Random books, torturous story.

Harry Callahan, also known as 'Dirty Harry' worked at the National gallery of Art as security and was greeting his guests at his own cheese and wine party, when he saw his pet bulfinch hovering around the over-ripened brie. Harry pulled out a 44 Magnum and aimed it at the bird. Everyone ducked. The bulfinch landed on professor C.S. Bull's head who promptly shat himself because he knew Harry was a man who had shot Garbo and was always a bit trigger happy. Part-time model and dog walker, Evans who really wanted to be at work, lived in a pretty cottage by the Thames, and Hudson his chahuahua tried to squeeze into a tiny cloakroom with David Bailey. 'Models close up are all same' David thought as he saw the tiny botox marks and the over plucked eye brows. F*** you thought Evans trying not to sweat from his over large pores. Harry was more than a little pissed by now and was pouring tequila into shot glasses greedily slurring: Four you. Four me. Four everyone. Meanwhile, in the plant kingdoms of Charles Jones (who was off his tits on acid), there were bluebells getting pissed on beer and a huge carrot chasing him. Unfortunately Charles was really in the kitchen, and banging a shelf with his head, knocked over a container of flour over himself, giving him the look of Buster Keaton. 'Get into the garden' Harry shouted 'someone book him a cab'. The bulfinch was now just above the mantlepiece on a framed picture of John Wayne, observing the chaos, smoking a pipe and reading some Hemingway.