How to make $$$$ on your computer EASY

Detective Ace Rimshot lit his last cigarette, and looked out of his cold office at the dirty street below. A homeless man was playing a saxaphone in the distance, and seconds later was mugged by two school-age children selling candy bars for their band.

The sweet smell of cheap tobacco curled around Ace's dirty locks of hair. He slicked his hair back and sat down at the sqeauky office chair. You know the one, Part # 1264/a - Squeaky office chair w/casters (Alcoholic Detective style). Ace pulled the last bottle of Gin he had from a file cabinet, and was prepared to spend the night in a drooling stupor, when she walked in.

Yes, she. A woman so beyond description a simple pronoun would have to suffice.

"Ace? My name is Madam Consommè."

"Consume?" Ace asked, looking from the shadows of an office that recently lost power over a late bill dispute. "As in 'to eat?'"

"No, Consommè, as in a clear soup made from well-seasoned stock, from French past participle of consommer to complete, boil down. It's the 'è' that makes it French, you know." She sat down of the edge of the desk, tipping piles of junk mail that had been acting as a pillow for Ace the last few nights. "I know you are in need of some hot cash, and I have a job for you that you may be interested in."

Ace stood still in the light that came from his window. It was a light that came from an old theater marquee that used to be the grandest bijou in down, but now only showed filthy porno films and lurid PBS documentaries. Right now it was showing "George Page - Nature in the Raw." He stared down at the pile of envelopes falling into his lap like raindrops from the edge of his desk. They were trying to sell him check blanks, address labels, and some unopened purple envelopes marked only, "Valu-Pak."

"It's not one of those envelope stuffing scams is it?" asked Ace, flinching at the thought. "Or some sort of pyramid scheme where if I sell to two people, and they sell to two people, by the 31st step I will have exceeded the world's population? No, don't tell me..." Ace leaned forward, his yellowed teeth bared a snarl reserved for the scum of the Earth, which even by Ace's standards, was still pretty low, "... Amway?"

Madam Consommè gasped, and slapped Ace hard across his weathered face. Ace blinked, and spit out two teeth. The Madam gasped "No, how dare you say that in front of a lady!"

"So doll, what is it? Do I have to deliver kidneys to Singapore?"

"No..." said the regal woman, and she pulled out a gun. "I am afraid you have no choice. Get to your typewriter."

"But the title of this story says how to make it on my computer, dollface. How about we-"

Ace was interrupted by a warning shot that tore open his left shoulder, shattered the window, ricocheted off a banged-up saxaphone, and blew out half a theater marquee that now read, "George      - Raw." Attendence went up 50% that night.

"One more peep out of you, and I'll fill you more full of lead than a baby eating paint chips. Now get to the typewriter and do what I say!"

Ace scrambled to the typewriter and fed in a sheet of paper. "I suppose you want me to type, 'Dear recipient, you have had a kidney removed, please go to the nearest hospital or you will die--'"

Madam Consommè fired another warning shot into the ceiling, killing Bill Cosby on the floor above. "No, I will teach you how to make $$$$ fast. It's easy..." she leaned over Ace's shoulder, and whispered into his ear, "... even for you. Do as the lady asks you."

"Okay," said Ace. "What to I do?"

"Hit the shift key and hold it down."

"Which one?"

"Any one!" Madam Consommè shouted in his ear. She was loosing patience faster that a doctor in Haiti.

Ace held dwon the right shift key, and paused for his next instruction.

"Now, type the number 4 four times. It's the key above the E and R keys, in case you can't count."

Ace did so. "I don't get it, how can 4444 make me money, lamb-legs?"

"Look at the paper, you fool!" she screamed, and fired four more shots into Ace's back.

As Ace lay dying againt the old Smith-Corona, he looked at the blood spattered paper, and saw:


"Now I find out..." he gasped, and then died.

"Typical male fool," grinned Madam Consommè. But as she walked out of the silent office, she was mugged by three kids who wanted her to buy some candy because the brass section of their band needed more tuba polish.

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