"I'm glad that kids used to slap your towel head-wearing gay ass around."  She looked at me with an angry look.  Jim was heating up something in the microwave.

"And if she was still alive, she probably would be disappointed that her daughter turned out to be a pucchi-playing, fish-curry eating, roti-flapping dyke!"

She got really upset and actually tried to punch me but I blocked it and headbutted her.  Then I picked her up and slammed her through the table, she was in total pain.

Then Jim passed me a very hot piece of roti and I smacked her with it.  She was screaming from the heat of the roti.  She had some burn marks on her face now.

"Flap that with your tongue Helen, I mean ELLEN!"  In referrence to that ugly-ass American dyke from New Orleans.

Jim then interrupted "Actually I want to -ahem- finish some unfinished business between me and Helen, I mean Ellen.  Like I said I don' t want you to have all the fun."

"Oh, I know what you mean.  Let me leave out of the room while you take care of your business.  I'll go watch some TV."

So I went upstairs to Nikki and Helen's bedroom and started to watch some TV, but man I tell you British TV sucks.  All they had on was gardening shows and meaningless documentaries.  Don't get me wrong, I like documentaries but who cares for a documentary that's about the history of swearing on TV?  No wonder why Brits prefer to watch American TV shows.  Since there was nothing to watch I started to look in the dressers, under the bed, in the nightstands, and of course in the closet… I only went in there briefly because…well the best way for me to put it is that there were very interesting things in there.  While I was in the bedroom, Jim was, as the best way I can put it, taking care of business with Helen/Ellen/Simone/whatever her name is.  She was screaming then I guess he put something over her mouth because I stop hearing the screamings.  

Then Jim came up to the bedroom and told me that he was done with her.

I went back downstair and she was now tied up in the chair with a torn blouse, an unzipped pants (trousers) and her mouth covered up with a rag.  She was now literally in tears.  

"There ain't no 7-Eleven, Kwik-E-Mart, Tim Horton's, Dunkin' Donuts, or any Paki shop workers here to save you now."  I said to her.    

"Yeah, there's also no flying carpet to pick you up, no genie in a bottle to make any of your wishes come true, and no Ali Baba or any of his 40 terrorists here to save you now."  Jim said to her and we both started to laugh.  While we were laughing she was bowing down her head, looking like she was praying.

"You can pray to the Lord, Allah, that man who wears a dress you call the Pope, Gandhi, the prophet Mohammed or as they say around here 'Mahoun', Braveheart, the Holy Cow, or that monkey god Hanuman all you want, but none of them can save you cause I'm your Yama bitch." I said to her.  Yama is the Hindu god of death.

"This is how she really prays:" Jim said.  "ALLAHALLAHTOSISAMJAMASALAMIBOLONIJIHADHALLAHAKBARALLAH…KABOOM!"  he said while trying to imitate an Arab, including the phlegm and spit that comes with it.  We were both laughing our asses off.

"Don't worry, your cunt-fiddling girfriend Manila Jones will join you eventualy."  Jim said to her

Then she tried to say "IT'S MANDANA!" through the rag in her mouth.

And right on cue, she was here.

END OF PART 4 CHAPTER 6.