It's simple as it sounds, we the fans need to sign this petition so the beautiful and inspiring couple doesn't break up or get done with each other. Let's end this for ever.
Whom I'm talking about?
Mike Majlak, author of The Fifth Vital, Night Shift host, Impaulsive Co-host and also happens to be the deserving boyfriend of Lana Rhoades or Amara Maple, depending on which channel you're watching �.
Lana Rhoades or Amara Maple, is an ex porn actress and now a buisnesswoman and model.
'But "early arrest", what do you think that means?'
The words were drowned by the scream of a police-car siren. Driven at high speed, the car came through the red lights at the bottom of Haling Road, roared past them and screeched to a standstill a hundred yards further on, outside the Flying Swan. A plainclothes detective and three burly constables leapt from the vehicle and swept into the saloon bar.
'We might simply make a clean breast of it,' said John.
The two men did not wait to see what might happen. They looked at each other, dropped the newspaper and fled.
'But there isn't a photograph of the wheelbarrow?'
'Here it is,' said Jim, '"Wheelbarrow Clue in Double Slaying. Chiswick Police leading an investigation into the matter of the two bodies found on the foreshore upon the fall of the Thames last week believe that they now have a lead regarding the owner of the wheelbarrow discovered at the scene of the crime. Detective Inspector Cyril Barker said in an exclusive interview with the Brentford Mercury that he expected to make an early arrest".'
'I don't think the Professor would appreciate that, it might interfere with his plans. Also the police might claim conspiracy because we didn't come forward earlier.'
Pooley jerked himself awake. 'Where am I?' he groaned.
'Where you have been for the last two days, in my bloody allotment shed.'
'Where you have been for the last two days, in my bloody allotment shed.'
Omally was not listening, he was peeling a potato. Before him a monstrous heap of such peelings spoke most fluently of the restricted diet upon which the two were at present subsisting. 'It is spud for breakfast,' said he.
'I was just talking about that to Pooley,' said Neville, gesturing towards Jim's table.
There are many pleasures to be had in camping out. The old nights under canvas, the wind in your hair and fresh air in your lungs. An opportunity to get away from it all and commune with nature. Days in sylvan glades watching the sunshine dancing between the leaves and dazzling the eyes. Birdsong swelling at dawn to fill the ears. In harmony with the Arcadian Spirits of olden Earth. At night a time for reverie about the crackling campfire, the sweet smell of mossy peat and pine needles. Ah yes, that is the life.
'We?' said Pooley. 'Where do you get this "we" from? It was your wheelbarrow.'
But naught, however, remained to signal that either Jim Pooley or John Omally had ever been there, naught but for two half-consumed pints of Large going warm upon the table and a saloon-bar door which swung quietly to and fro upon its hinge.
'But "early arrest", what do you think that means?'
'We might simply make a clean breast of it,' said John.
Up at the bar Norman, who had quietly been reading a copy of the Brentford Mercury, said suddenly, 'Now there's a thing.'
'What's that,' asked Neville.
'Where you have been for the last two days, in my bloody allotment shed.'
'Yes, I can't see the Mercury's ace reporter getting the journalist of the year award for it.'
'No, either the reporter had no film in his Brownie or the police didn't think it necessary.'
'What's that,' asked Neville.
'I don't think the Professor would appreciate that, it might interfere with his plans. Also the police might claim conspiracy because we didn't come forward earlier.'
But naught, however, remained to signal that either Jim Pooley or John Omally had ever been there, naught but for two half-consumed pints of Large going warm upon the table and a saloon-bar door which swung quietly to and fro upon its hinge.
Jeff walked over and examined the costume. "It doesn't have a Zipper."
"For Christ's sake, Louise, he's a nothing. He worked in a carnival. My God, you might as well be marrying a stable hand. He's handsome--- granted. And he has a fab bod. But outside of sex, you have absolutely nothing in common, darling."
She sat up in surprise. "What?"
"You wanted to see me, ma'am?"
"Yes. I'm giving a dinner party tomorrow night. Would you like to come?"
"I'm trying to get this off," she said. "I'm having a problem with the zipper."
She gave him a slow smile. "That's right."
"I see. I'm working for you."
One of the carnies had been a professor of archaeology until he was thrown out of college for stealing and selling valuable relics. He and Jeff had had long talks, and the professor had imbued Jeff with an enthusiasm for archaeology. "You can read the whole future of mankind in the past," the professor would say. "Think of it, son. Thousands of years ago there were people just like you and me dreaming dreams, spinning tales, living out their lives, giving birth to our ancestors." His eyes had taken on a faraway look. "Carthage--- that's where I'd like to go on a dig. Long before Christ was born, it was a great city, the Paris of ancient Africa. The people had their games, and baths, and chariot racing. The Circus Maximus was as large as five football fields." He had noted the interest in the boy's eyes. "Do you know how Cato the Elder used to end his speeches in the Roman Senate? He'd say, 'Delenda est cartaga'; 'Carthage must be destroyed.' His wish finally came true. The Romans reduced the place to rubble and came back twenty-five years later to build a great city on its ashes. I wish I could take you there on a dig one day, my boy."
And that was the way it began.
"I'm trying to get this off," she said. "I'm having a problem with the zipper."
A year later the professor had died of alcoholism, but Jeff had promised himself that one day he would go on a dig. Carthage, first, for the professor.
"Sometimes," Jeff said agreeably. "Was there anything else, Miss Hollander?"
"Then if you want to get your money's worth, you'd better let me get on with my work." Jeff moved on to the next stanchion.
And that was the way it began.
"Then if you want to get your money's worth, you'd better let me get on with my work." Jeff moved on to the next stanchion.
They made love on the deck, where the soft tropical air caressed their bodies like a blessing. Afterward, they lay on their sides, facing each other. Jeff propped himself up on an elbow and looked down at Louise. "Your daddy's not the sheriff, is he?" Jeff asked.
"Yes. I'm giving a dinner party tomorrow night. Would you like to come?"
"I'm Louise Hollander. I own this boat."
They were together every night after that. At first Louise's friends were amused. He's another one of Louise's playthings, they thought. But when she informed them that she intended to marry Jeff, they were frantic.
"I see. I'm working for you."
"Then if you want to get your money's worth, you'd better let me get on with my work." Jeff moved on to the next stanchion.
Louise Hollander had had two husbands before she was twenty-one, and her lawyer had just made a settlement with her third husband when she met Jeff. The second night they were moored at the harbor in Papeete, and as the passengers and crew were going ashore, Jeff received another summons to Louise Hollander's quarters. When Jeff arrived, she was dressed in a colorful silk pareu slit all the way up to the thigh.
And that was the way it began.
"Are you a homosexual, Jeff?"