Fried Cal

Southern charm and Brooklyn sass are at it again.

After the concert, I was plannin’ on some good lovin’ but that was before the bass player plugged in his amp. I jumped onto the stage but I was too damn late. Turns out, me and Sam had front row seats to a murder. Not only that, my pal’s wife is NYPD’s prime suspect.
Meanwhile, I got other investigating to do like why the hell won’t Samantha ‘fess up to that plastic pee-stick in the bathroom trash.