(I mean progress)
Sergeant Peterson took one last look into the hotel room, then shut the door and turned to an obviously distracted Detective Wilkins.
“Sir, is it true what they’re saying down at the precinct?”
“What are they saying?”
“That she saw her husband hacked up with a meat cleavage.”
“Cleaver?”
“Right. Cleaver.”
"That’s right, Wilkins. The killer’s on the loose and she’s our only witness, so make sure you garter - I mean guard her carefully."
"Yes, sir. I'll do my breast. I mean best!"
"I know you will, Wilkins. You've never been negligee in your boobies."
"Sir?"
"Duties! Negligent in your duties."
"Oh. Spank you, sir. I mean thank you, sir."
"You're on your own until midnight, so keep your thighs -I mean eyes peeled, and make sure you call for backside - I mean backup if you see anyone lingerieing about."
"Uh, lingering, sir?"
"Yes, lingering."
Sergeant Patterson heaved a sigh, removed his hat, and wiped his sweaty brow.
"Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go masturbate."
"Sir?"
"You heard me."
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