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From: theGreatxIam <max_wojtylak@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Anniversary Waltz #5 - Part 3/3
Date: Fri, 21 Mar 2003 07:10:04 -0500
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alteration is made to the body of the work. Copyright 2002,
theGreatxIam 


Until Death Do Us Part
Part 3 (of 3)
An Anniversary Waltz story
By theGreatxIam

Of course, Steve thought, picking himself up off the minister's
carpet. Of course, he thought, wincing at the tender spot on his
shoulder that he'd managed to land on yet again.

Of course he would trip over the coffee table leg just as he
tried to make a graceful exit. Of course. He'd been stumbling for
weeks, ever since Paula discovered him in bed with their nanny,
naked and fucking up a storm.

She had been furious, as she had every right to be. It didn't
matter that he'd never strayed before -- well, not really, not on
purpose, not nearly so, ah, flagrantly. Nothing mattered except
that his wife had walked in just in time to see another woman
coming while she rode his rigid  cock.

Steve had stuttered through an apology, even as he'd scrambled
into some clothes, getting all the buttons wrong and painfully
catching his dick in a zipper. Paula hadn't reacted at all, not
even when the pain made him flinch and he got tangled in his pant
legs, tumbling to the floor.

She had stayed quite calm as she threw him out of the house,
barely giving him enough time to grab socks and underwear. She
hadn't even let him stay around to tell the kids, and when he
called them later, from the motel, he wasn't sure what Paula had
told them, or what he should, so he just mouthed some platitudes
and hung up. For a week afterward, Rick had barely talked to him
and Suzy wouldn't even come to the phone.

Then Paula told him he could come back home, and he arrived with
flowers and perfume. But she was gone, with a note saying that
since he was the cheater, he should be the one to do the laundry
and make the dinners and deal with the kids. She was moving into
a hotel. A much nicer one than the place he'd been staying, to
judge by the first month's credit card bill.

Far from welcoming him back, she'd followed up with notice that
she was filing for divorce. He'd tried to call her, even staked
out her hotel, but all that got him was a temporary restraining
order.

It had been an armed truce in the house. Suzy timed her arrivals
and departures to avoid him. If it weren't for the dirty dishes
in the sink and the towels on the floor of her bathroom, he
wouldn't even be sure she was alive. Rick was taking it better --
at least he was still obeying his curfews, so Steve saw him
around the house. But polite Rick had turned truculent and
developed a taste for raunchy rap played at ear-splittingvolume.

And Steve could not keep up with his job and the housework on his
own. The kids weren't going to help. So, though he knew it was
risky, he had Zosia come in twice a week. Always when the house
was empty. But he needed the help, and she probably needed the
money. Paula had booted the nanny out just after Steve, and she
was living with some friends but not having any success finding a
job.

His life had fallen to pieces so suddenly, Steve spent most of
his days in a haze at work -- Mr. Kiefer had chewed him out twice
already for forgetting meetings. His nights were beer and TV and
feeling sorry for himself. Weekends he reserved for worrying
about how he was going to pay the lawyer's bills on top of
everything else.

It was the financial squeeze that had him clutching at straws.
Paula was putting on a lot of pressure for him to agree to the
divorce and end their marriage quickly. He wanted to fight for
time, but he couldn't afford it. Finally he made his offer: If
she would go to counseling with him, he would agree to sign the
papers if it didn't work out.

Problem was, he couldn't afford a certified counselor. They had
to settle for Rev. Michaels. He was a white-haired smoothie who
often forgot to get around to God in his sermons, but at least he
was free.

But then Steve had missed the first session -- Mr. Kiefer
wouldn't let him go without finishing the Zercom report.

He made the second, but it didn't go well. Paula had evidently
spent the first session filling Rev. Michaels in on Steve's
shortcomings. The minister spent the second grilling Steve,
gently but firmly.

At the third, just ended, Steve had started with an abject
apology and a heartfelt expression of love. Even the minister
looked moved.

Somehow, though, it wasn't enough. Paula insisted she didn't
trust him, could never trust him again. And he wasn't supportive
enough. And he was never home. And the list went on and on.

The only thing Steve had on his side was their deal. Only when
the minister agreed that counseling was going nowhere would Steve
have to sign the divorce papers. Rev. Michaels clearly wasn't
ready to do that. He'd even asked Paula to stay after. To take
her to task for being so hard-hearted, Steve hoped.

