Marksmanship: The truest sign of love

I pride myself on the maintenance and upkeep of my targets. Well, up until that final point, of course.

My innovation--shared with only a handful of others--is to fill my clay pigeons with ketchup and hot sauce packets from those sleepless eateries by the highway. Yes, viscous fluid is an essential factor. When one's shot hits home, one must be prepared to dodge the spatter. To avoid it outright, if possible. If you can wear white with confidence, you have made the grade as an assassin.

Luisa knows this. She is one of those for whom hitting the target is the easy part. Now the noise needn't bother her. She's got ear-plugs molded to her own shape. I should know, as they are of my own making. But the discharge of firearms always gets her hot and bothered, unleashing the kinds of appetites that may overwhelm even the sturdiest of husbands.

Yee-ha!

All things decaying and foetid

Why, one may ask, does Ezekiel Smith have a dead skunk under his porch? Well, one may ask, but if one is wise one will refrain from seeking too many details. Law of the exile, don't you know.

Suffice it to say that the poor creature was not the intended target of the experimental neurotoxin. But once it had wandered into the cloud, the man of science in me sat up and took notice.

The amalgamation of chemicals seems to have preserved the flesh, in a true paradox. The smell is actually becoming... sweeter? Yes, like honey and roses, although the scent of decay has crept in. Research continues between the poker games. Little two-toned martyr, your death has not been in vain.