“Oh it smells *awful*, Buster,” Duncan spoke about the green pocketbook mounted in a display case on the side of the newstand. “Nothing new in there atall. Something *old*, and rotten. Smells like rancid sauerkraut to me, maybe mix in a little mustard. Can you imagine? My hands are turning redder just thinking about it. I need to amscray outta here! (reply/order). Red it is (*click*).” Duncan will have to stay a spell longer. TILE is strong here in Slaashsides-soon-to-be-part-of-Middletown, Buster believes. Continuing his pained face beyond the odor, he walks toward the subway, intending to turn himself in to Officer Davis Jefferson and his pseudo-supervisor Martha Wiggins for the murder of Hot Dog, then spill his confession at the merged jailhouse and mental institution later on. It’s the only way he can get the inside scoop. He purposefully bumps against Cory on the way down, one with the mother now. “Happy, bud?”, he asks sarcastically as he spots Jefferson and Wiggins at the bottom of a long long flight of stairs.
Tag Archives: Officer Davis Jefferson^*~~~~!
Andrea Stoorm (killer) and Duncan Avocado had a followup meeting to their first at Jim’s-later-Cory’s Club but it didn’t go so well. Multiple theories were tossed around with none settled on. Blue and red remain confused and muddled.
“I have to split this damn dopple town,” thought Mary Ricardo, walking away from it all. Dopple on dopple!
Unseen Alysha knew more than she let on.
She heard the alley whispers.
Gotta keep my eyes peeled like a banana, thinks Officer Spotty John, back on the beat. Crime everywhere in this town these days. Why it’s becoming as bad as, say, that Collagesity down in Lower Austra I’ve been reading about in the local toilet. Nautilus (continent) is being overrun by animals!
Officer Davis Jefferson was asking the local hookers in a nearby alley if they’d seen any illegal activities lately while working their own beat. “Nothing,” came the answer from Shelley Poplolly, a member of the City Gang and thus friendly with the police. “Something,” deviated Nancy Pantsy further down the wall, a Country Girl and thus not obliging to the local law. She was being paid by the Black Lake Bunch to get them off their tail.
“Weeeellll?” exuded Davis, tapping his foot in anticipation.
“Ketchup,” she said.
“Ketchup stains… all over the body. Then mustard came along and squirted him real good too. He was a true hot dog then and fit to be roasted, er, roosted, in that a pigeon came down and then roosted on his buns. He was done.”
“What’s alllll this with pig-e-ons, for crimeny’s sake?” Officer Davis Jefferson, formerly a busty barmaid of the Irish Resistance Movement out on loan for the moment, scratched his head with this. “So we’re looking for two squirts…”
“Squirters,” corrected Nancy Pantsy quickly, not wanting him to get too close to the truth.
“I’m going to call them squirts because that’s what they appear to be. You are how you act. Am I right. Ammm I riiiiiight?”
“Yes Officer Davis Jefferson,” dutifully recites Shelley Poplolly, a Loyalist.
“Yeah, what-ever,” recites Nancy Pantsy, a Dissentist, but then realizes her slip-up as he glares. “I mean, yes Officer Davis Jefferson.”
“Thatttt’s betterrr. Now: tell me more about this… doggg.”
(to be continued?)