<strong>Woodrow ~ hunting the girls</strong><br/><br/>The last meatball was the shot that put Woodrow Jenks flat over the edge of sanity and racing past insanity like a run away train. He bellowed as the sauce, which needed a dash more salt, dripped on his clean white apron bib.<br/><br/>The blinking sluts galloped and slid around corners but Woodrow pressed on. He pressed on while three security were trying to wrestle the cleaver from his hand. He toppling like a tall pine when two more tackled him. But just as he was falling he let fly with that cleaver.<br/><br/>It hissed in the air. Sailed like an arrow. Beamed the exit sign causing a rush of sparks and the sprinkler system in that area poured down the contents of a 50 gallon reserve tank. The fire doors locked blocking anyone from exiting that section including the now certifiably insane chef and his mob of attendants.<br/><br/>But from behind the two slaves hands reached out to snag them. Shaking hands that opened like metal claws and snapped out to clamp a tight hold around their collars. The rattle of a paper bag was the only distraction during Throckbottle’s moment of triumph.<br/><br/>The howling chef’s threats to skin them both alive didn’t count because even Throckbottle knew you couldn’t skin someone alive with a meat cleaver.<br/><br/>Humphrey’s voice was a wave of emotion as his athletically strong hands held the two in place.<br/><br/>“Don’t even think about it!”<br/>