That's when he had gotten to his feet and promptly fallen over.
He slunk out, holding his aching shoulder.

---- ---- ---- ----

Of course, Paula thought, as Steve tumbled to the floor. Of
course, she thought, as he slowly got to his feet.

Of course he would find some way to delay his exit. Of course.
He'd been finding ways to dawdle and delay from the moment she'd
found him in bed with Nanny, fucking each other's brains out,
what little they had.

At first Paula had been merely furious. But, as Steve had
stalled, mumbling apologies and pretending to have trouble
getting dressed, she'd realized something.

She didn't have to forgive and forget. Not anymore. She didn't
need his paltry salary. She was rich.

Or she would be, once she got Daddy's money. And she'd be richer
if she didn't have to share it with Steve.

So she threw him out and went to work. A quick call to Jeff
confirmed her suspicion: If she wanted to keep Daddy's money for
herself, she'd have to get divorced first. Jeff was very helpful,
giving her the name of a sharp divorce lawyer, even managing to
"misplace" a few documents to delay the reading of the will and
such. She finagled a few extra weeks herself by suggesting her
mother go off on vacation before getting down to paperwork, much
to the disgust of Ephraim Carruthers Esq.

But Steve was still refusing to budge on the divorce. She'd
agreed to the sham counseling sessions, but then he skips out on
the very first one, and takes up the entire second yakking with
the minister. Would they never get it over with?

Her soon-to-be-ex-husband finally dragged his sorry carcass from
the room. Paula turned to the minister expectantly. Surely he
would agree that the marriage was dead and she could get her
piece of paper.

Rev. Michaels leaned back in his office chair, lacing his fingers
over his ample stomach. "Do you know," he asked, "why I wanted
you to stay tonight?"

"I'm pretty sure," Paula said. "You wanted to say our marriage
--"

"Yes. I wanted to say your marriage can be saved, Paula. I
appreciate the effort you're making to work through your
differences, and I'm confident they will bear fruit."

Paula couldn't keep her eyebrows from shooting up.

"I can see you're surprised," he said. "Don't be. I often find
that even the most seriously damaged relationships can be healed,
if only both partners are committed to it."

"But, Reverend -- Steve and I -- Well, you heard it tonight."

"Indeed I did. It was so refreshing to hear someone so determined
to save a marriage that she would lay it all out in the open like
that. You truly impressed me tonight, Paula. But then, you've
impressed me all along. Going ahead with our first session even
though Steve couldn't make it -- another wife, one less eager to
save her marriage, would have just walked out."

Paula could hardly see straight. This overinflated gasbag
actually believed the feel-good nonsense he spouted. At this rate
-- she had to ask. "So you think we should keep meeting?"

"Oh, my, yes. We've made progress, but we're not out of the woods
yet. Slow but steady, that's the way."

Paula was getting hypnotized watching his short white whiskers as
his jaw flapped. This couldn't be happening. "Slow? How slow -- I
mean, how much longer?"

"Oh. Well. Months, certainly. Possibly years. There's a lot to
work on, you made that clear tonight, and we won't have a clear
view of the outcome until we've tackled every issue, one by one.
Yes, months, at least."

"Then -- then you have no intention of declaring an impasse? Of
saying we've tried and failed?"

"Heavens, no. Don't worry about that, Paula. I give you my solemn
word, I will not give up. Not a chance."

He was leaning  forward by then, pounding his fist onto the desk
for emphasis. "Not. A. Chance."

Paula leapt to her feet and leaned over the desk herself, her
face inches from his. "You've got it all wrong," she cried. "I'm
not trying to save my marriage. I'm trying to kill it. And you're
screwing it up. Screwing it up, do you hear me? You and your
happy talk and your 'we can work it out' crap. I've had it! This
marriage is dead. Dead! So why not just sign a damn paper saying
so and let us bury it?"

The minister's face grew red, but his voice remained low and he
was calm. Maddeningly calm, as far as Paula was concerned.

"Now, now, Paula. Please sit down. Take a deep breath."

She ignored his words and stayed where she was. The minister sat
back and said nothing for a full minute, just looking at her.
Paula grew uncomfortable under his gaze, and she felt silly just
standing there. She gave up and sat down.

