People often ask me, “Jason is being a private investigator as boring as it sounds?” If I only had a (Money) Penny for every time I was asked this, I would stop being a private investigator and run for parliament…Wait till you get a load of my expenses!
Unfortunately the tedious truth is, my life as an investigator is just a constant stream of glamorous locations, gin martinis, supermodels, a swanky London bachelor pad, and truffled eggs. Not for me, alas, the No 37: I have to suffer private jets, normally accompanied by some Eastern European beauty who is old enough to be my daughter, who finds a 50 year old borderline misogynistic alcoholic, 40-a-day man understandably attractive.
All private investigators are not the same however. I have even known some investigators who have preferred tea to coffee. The only time I accept tea is when it is black and served to me by the man servant of some deranged petroleum billionaire on his private island. Just before he tries to decapitate me with a laser. Anyway, that was Monday….
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