Sports News Without Access, Favor, Or Discretion

The night's as hot as hell. It's a lousy room in a lousy part of a lousy town. We're staring at a goddess. She's telling us she wants us. We're not going to waste one more minute wondering how we've gotten this lucky. She smells like angels ought to smell, the perfect woman ... the Goddess. Goldie. She says her name is Goldie.

We'll stare the bastard in the face as he screams to God, and we'll laugh harder when he whimpers like a baby. And when his eyes go dead, the hell we send him to will seem like heaven after what we've done to him.

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