Dear Partnas in Crime,

Allow me to discuss a recent event that left me a little shaken. It all began with an email from my ex-girlfriend Peaches.

Dear Jimmy James,

I have decided not to have my new boyfriend Jimbo beat your ass today.

Hugs and kisses,

Bruised peach
Peaches can never promise everything will be bruise-free.
Thanks, Peaches. I walked to work whistling that day, to the motel where I paint walls and drink the leftover beer the guests leave behind when they check out. It was a beautiful day with a marvelous blue sky and puffy titty clouds. I smoked cigarettes and painted the back of the motel a lavender looking color, working on my arms and tan. Every now and then you'd see a sexy body walk by in a two-piece bikini, heading for the pool. I even saw one thin woman walking by, but her tits were so small they barely held up that bikini top. Not that I'm against small breasts. I like them all.

The day just flew by. I even had time to sneak around in the bushes and spy on this big beautiful woman floating on her back in the pool. She was a gracious creature, and when she stood up, I could see those huge breasts threatening to spill out of her small blue bikini top. She looked up, and our eyes met. I stepped out of the bushes. She frowned and I went back to work for a little while.

Jimbo was missing many of his teeth. He had a serious meth mouth problem. He looked like death when he smiled.

It was around 5 p.m. when I decided to knock off for the night and head home to my little trailer across the street. I went inside to punch out and my boss, Mr. Yang, gave me this polite little talk about not spying on the guests.

"Man, I wasn't spying on no guests, Mr. Yang," I said. "You got my word on that. And my word is all that I got with what you pay me."

"She said you were behind the bushes looking at her like she was your dinner," Mr. Yang said.

"Come on, man," I said. "You know I wouldn't do no fucked up shit like that." I held my hand up. "High five, Mr. Yang."

He looked at my hand.

"Don't leave me hanging."

Mr. Yang smiled and slapped me five.

"Yeah, man, that's what I'm saying," I said. "You have a good day, Mr. Yang."

"You too, Jimmy," Mr. Yang said.

I walked outside into the warm afternoon, the sun feeling so good on my shoulders as I walked past the motel. Man, what a wonderful day.

What a beautiful fucking day.

That's when a man about 6 foot 5, weighing 400 pounds, stepped out from around the corner. He was beating his palm with a miniature wooden baseball bat like the ones you buy at ballparks and stick on your bookshelves. This one said Atlanta Braves. The Braves hadn't been worth a shit in several years. I'd lost so much damn money on that team it made me sick just thinking about it.

"Peaches sent me here to beat yo ass," Jimbo said.

"Peaches told me she called it off, Jimbo."

He smiled and it was truly horrific when he smiled. Jimbo was missing many of his teeth. The ones that remained were rotting and gray. He had a serious meth mouth problem. He looked like death when he smiled.

I'd like to say I stood there and manned up, but that would be a lie. I took off running across the street, my legs just a pumping, beer belly jiggling over my pants.

I was about halfway across the road when I heard a loud THWACK and lost my footing, landing on my face on the pavement. I lifted my head off the street, and it felt as if I'd been hit in the neck with a fucking sledge hammer. The bat was just lying there beside me.

"Motherfucker!" I shouted. "You threw a fucking baseball bat at me!"

My pain was turning into rage, so I wasn't thinking clearly when I started cussing at that big motherfucker. He came across the road like a goddamn steam truck and flattened my ass out, pounding me into the street. I must have looked like roadkill when he started panting and stood back up.

"That's what you get for fucking with my girl," he said, his voice strangely high-pitched, like he was trying to do some kind of bad Michael Jackson impersonation.

I tried to smart off to him, but I swallowed a tooth and choked on some blood.

He walked off, and I got to my hands and knees, crawling across the road and down the red clay driveway that led to my trailer.

I probably passed out in my yard for about an hour, but the first thing I did when I came to was go inside and get on my computer.

I logged into my email and typed Princess Peaches a quick little message.

"You a goddamn lie," I wrote.