Just worked a call where a small businessman, long known by the local constabulary as a purveyor of recreational pharmaceuticals, was stabbed by parties unknown.
I say "parties unknown" based upon the victim's testimony, despite all indications that his girlfriend was the guilty party. She, however, steadfastly insists that she ain't seen nuthin', no doubt because her attention was focused on humanitarian pursuits, perhaps arranging for an orphanage of girls in Darfur to get they huhr an' nails did.
I can't recall the sequence of events that led to my patient's unwilling impression of a pincushion, but apparently he was reading the Bible, drinking a wholesome glass of milk and minding his own bidness, when Sumbitch just up and stabbed him.
He didn't get a good look at Sumbitch, no doubt because his assailant chose to attack during a quiet moment of prayerful contemplation, rather than stabbing him skraight up like a muhfuckin' man, because Sumbitch knew he'd have smote him upside the head with the jawbone of an ass or some other weapon suitable for use by a righteous man such as himself.
He did know his assailant was a female, however, and I believe him because he assured me he would never lie to me before he told me his wholly improbable but nonetheless true story.
So there you go: Sumdood's sister has joined the family business, and she wields a mean pigsticker.
Be on the lookout.