No Saints Day 2

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The Dream Team was puffed out to its flounderest. The DA was Oliver Ward Cramwell, and he brooked no pond when it came to putting away the dishes. The wards all over were well crammed with his offal renderings. Under his reign, terror was down. Traffic in hopes and prayers was at a bumper-to-bumper standstill. Judy the Obscure couldn't help but feel, nonetheless, that something smelled fishy. She intended to use Luther's sad fate as bait to hook the crook she knew was somewhere just below the surface.

Meanwhile Luther was losing sleep, what with Cramwell's toothpick-eyelid method of truth extraction. No sleep means no dreams and Luther dreamless was no sight you want to behold. At his court appearance Luther -the sap- broke under crass sublimation and implicated no one but the judge in a moment he'd regret and Oliver would savor for at least the afternoon.

Boogers, thought Judy; this is amiss. Her dispatch proved thought provoking and evocative of disgruntlement. Not the public outcry she had hoped and prayed for, but better than nothing. Still, nothing lasts. It has a shelf life of two half lives, you know. Long enough to serve the time, anyway. Judy was there lo those many years later, Cramwell long dead and turned to powder, when Luther emerged well rested. I forgot the rest of the story.