Well, um . welcome to CLUE - a very unoriginal parody by Kazey. It's one of
those stories that you write when you're bored, and that kind of get out of
hand. Read it if you really want, I guess .
And while I'm at it, I don't own any of the original CSI characters, or the story, or even the title. Heck, I don't even own a single pair of Greg's shoelaces. Not that I'm obsessed, or anything. Really. And if I ever actually figure out what CLUE stands for, I'll let you know.
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There's a lot of things this story could have been about. There was the square root of Pi. And there were short knotted pieces of string. But before them all came the SPOKKY, and so that's what it is. So nyah.
It was a dark and stormy night, or it would have been, had it not been an extraordinarily sunny afternoon.
Pickle McPickle walked into his kitchen on this bright and sunny day, and GASPED in horror. "Wha - wha - wha - WHA - " - he paused for breath - "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
-----
Inspector Susie McSusie examined the corpse of McPickle, which was sprawled across the ceramic tile of his kitchen floor. She tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for the dramatic entrance of the CLUE team: Kazey Zollywag, Lunar Luna Lunatic (or Jamie, as she was known around the lab), and Aphy Aphy Aphy Aphy Aphius (don't ask). It wasn't a good time for her to be frustrated, because her medication was starting to wear off, and she already thought the microwave was talking to her.
"Nice weather, isn't it?" McSusie blinked a couple of times before deciding to answer.
"Yep," she answered, "except for the whole McPickle thing."
"Yep, it sure looks bad from here."
"I don't suppose you've got any ideas about it?"
"Actually," it replied, "I have a -" the microwave paused for a second, as if it was either very deep thought, or had been suddenly hit by a sixteen- tonne weight. "You wouldn't mind just opening the door, would you?"
"What?"
"Just do it, please."
McSusie shrugged, and opened the microwave. She was a bit surprised when Kazey, Jamie, and Aphy tumbled out of it onto the McPickle ceramic tile.
"How did you ....?"
"Yes?" said Aphy, drawing out the vowel.
"Well, um ..."
"Yeees?"
"What's with the microwave?"
"Well," said Jamie, "It sort of started with the crumpets. And then there was the purple paintbrush. Or was it the hyperactive paperclip?" she mused.
"It was the paintbrush," corrected Kazey, who was starting to examine the odd ring-shaped wound on McPickle's forearm.
"Right, the paintbrush," continued Jamie. "And then it was the hyperactive paperclip. The purple wizard didn't help much either, so - "
"That's - that's okay," interrupted McSusie. "I don't really need to know."
"Any ideas what happened here?" asked Aphy, who was trying to pull a camera and tripod out of the microwave.
"Not really," said McSusie, "The deceased is Pickle McPickle, age 27. His brother called for an ambulance after coming home and finding him like this; he says it was about an hour ago."
"Isn't Pickle McPickle kind of an odd name? What were his parents called, Mustard and Processed Cheese?"
McSusie checked the clipboard she was holding.
"Yep."
"Did anyone notice that McPickle has an 'I Love Cheese' tattoo across his forehead?" Kazey was sitting on the floor and drumming her fingers on the tiles. Blank stares met her question. "I don't think it's relevant, I just wanted to know if you saw it."
McSusie sighed, checked her pockets, realized that she probably wouldn't have a chance to run back to her car and find the rest of her medication (the way this was going so far, it looked like she'd need the whole bottle), and decided to move the plot along a bit:
"Any idea how he died?"
"A few," said Kazey, who was now sitting in the kitchen sink, wearing a Sherlock Holmes hat and holding a little pipe from which soap bubbles were ballooning, "My best theory so far is that he died by SPOKKY." The background music shifted to a more sinister note, and people's eyes widened as they realized the implications of this prediction. "I want to talk to the brother," she said.
[Theme Song]
Normally there should be lyrics here,
But there aren't,
So just bear with me for a couple chapters
And I'll put something in soon,
I promise.
Heck,
You could even sing this,
If you really wanted to.
^_^
[End Theme Song]
----------
Yeah. That's it. For now, I guess. ^_^; If it looks like it's actually going anywhere, then I'll put more up.
