Sentence The Onhundredandninetyninth
The Man with the Size 13 Boots was not a Happy Chappy, in fact he was distinctly Unhappy! and people going missing in His Town, without his knowledge or approval made him Angry, and he wasn't a Man to cross when he was Angry – it was so allometric, on the surface everything was ok, but down here, along that little passage, in that quiet little corner, there was some fucking growth industry in Disappearing People: first it had been Elginbrod's Little Birds – he still hadn't found them; then it was that Westwater Hoor he'd thought he'd finished off in the lift at Waverley Station; oh, her 'sooterkin' the Shanter Slag, had been his work, so that was Okay – she had tried to escape but he'd quickly put a stop to that and she was locked up safe and sound now; then the MI5 guy, the old Wanker who was looking for the Shanter Lezzie, that was so fucking weird – the Man had no idea who had shot Dalwhinnie, or why, nor how he had been spirited out of the BGH between A&E and Intensive Care, the Porters had all been questioned, that Urquhart Cunt had been all over the CCTV and found squat all, so that really was a Mystery and now it was that stupid fucker George Gill – according to his wife he'd taken a phone call in his study and then must have collapsed with a heart attack, she'd done the right thing, dialled 999 and the Ambulance was there very quickly and they'd checked him over, loaded him on one of their wheeled stretchers and whisked him out to the Ambulance, they'd said she couldn't come with them and so she'd driven to the Royal, where there was no sign of him; the reception had checked with Ambulance Control and they hadn't received any call from Mrs Gill; oh, she fainted and had to be checked out herself – it was a TIA and she'd been admitted while all the tests were run, and only discharged the next day, to one of her sons, which was when Elginbrod had learned about what happened – and in the meantime not one fucker in the whole of Edinburgh knew where the stupid wanker was, no whisper, no scuttlebutt, no morsel worth paying for, the City replete with Deaf, Dumb and Blind snouts just like that Pinball Wizard, or the Three Wise Monkeys in one; well, not strictly true: some fucker had taken Mrs Gill's 999 call, two fuckers dressed as Paramedics had abducted him with an Ice-Cream van painted to look like an Ambulance, and now some other fuckers must be holding him; for why, for what and for where, these, together with For WHO were making him extremely angry indeed!
The Man with the Size 13 Boots was not a Happy Chappy, in fact he was distinctly Unhappy! and people going missing in His Town, without his knowledge or approval made him Angry, and he wasn't a Man to cross when he was Angry – it was so allometric, on the surface everything was ok, but down here, along that little passage, in that quiet little corner, there was some fucking growth industry in Disappearing People: first it had been Elginbrod's Little Birds – he still hadn't found them; then it was that Westwater Hoor he'd thought he'd finished off in the lift at Waverley Station; oh, her 'sooterkin' the Shanter Slag, had been his work, so that was Okay – she had tried to escape but he'd quickly put a stop to that and she was locked up safe and sound now; then the MI5 guy, the old Wanker who was looking for the Shanter Lezzie, that was so fucking weird – the Man had no idea who had shot Dalwhinnie, or why, nor how he had been spirited out of the BGH between A&E and Intensive Care, the Porters had all been questioned, that Urquhart Cunt had been all over the CCTV and found squat all, so that really was a Mystery and now it was that stupid fucker George Gill – according to his wife he'd taken a phone call in his study and then must have collapsed with a heart attack, she'd done the right thing, dialled 999 and the Ambulance was there very quickly and they'd checked him over, loaded him on one of their wheeled stretchers and whisked him out to the Ambulance, they'd said she couldn't come with them and so she'd driven to the Royal, where there was no sign of him; the reception had checked with Ambulance Control and they hadn't received any call from Mrs Gill; oh, she fainted and had to be checked out herself – it was a TIA and she'd been admitted while all the tests were run, and only discharged the next day, to one of her sons, which was when Elginbrod had learned about what happened – and in the meantime not one fucker in the whole of Edinburgh knew where the stupid wanker was, no whisper, no scuttlebutt, no morsel worth paying for, the City replete with Deaf, Dumb and Blind snouts just like that Pinball Wizard, or the Three Wise Monkeys in one; well, not strictly true: some fucker had taken Mrs Gill's 999 call, two fuckers dressed as Paramedics had abducted him with an Ice-Cream van painted to look like an Ambulance, and now some other fuckers must be holding him; for why, for what and for where, these, together with For WHO were making him extremely angry indeed!
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