"It was a suicide."
"It can't be a suicide, Bones."
"Why not? Suicide is one of the top causes of unnatural death in highly developed countries!"
"Because that's not how the game works, Bones. The murderer's got to be one of these people, in one of these rooms, with one of these weapons."
"This game is ridiculous. No realistic crime scene is inescapably limited to a set of scripted scenarios."
"Yeah, okay, true, but this isn't a crime scene – it's a game. It's supposed to be fun! You know, for a genius, you can be real thick sometimes."
"For a person of average intelligence, you can be relatively knowledgeable."
"...I'm not sure whether to be flattered or offended."
"I suppose the 'game' wants me to think that Mrs. White killed Colonel Mustard in the library with the rope. But that's impossible, Mrs. White is an elderly, overweight woman, and Colonel Mustard, though of advanced age, was an army veteran with considerable upper body strength, look at the definition in his pectorals, the mobility in his shoulders—"
"Yeah, I see 'em, you can stop mooning over Colonel Senior Citizen now."
"All I'm saying is that there is no way Mrs. White had the strength to strangle Colonel Mustard with the rope. As we've just established alibis for the rest of the suspects, the only remaining option is suicide. Mrs. White was framed!"
"Okay, Bones. Okay. I believe you. The good Colonel here offed himself."
A long moment of silence.
"I can think of several activities that would be more stimulating than this mockery of the rational criminal investigation process."
"Stimulating? Gee, Bones, you sure know how to sweet-talk a guy."
"Sweet-talk, no. But there are other things I know how to do."
"…I'm listening."
