About Cherry Puns

It was called Joint Custardy

Her peaches aren’t too bad either

Grapes suck man, I mean potatoes they're appealing ;) and can even grow back even after being smashed ;) out drunk, but grapes they just get drunk and wine and wine and wine ;), oh and corn, god who needs corn, they just party but pop off ;) for no reason, they say after its waters temper ;) but... well I guess water is not good either, they get angry and just boil ;) over... oh and I heard some news about tomatoes they had an affair with cherries ;), I heard that tomatoes wife is gonna get revenge by dewing grass ;), but I can only say one thing the plant party was wild last night.

The sun shone into my office through the lowered blinds all clumsy like, fumbling through the gaps between the venetian slats like a drunk fishing for loose change in his pockets; trying to see if he has money enough for one last drink or maybe the bus ride home.

The dame looked me up and down, clearly disappointed by what sat in front of her. I didn’t blame her. Three days of salt and pepper stubble clung to my my crude boxer’s jaw and the bags under my eyes were so big half the bums downtown could sleep in there and not even know anyone else was with 'em. That was ok. This broad wasn’t hiring me for my looks and I wasn’t looking to her for approval. We both knew what brought her in here, it was the name on the door.

Max Dad P.I. - that’s me. Private Investigator’s sure not the profession my mother would have picked out for me, but it keeps me in whisky and it keeps a roof over my head and that’ll do for now. The dame parted those cherry red lips of hers as she took another pull on that just-lit cigarette and nervously stubbed it out in the ashtray. My eyebrows knit together slightly. I hate seeing things go to waste.

“So as I was saying, Mr Dad,” she began.

“Please, call me Max”

“Alright, Max… well, as I was saying, my bag is missing. Stolen, I think. I urgently need it back. Shall I describe it to you?”

“No that’s alright miss. You got nothing to worry about,” I replied, sliding a bottle out of the desk drawer and pouring a big slug of scotch into to my morning coffee, “I’m sure it’ll be a brief case.”