Don't own nothin'
Frida was bored.
A very bad combination.
Frida and bored.
She lay on her bed and got a weird urge to clean out her closet.
Not one to fight her urges she walked over and opened the doors and got covered in a tidal wave of junk.
After a few seconds she popped her head out of the top of the pile and came face to face with a box titled 'Police uniform'.
She threw the box on the bed and managed to shove the rest of the crud back in to her closet.
She got back on the bed and opened the box. Inside was a very old police uniform. It must have been 6 years old! From when she was 12.
Frida looked at the uniform and a smile stretched across her face.
"Wonder if I have a mask?"
Manny in El' Tigre form was fighting Dajango of the dead.
Dajango had his magical guitar at El' Tigre's throat and El' Tigre had Dajango's back bone in his claws.
"This is the end El' Tigre."
"You're right Dajango. Nothing will stop this."
"Ooooooohhhhhh, booooyyyyssss!"
They both turned toward the voice and El' Tigre's mouth dropped open and Dajango's jaw dropped off.
There standing in the street, twirling a black jack, was Frida.
She was wearing a police uniform that was way too small. The shirt showed all of her stomach and was knotted in the front to stay on. The skirt
barely made it to the tops of her thighs and was too low on her hips. The standard police hat was on her head and a small black mask was on her
face.
"F-frida?!?!" they said in unison.
"Who is 'Frida'? I am a random hot police lady." Frida said while batting her eyes.
She walked over to them and leaned over pressing her boobs to the sides of both of them.
"Now boys, you really shouldn't fight! Settle your differences in another way or I might have to give you boys tickets." She said while pouting at
them. She put her hands on their chests and gently pushed them apart.
They both took a step back and watched her walk away. Both boys staring at her legs/butt until she turned a corner.
Danjango put his mystic guitar in from of his pants in unison with El' Tigre as he put his claws in front of his pants.
They turned and looked at each other.
"Um . . . rematch?"
"Uh, yeah. Rematch. Tomorrow?"
"Sure."
They both ran in separate directions.
Nobody knows the exact number of old men that died that day but they all know that they died with a smile on there faces and a boner in their
pockets.
A/N this is going to be a series so send me some ideas for short frida stories ok? any kind at all.