"That's better," he said. "Now. Let me see if I have this
straight. You do not wish to save your marriage, is that right?
You merely wished to 'punch your ticket,' so to speak, with these
counseling sessions? So you could get your husband's consent?"

She pursed her lips. "Yes."

"I see. So all of these meetings, all of it, it was a sham, was
it? You just want to use me to get what you wanted?" His voice
was still smooth as glass, soft as a summer morning.

Paula stood up. "Fine. Don't sign it. I'll find someone else."
She knew there wasn't time, but she couldn't stand his
sanctimony.

"Sit down." His voice grew harder. She sat down, warily.

"I didn't say I wouldn't sign your paper. I was just making sure
we understood how things stand."

"But why --"

He cut her off. "You aren't the first wife in a hurry to divorce,
you know. What is it in your case? Lover on the side you don't
want him to find? Got your next husband already lined up?

"It doesn't matter. I've seen them all. Whatever the reason, they
want their divorces on the fast track, so they cut some kind of
deal. 'Let's try counseling,' they say, 'and if it doesn't work
out, well ...'

"Quite a bargain, eh? Only what does Rev. Michaels get out of it?
A lot of wasted time and effort?"

Paula squirmed. She would have bolted except for the hint that
he'd sign after all. If she could just be patient, it might still
work out.

"Yes," he said, "I've been down this road before. And you're far
from the first wife in that chair. So what shall e do about it?"

He leaned far back.

"I'll tell you this." The minister looked up at the ceiling. "The
other women in your position, they truly wanted me to -- well, to
bless their divorce. And I know they did, because they were
willing to do anything to convince me."

He pulled his eyes down and stared straight into hers. "What
about you, Paula? Just how much do you want this divorce? What
will you do to get it?"

She looked into the minister's deep blue eyes and saw her own
staring back. Paula smiled. "I think," she said, crossing her
legs, "I think we can do business."

Rev. Michaels's lips twitched. "When?"

"No time like the present."

"I was hoping you'd say that." He got to his feet. "If you would
... come this way?"

Paula stayed where she was. "I want to be clear," she said.
"Clear about the deal. It's one for one, right? One time, one
signature."

"Of course, Paula. One for one."

"So sign. Now. And let me have it."

He had been walking toward the door. He stopped. "Paula. Surely
you can trust me. After all, I'm a man of God."

She didn't budge from the chair. "I trust the god," she said.
"It's the man I'm not so sure about. Put it this way. I may not
think the dealer's cheating, but I still want to cut the cards."

He walked slowly back to his desk, pulled out a sheet of paper
and scratched out a few lines. He handed it to her.
"Satisfactory?"

She glanced at it and put it in her purse. "That will do nicely.
Now. Shall we?"

The minister led the way to his bedroom. With its dark wallpaper
and brown rug, it was a dim cave even when he switched on the
lone, small table lamp. She was grateful for the dark when he
took off his clothes. She didn't want a clearer view of his
wrinkles and his gut. Nor did she need to see his leer when she
stripped.

He invited her onto his small bed. She gave him a hard look. "You
first," she said.

When he obeyed, she produced a thin smile. That, she thought, was
more like it.

The minister got on his back, his stubby cock pointing straight
up. Paula straddled his legs, letting the tip of his dick ride
along her slit. She considered having him suck her, but he didn't
look like much of an expert. And the sooner it was over, the
better.

When she was sufficiently lubricated, she put his cock to her
cunt and sat down on it. Rev. Michaels grunted as she began to
assault him, bouncing wildly.

He grabbed her waist. "Slow down," he begged. "Slower! You're
driving me crazy!"

She closed her eyes, threw her head back and kept pounding. He
didn't have the strength to stop her.

Give him credit, she thought: He did have stamina. For all her
pounding, he was staying with her. His fists thumped into the
mattress and his head rolled from side to side as he moaned, but
his cock stayed hard.

In fact, with her eyes closed, she could forget his looks, and it
wasn't half bad. With the right jiggling of her hips, she could
generate enough friction even from his dick to get off -- which
she did, her body convulsing in a heat of passion.

As the flush wore off, she congratulated herself. But the hands
groping at her tits reminded her that self-gratification was not
the mission.

He was clumsy and none too stimulating, but she put aside her own
desires and concentrated on his cock. With a fair amount of
effort she could flex her pussy muscles just enough to give him
an extra thrill. She rarely made the effort, but the minister was
a tough nut to crack.