And while I'm at it, I don't own any of the original CSI characters, or the story, or even the title. Heck, I don't even own a single pair of Greg's shoelaces. Not that I'm obsessed, or anything. Really. And if I ever actually figure out what CLUE stands for, I'll let you know.
----------
There's a lot of things this story could have been about. There was the square root of Pi. And there were short knotted pieces of string. But before them all came the SPOKKY, and so that's what it is. So nyah.
It was a dark and stormy night, or it would have been, had it not been an extraordinarily sunny afternoon.
Pickle McPickle walked into his kitchen on this bright and sunny day, and GASPED in horror. "Wha - wha - wha - WHA - " - he paused for breath - "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"
-----
Inspector Susie McSusie examined the corpse of McPickle, which was sprawled across the ceramic tile of his kitchen floor. She tapped her foot impatiently, waiting for the dramatic entrance of the CLUE team: Kazey Zollywag, Lunar Luna Lunatic (or Jamie, as she was known around the lab), and Aphy Aphy Aphy Aphy Aphius (don't ask). It wasn't a good time for her to be frustrated, because her medication was starting to wear off, and she already thought the microwave was talking to her.
"Nice weather, isn't it?" McSusie blinked a couple of times before deciding to answer.
"Yep," she answered, "except for the whole McPickle thing."
"Yep, it sure looks bad from here."
"I don't suppose you've got any ideas about it?"
"Actually," it replied, "I have a -" the microwave paused for a second, as if it was either very deep thought, or had been suddenly hit by a sixteen- tonne weight. "You wouldn't mind just opening the door, would you?"
"What?"
"Just do it, please."
McSusie shrugged, and opened the microwave. She was a bit surprised when Kazey, Jamie, and Aphy tumbled out of it onto the McPickle ceramic tile.
"How did you ....?"
"Yes?" said Aphy, drawing out the vowel.
"Well, um ..."
"Yeees?"
"What's with the microwave?"
"Well," said Jamie, "It sort of started with the crumpets. And then there was the purple paintbrush. Or was it the hyperactive paperclip?" she mused.
"It was the paintbrush," corrected Kazey, who was starting to examine the odd ring-shaped wound on McPickle's forearm.
"Right, the paintbrush," continued Jamie. "And then it was the hyperactive paperclip. The purple wizard didn't help much either, so - "
"That's - that's okay," interrupted McSusie. "I don't really need to know."
"Any ideas what happened here?" asked Aphy, who was trying to pull a camera and tripod out of the microwave.
"Not really," said McSusie, "The deceased is Pickle McPickle, age 27. His brother called for an ambulance after coming home and finding him like this; he says it was about an hour ago."
"Isn't Pickle McPickle kind of an odd name? What were his parents called, Mustard and Processed Cheese?"
McSusie checked the clipboard she was holding.
"Yep."
"Did anyone notice that McPickle has an 'I Love Cheese' tattoo across his forehead?" Kazey was sitting on the floor and drumming her fingers on the tiles. Blank stares met her question. "I don't think it's relevant, I just wanted to know if you saw it."
McSusie sighed, checked her pockets, realized that she probably wouldn't have a chance to run back to her car and find the rest of her medication (the way this was going so far, it looked like she'd need the whole bottle), and decided to move the plot along a bit:
"Any idea how he died?"
"A few," said Kazey, who was now sitting in the kitchen sink, wearing a Sherlock Holmes hat and holding a little pipe from which soap bubbles were ballooning, "My best theory so far is that he died by SPOKKY." The background music shifted to a more sinister note, and people's eyes widened as they realized the implications of this prediction. "I want to talk to the brother," she said.
[Theme Song]
Normally there should be lyrics here,
But there aren't,
So just bear with me for a couple chapters
And I'll put something in soon,
I promise.
Heck,
You could even sing this,
If you really wanted to.
^_^
[End Theme Song]
----------
Yeah. That's it. For now, I guess. ^_^; If it looks like it's actually going anywhere, then I'll put more up.