You fellas know this would never have happened when I was in charge. This lousy Skippy bastard McLachlan told me he was one of us. Pansy, candy-arsed, floppy-haired Protestant noodle lied to me. He said to me he went to St Peter's.
"Good," I said. How did I figging know they stole our fugging saints too? He looked like he could have been in the choir. It's South Australia - who knows?
Handover, I told him, "No Good Friday games."
He said "Certainly, Andrew."
Sure I also told him, "Rules are just guidelines, my friend. When it suits, bend them like cocktail straws and slurp mightily on the sweet blood of your victims."
He lied, fellas. No-one told me, fellas.
Bloody Protestants.