It worked. Catching him by surprise with a squeeze or two, she
pushed him to the brink and over.

For all the effort, he had a rather anticlimactic orgasm. If she
hadn't opened her eyes in time to see his face scrunch up, she
wouldn't have been sure. But as soon as he came she swung her leg
over and slid off the bed. She was dressed before he caught his
breath, and out the door while he was still floundering out of
the sheets.

---- ---- ---- ----

The morning after the third counseling session, Steve called in
sick to work. It was a risk given Mr. Kiefer's attitude, but the
session hadn't gone well and he had to do something to save his
marriage.

Only he couldn't figure out what. He'd tried calling Paula after
the session, TRO be damned, but got no answer. He needed to talk
to someone who had her ear, someone who could tell her how much
he cared.

He tried each of her girlfriends in turn, but the ones he could
reach hung up as soon as they recognized him.


Steve looked at the clock and realized with a lurch that Zosia
would be there soon. He couldn't see her. He just couldn't.

He started up the minivan and pulled away, still not sure where
he was going.

---- ---- ---- ----

Paula flipped off her cell phone with a disgusted grunt. She had
been trying to reach Steve all morning. She finally got his
secretary to admit he'd called in sick. When she tried the house,
she got a string of busy signals, and now he didn't answer at
all.

She swung off the highway and took the side street to their
house. He probably wasn't there, but she had no other clues. At
least she could leave a note for him to call. With the minister's
note in her purse, she was eager to get it over with.

She saw through the garage window that the minivan was gone. She
began composing the note in her head as she opened the front
door.

As the door clicked shut behind her, she froze. That sound, that
... singing.

Paula slipped off her shoes and crept into the living room.

The other woman was facing away, dusting. Paula's eyes narrowed.
"You!"

Zosia turned, dropping her dust rag. "Mrs. Steve! You comeback?"

"Don't call me Mrs. Steve! And what the hell are you doinghere?"

"Zosia dust. I do two days a week for Mr. Steve. Dust, laundry,
cook." The younger woman paused. "No fuck. Just clean. Swear to
you. No fuck."

Paula sneered. "So that makes it all right?"

Zosia took a step toward her and stopped. "I sorry," she said. "I
know you -- you and me -- special. But Zosia only do what you
say."

"What? When did I tell you to screw my husband?"

"When we -- you know. Last time." The nanny lowered her eyes.
"You say, Mr. Steve, he want to -- to fire Zosia. You say, Zosia
should make nice to Mr. Steve. Make him not want to fire. So I
do. Make nice. Only now I see, you not mean fuck. So Zosia sorry.
So -- you come back now? All like before?"

"No. I'm not coming back. I'm leaving for good."

"Is Zosia's fault?" She was on the edge of tears, her lips
quivering.

Paula instinctively reached out to her, took Nanny into her arms.
"It's not your fault. You just -- well, I guess you really were
trying to help. But Steve shouldn't have ..."

She let the thought fade. Paula reminded herself that she had a
lot of reasons to leave -- millions of them. But there really was
no need to take it out on Nanny. She should even be a little
grateful.

Paula brushed a few wisps of dark hair from Nanny's face and
hugged her. Something long and hard dug into her thigh. She
reached down and felt something in the pocket of Nanny's jeans.

The younger woman extracted a black plastic phallus. "I found in
my old room," she said. "Maybe I need, now that we --"

Paula laughed, remembering the first time, when she gave the
vibrator to Nanny. "Remember the pancake batter?"

Nanny laughed too. "All over! Big mess!"

Paula took it from her and clicked it on. It thrummed in her
hand. "We had some good times, didn't we?"

"Yes. Many good times!"

With a wink, Paula applied the vibrator to Nanny's flat stomach.
Nanny giggled. Paula touched it to the other woman's arm, then to
the side of her breast.

Nanny snatched it away and touched the humming rod to the tip of
one of Paula's breasts, then the other. The older woman jumped
back and put her hands over her chest. Nanny faked toward them,
then reached down and put the vibrator underneath Paula's skirt,
flat against the crotch of her panties.

Ten minutes later they were both naked and locked in a 69 in the
middle of the living room carpet.

