I, The Jury – “Him a paper champion fabricated to be her complete antithesis?” [Part 65]
John Williams – The Long Goodbye (performed by Jack Sheldon)
Es ist ein langer Abschied
Und es passiert jeden Tag
Als einige Passanten
Lädt das Auge
Um ihren Weg zu kommen
Selbst als sie lächelt
Ein kurzes Hallo
Sie haben sie gehen lassen
Sie haben damit der Moment fliegen
Zu spät, du würdest drehen Sie den Kopf
Sie würden wissen, dass Sie gesagt haben
Der lange Abschied
Können Sie erkennen, den Schmerz
Auf einigen anderen Straße
Zwei ppl gerecht
Wie in einem Traum
Laufen für ein Flugzeug
Durch den regen
Wenn das Herz schneller als das Auge
Sie konnten Liebhaber sein
Bis sie sterben
Es ist zu spät, um zu versuchen
Wenn eine verpasste hallo
Wird der lange Abschied
A bodyguard (or close protection officer) is a type of security operative or government agent who protects a person or persons — usually public, wealthy, or politically important figures — from danger: generally theft, assault, kidnapping, assassination, harassment, loss of confidential information, threats, or other criminal offences. The group of officers who protect a VIP are often referred to as the VIP’s security detail.
Most important public figures such as heads of state, heads of government and governors are protected by several bodyguards or by a team of bodyguards from an agency, security forces, or police forces (e.g., in the U.S., the United States Secret Service or the State Department’s Diplomatic Security Service). In most countries where the Head of state is and have always been also their military leader, the leader’s bodyguards have traditionally been Royal Guards, Republican Guards and other elite military units. Less-important public figures, or those with lower risk profiles, may be accompanied by a single bodyguard who doubles as a driver. A number of high-profile celebrities and CEOs also use bodyguards.
The Sandman—In ancient pre-gun times, it was considered unseemly for secular and Church elites to carry weapons for protection, while traveling on long, perilous journeys between castle Keeps or PUVs. That’s why the sandman was created.
Initially, sandmen were culled from the population of knights who were temporarily without the employ of a regular liege. But, in short order, being a sandman became a full-fledged profession. With its noble tradition of upper-crust personal protection, the profession of the sandman flourishes in these modern-times of universe-spanning outer space trips.
Nowadays, it’s considered unseemly for the elites to defend themselves with anything, but a blade, while they’re on their star treks.
Needless to say, their sandmen must carry guns. ‘Cause, romantics aside, blades may win a skirmish or two, but they’ll never win the war. Guns are the ultimate martial art.
In the end, Mondo is able to calm the hysterical lab tech by convincing the woman that she [Mondo] is not a paranormal [i.e. a ghost] and that she is only a run-of-the-mill supernatural being, an everyday Vampire. Finding the mundane, who was hiding in a closet, and the job of convincing said lab tech that she’s not a haunting spirit, eats up a half-hour.
Mondo ascends a short flight of stairs and emerges from the Euclid Avenue entrance of the Quest Lab. Coco appears out of nowhere and walks over to the girl. Ms. Miller’s gait is brisk and no-nonsense. Mondo doesn’t have to be a mind reader to tell what’s up.
The girl’s hair yanks back into a sternka. Prudz glove her. She slips on her sternns—those most unbecoming eyeglasses. This bulldagger swerve gives way to her Miss Debra, as in, the female face of WWF’s Attitude Era.
Her flat, severe hair lets down and gives way to a bouncy, square-layered hairstyle a Rachel aka The Rachel. And what’s a Rachel without Heads? Not erectile-inducing nasty enough, of course. Her sternns get pursed. In their place: her tricked-out ultra-tweaked heads—those most becoming Atomic Age shades.
The girl’s attire adjustments brings a smile to the much older Vampire’s face. A smile which fails to soften the severe-expression perpetually worn by Coco. A smile which likewise fails to lessen the severity of the harshest makeup heavily applied. A smile which bespeaks of loathing and disdain, even when that’s not its wearer’s intent. That wide, ugly mouth of hers when smiling it tries to emulate a bass looking for bait—a mouth meant to be fucked. Hence the source of that smile’s inability to soften the severity of her facial expression or makeup.
A severe expression and the harshest makeup heavily applied, a tandem which Mondo emulates with the deft assistance of her compact. By the time Coco reaches Mondo, her sandman guise is complete, per Coco’s known desire and design.
Why no mention of a strap-on underneath the girl’s skirt? That’s not part of the deal. These days, like so many countless days before them, Coco is much too much of an avowed carpet muncher to let a prosthetic [even such a prodigious one] get in the way.
Eat and be eaten. Devour with the best of ‘em. Leave no cock left which has not been deep-throated. Leave no pussy left which has not been plowed holler by your wanton tongue.
As dyke as she can be at times, Coco, like most female supernaturals, plays for both/every team imaginable that’s allowed. In other words, she’s omnisexual—fucking she/he/she-male supernaturals who are consenting adults—fucking any mundane of any age or gender or sexual orientation with complete and utter abandon, which she can get her hands on, that ROE allows, whether it be consensual or not.