...sy access for all the drunken oafs. As she turned a corner in town, police lights flickered on the car behind her.
Marge pulled over, opposite the comic book store, with nothing but a sigh. Still partially drunk from an early night's drowning of wine (that she helped herself to at Flanders'), Marge knew what must be done. Chief Wiggum was on duty, and the only thing that liked more than doughnuts and cash bribes were sexual favours. Better yet for Marge, her hair turned the chubby guy on. Sickly, because they shared the same hair colour, Wiggum fantasized it as incest. And Marge would've dry-reached at the thought, but that decent side of her was erased long ago. Hardcore was her game now.
"Hello, Marge Simpson," Wiggum said with a distinct cockiness. "Can you blow into this for me."
Marge stopped in her tracks, taken aback by Wiggum's frank attitude tonight. It wasn't a breathalyser test the copper was referring to; his cock lay on her unwound window. She didn't even need to make the offer tonight, and Wiggum's public exposure didn't seem to faze him. Be it the streets were dead quiet but it wasn't like that could change in an instant.
"I'm gonna have to ask you to step into the back of your car, miss," Wiggum said with mischievous authority...