As Paula tongued Nanny's cunt, she forgot all about everything
else. The younger woman had learned well over the years, knowing
just where to lick and just how to suck to keep Paula sailing
from orgasm to orgasm.

It had been a long time since they'd used the vibrator. As the
black rod slid into her hot box, Paula couldn't remember why they
had stopped. She rolled off of Nanny and onto her back, lost in
the sensation as millions of ripples washed over her body.

Nanny plunged the rod deep within, over and over. Just when Paula
thought she couldn't take any more, it came out, only to rub
directly on her clit.

That lit the fuse on a spectacular thrashing, screaming orgasm
that hit so hard it almost lifted her into mid-air.

As she came back down, Nanny was licking juices off the vibrator.
Paula took it from her and deep-throated it. They shared after
that, running their tongues over opposite sides of the slick
plastic, down to hot, wet kisses at the end.

Eventually they dropped the dildo and just kissed, tongues hungry
for each other. Their hands pressed into each other's slits. They
were off to the races again.

---- ---- ---- ----

Steve considered it fate that he ended up heading toward his
mother-in-law's house. It was a long drive, but if anyone could
get through to Paula, Mrs. Noonan could.

Was it wrong to impose on her so soon after the funeral? He
didn't have a choice, did he?

More fate: She was home when he got there.

For an old -- older -- for a woman of her generation, Mrs. Noonan
was in excellent shape. Steve could tell that because there
wasn't much between him and her shape. Her sleeveless yellow top
hugged her substantial curves and her white tennis skirt ended
several inches short of her knees, showing off an expanse of
tanned legs.

When they walked into the great room, streaming with afternoon
sunlight, he could see even more. Mrs. Noonan's skirt turned
translucent in the light as she stood in the doorway. Steve
couldn't help his physical reaction, which he covered up with a
throw pillow as he sat on the couch.

He poured out his heart to her. She seemed very sympathetic. She
even moved over to sit close to him and put a comforting hand on
his thigh.

When he got to the part where he couldn't live without Paula, he
broke down. Sobs shook his body. His mother-in-law drew closer,
bringing his head to her chest as he cried himself out.

He nestled at her breast, feeling at home in her sheltering arms.
He didn't come from a very warm family; he envied Paula for
having a mother so embracing.

When his tears were dried, Mrs. Noonan suggested that he close
his eyes and nap awhile. That sounded like a great idea. She
helped him off with his shoes and loosened his shirt and pants so
he could stretch out on the couch and relax.

Steve drifted in and out of sleep, his worries battling his
exhaustion. He tossed and turned, almost falling off the couch at
one point. Mrs. Noonan suggested he'd be more comfortable on her
bed. She helped him take off his clothes, slipping under the cool
sheet in only his shorts. He was embarrassed when his erection
became obvious as she massaged his aching shoulder, but Mrs.
Noonan just smiled and patted it as if it were an unrulycowlick.

He snuggled into the bed as she puttered about in the bathroom.
He'd just nap for an hour, he thought, and then head back. He was
sure Mrs. Noonan would talk to Paula, make her see reason. She
was such a nice mother-in-law. She was such a nice woman. She was
... She was climbing under the covers with him! Naked!

Before Steve could say a word, his mother-in-law's tongue was in
his mouth and her hand was inside his shorts, rubbing his dick.
She was all over him at once. No sooner did she stop kissing him
than her tongue was snaking into his ear. Her nipples somehow
ended up between his lips. And her hands -- they were fitted
around his cock like a tight pussy.

Her hands were so talented that Steve thought there could be
nothing better -- until she replaced them with her mouth. She did
such wonderful things to his dick that he didn't realize what
else was going on until her pussy landed on his face. He lapped
at her sex eagerly, diving into her muff.

All too soon he felt the surge within him, and he pumped wads of
cum into Mrs. Noonan's throat. She drank it down and kept
sucking, making him shriek as her teeth scraped his suddenly
sensitive sheath. But the sensitivity eased into sensuality and
his cock grew hard again between her lips.

They shifted around and he knelt between her wide open legs. He
eased into her, afraid to be too rough with an old -- with a
woman of her generation. That ended when Mrs. Noonan brought her
heels down hard on his ass. "Don't dawdle," she said. "I want it
hard and I want it fast. Let's go!"

