Mrs. Pillyworth

Mrs. Pillyworth the bag lady was all out of sorts. Under the cover of night, ruthless thieves had pillaged her park bench on Wackadoo Boulevard and stolen her most prized possession. “Bloody hell.” she bellowed softly to no one in particular whilst quietly relieving herself.

(You see, Mrs. Pillyworth suffers like that of any other ill-fated lady drowning her sorrows in the bottom of a bottle; from a sad case of the broken bladder and a touch of the crazy).

Mrs. Pillyworth was none too jazzed about this unfortunate situation. Grunting loudly, she busied herself tidying up the beer bottles and bits of string strewn about the grass that had fallen out of her shopping cart during the raid. Mrs. Pillyworth no more enjoyed a mystery than she favored a routine chicken broth enema, but at least a mystery involved interviews and clues.

Lying down amongst the wreckage, Mrs. Pillyworth rummaged through her pockets and brought out the last of the hot dog she had found outside of Morty’s PINBALL Arcade on Giddyup Drive. She ate the dog, and tossed the bun to her best friend; Rockefeller the Pigeon.

(You see, Mrs. Pillyworth had recently read a discarded book by one: Dr. Atkins. Mrs. Pillyworth figured she was not getting any younger and since bikini season was approaching, she thought it wise to heed the doctor’s sage advice.)

Suddenly recalling the pillaged prized possession , Mrs. Pillyworth began to weep uncontrollably.

(You see, this was no ordinary keepsake. One short year ago, Mrs. Pillyworth had a wild love affair with a chap by the name of Mr. Boddingsley who lived in a cardboard box on the north side of Gadzooks Avenue. Mr. Boddingsley’s defining features were his lack of pinky fingers, a nose like a manatee and a healthy obsession with T.S. Eliot. Oh, how Mrs. Pillyworth loved to pinch his nose and lovingly title it Alfred J. Prufrock! One sad spring day, Mr. Boddingsley mysteriously disappeared leaving only an envelope addressed to Mrs. Pillyworth at their favorite romantic rendezvous; the dumpster of the nearest Sizzler on Pina Colada Circle. Inside the envelope lay one shiny key attached to a keychain inscribed with the words: “one tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor”. From that day forward, Mrs. Pillyworth would cling furtively to that key hoping to one day unlock its secret)

Tired, wet and lovesick, Mrs. Pillyworth hoisted herself off the ground and grudgingly set out across the park in search of her first possible eyewitness of the raid: Madam LaTigre who owned the local titty bar on Foofoo Way, and whose dark brown eyes could often see the misdeeds of others…