinarily endowed donkey dong.]

"You wouldn't believe how fast a man will bleed to death when you cut off his
pizzle with a straight razor.  Or maybe it was just the shock of it that made
him pass out in a couple seconds.  He just sorta looked at his pizzle in his
paw and at the fountain of blood and keeled over.  I'm not sure if the
investigators thought that he had dropped his razor and accidentally cut
himself, or if they thought that he had some help.  Either way, I'll bet it
made their day."

You have to understand; we grew up in an area where "service" was something
that the bull did to the cow.  His pizzle is what he did it with.

Sleeping in a wetsuit is not conducive to pleasant dreams, and sleeping with
Zaney and her stories is even worse.