Steve lunged forward again and again, keeping up a frantic pace
until sweat poured down his forehead and stung his eyes. His
mother-in-law was shouting so much and flailing so much that he
couldn't tell whether she was having multiple orgasms or one
really big one.

It didn't much matter, because she kept yelling "More, more!
Faster!" He did as much as he could to keep up. He was fucking so
frantically that he didn't even notice his own Big O until a hot
wave seared his body and a jet of jism squirted into her fiery
cunt.

When it all settled down, Steve just wanted to roll over and go
to sleep. But Mrs. Noonan bundled him into his clothes and sent
him home. "You're a sweet boy," she said, "but it's time to go
back where you belong."

---- ---- ---- ----

Paula had put on her best red dress and her most expensive jewels
for the reading of the will. It was time, she thought, to start
acting like the heiress she was.

Waiting  for the old lawyer to begin, she opened her purse and
checked again. She knew it wouldn't run off, but she liked to
look at it: The paper with Steve's reluctant signature that said
he agreed to a divorce. An agreement that left any inheritance
hers and hers alone.

He had seemed confused at first when she confronted him with the
minister's signature. And he asked if she had talked to her
mother, of all people -- when Mother was the one who put the idea
into her head in the first place! Finally, though, he had signed.
And she had it.

At last the old man began to read the will. As he droned on,
Paula's brow knitted into a frown. It sounded -- it sounded as if
her mother was getting everything. That couldn't be right. That's
not what Jeff had said. What was going on?

She looked at her mother, who had a smug cat-who-stole-the-cream
expression. Paula was suspicious. Had Mother bribed Carruthers
into changing the will? That would be just like her. The minx.

She couldn't take it anymore. She leaped to her feet. "Hold it!
Hold on. Where's my name? Daddy wouldn't have forgotten me!"

Carruthers snorted and stared her down. "As I was saying," he
intoned. "Ah -- oh, yes. 'In the event that my wife, Loretta
Johnson Noonan, shall have predeceased me ...' "

He lifted up the page and turned to the next. " 'I leave the
whole of my estate to my only daughter, Paula Noonan Oldham.' And
then there is the customary language sheltering the will from
challenges -- shall I read that, Mrs. Noonan?"

---- ---- ---- ----

Steve put the phone down and stared into space. Paula was coming
over? To talk? What was there left to talk about?

He'd signed the paper. The divorce was as good as final, their
property settlement locked in. She'd been surprisingly generous.

He had to wonder how generous she'd be if she knew about him and
her mother ...

Oh, god. Was that it? Had Mrs. Noonan confessed?

---- ---- ---- ----

Paula almost rear-ended the Volvo, screeching to a halt an inch
from its bumper. She ignored the raised digit the other driver
waggled at her. She had bigger troubles.

Damn Jeff. What kind of nitwit reads the last page of a will and
doesn't think to tell her? That's what she got  for taking legal
advice from someone barely out of diapers. Who knew what other
crap he fed her.

And Mother! Laughing at Paula's hopes! "Don't count on any money
after I go, either," Mother had said. "I'm spending your
inheritance. Every penny!"

When Paula had protested that she needed money, with the divorce
-- surely Mother could spare some? All her mother had done was
laugh again and say, "Too bad you're splitting up. Steve's a good
man. You don't know how lucky you had it!"

Damn, damn, damn.

Paula smoked into the driveway and skidded to a stop. Steve was
waiting for her at the door. She had just enough time to compose
herself before she got to him.

He actually flinched when she went to kiss him on the cheek! What
was his problem?

And when she pulled out the divorce agreement and tore it up, he
almost passed out. It took ten minutes to get him to understand
she was calling off the divorce.

He still looked a little pale. "I have to sit down," he said,
weakly. "Let me -- let me sort this out. You're really calling it
off?"

"Yes." Honestly, he could be so dense.

"Paula, sweetheart! I knew you couldn't go through with it. And
to tell me today -- you planned it all along, didn't you?"

"Today?"

He smiled. "Our anniversary. Perfect. Let me tell you, I learned
my lesson. I'm you're man, first, last and always. And -- I'll
fire Zosia, of course."

"No, you --"

"Consider it done."

"But the cooking, the cleaning --"

"I'll pitch in. We'll manage."

Over my dead body, she thought. But, wait ... "I know," she said.
"We can hire my cousin Billy!" 


The end



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