Your name?
Eric Stavro Mueller. I served for 19 years and eleven months with the Royal Canadian Mounted Police.
One month short of twenty years. Why?
I was spontaneously discharged for unbecoming conduct.
When did you first approach Pseudo_Intellectual vis-a-vis sex with the dead?
I was speaking at a U.S. high school about the dangers of huffing gasoline. The CBC had sent a crew of long-haired indie rockers to do my sound and play a few acoustic numbers for the kids - y'know, to convince them I wasn't all that square, that I had my own backing band and everything.
And Pseudo_Intellectual was in the band?
At first I thought he was the frontman, and he was on some kind of Iggy Pop trip, but from the Stooges period. I was actually enjoying the show from the dais. I was supposed to run around the auditorium with my cordless microphone and stir up the crowd, but the kids were totally into the Pseudo_Intellectual act so I figured I'd just let it ride.
So I was just up there tapping my feet being the podium and getting psyched up for the second half of the presentation, and I was absentmindedly chewing on this hangnail on my thumb. It was the kind where you pick and you pull and you even get in there with your teeth, but it only gets longer and longer.
Eventually I had pulled the hangnail all the way down to my wrist, and it was just like this 10cm flap of skin hanging off my hand. And it was bleeding quite a bit, and I hid my hand behind the podium so the kids wouldn't see it.
Just then Pseudo_Intellectual comes bopping over, swinging his hair around and everything, riding the mike-stand like a horse and slapping the thigh of his ass-less leather pants, and takes my bleeding hangnail-hand and holds it in the air like I just won a boxing match.
A few drops of blood flew off my hand and spattered across his glasses. He went fucking batshit. He started licking my arm, sucking on the hangnail... and the kids were just like eating it up. Here I'm supposed to be representing my country and giving a really serious talk on huffing gasoline, and he's like molesting my poor bleeding hangnail.
After the talk was over, we shared the most beautiful night of my life in the back of the RCMP paddy wagon.
How did your superiors find out?
We left a few body parts in the back of the van.
We're going to have to take a minute here.
No worries.
You know, for a supposed retired Canadian police officer, you sound a lot like a U.S.A. teenager. Who are you really?
My name is redboot and I miss my lover.
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