I’m thinking of writing a book about religion and that.

Jimmy Croker thought about his position in life and laughed. He was the king. Not the king of the world, but the king of the world that mattered to Jimmy Croker. The world that mattered to Jimmy Croker was the estate. The bad estate he had grown up in, and now was the king of.

Jimmy Croker was not just any king. He was the king of loans, he thought, as he lit a cigar and looked out the window of his high-up flat. He looked at his golden watch that he wore as a symbol of status that always told the time, and time was “they are a bit late o’clock” but the watch said 8.03pm because it just had a normal watch’s face. Maybe in the year 2125 there would be a new kind of watch with words instead of numbers but it was actually 2013 just like it said on his watch. His train of thought about his watch was interrupted by his boys aka his henchmen hurling a woman through the door which was luckily open because he hated his henchman to damage well-crafted items such as his door.

Jimmy Croker was not an evil man, thought Jimmy Croker. Jimmy Croker provided a service of which this woman gladly partook.

“What is your name?” he asked before slurping wine from his special goblet.


“Well blessed be!” Jimmy Croker laughed at his clever religious joke, “Mary, it seems I was generous enough to give you two hundred of the Queen’s coins.”

“For the kids. For a television for the kids. Digital switchover…” she muttered, pathetically to Jimmy Croker’s crooked ear.

“But of course it wasn’t a gift, was it? You promised you’d give it back, in segments.” She nodded. “But you didn’t.” She shook her head.

“Two hundred queen coins is nothing to Jimmy Croker,” said Jimmy Croker, “But in my game, mercy is not a round of cards I can be seen to play.”

“But please Jimmy… my kids…” she whimpered.

“No, it seems my game tonight,” he opened a drawer and removed his sword, “is find the lady…”

But before he could bring the two other ladies out of his secret closet the door of his office burst open and a blinding light shone through. A mysterious figure strode into the room. He picked up Jimmy Croker’s goblet and looked upon the engravement there upon on it.

“JC. Irony, man!” he chuckled, “Moneylenders, you never change. But you like wine?” Jimmy Croker nodded, mainly out of pure fear. “Yes, wine.” The figure snapped his fingers, and the last thing Jimmy Croker saw was his eyeballs exploding and 40 litres of wine pouring out through the holes which is non-coincidentally the exact amount of water in a human body.

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