Wednesday, July 30, 2008

"A Horrible Ending"

Five years ago I was the smartest detective around. Nothing could get past me. I could solve a Rubix cube in eight seconds and do a crossword puzzle with my eyes closed. I solved case after case without any problems. I was a city hero; the papers always had my name in them: “Craig Phillips, Hero,” or “Man Solves Crossword with Eyes Closed; Doctors Confused.”

I never had much trouble with a case. That is, until one September night when my office got a call that reported a horrific decapitation. Decapitations made interrogating victims tough. I preferred talking to victims with their heads still on. It seemed someone was going around town committing grizzly murders. As we always did, me and my team sprung into action immediately after we stopped watching television.

My team was legendary. There was Unlucky Eddie, a guy whose nickname wasn’t ironic at all. That guy was seriously unlucky. “I’ll start the car,” he said right before a bookcase fell on him.

Then there was Penny Pasta. She swore it was her real name, but no one would have even cared if it was fake because it was so hilarious.

Paul the Punster took the keys from Eddie’s hands and said, “How do you expect to solve this case when you can’t even get that one off you?” He smiled and passed around a tip jar. I gave him a quarter. It wasn’t that great of a pun.

I followed Paul out to the car, carrying Mutt, our spaghetti-sniffing dog. A lot of other detectives used drug or bomb sniffing dogs, but Mutt was just so good at sniffing spaghetti we had to have him. He was essentially useless, except for in the Case of the Strangling Spaghetti. He saved all our lives there.

Penny and Eddie got into the car. “We should call Barry Bonds,” said Paul, “because this case is going to be a home run.”

“What?” I said. “Shouldn’t we call Mark McGuire?” I didn’t know what he was talking about. You see, being incredibly smart had its drawbacks. My brain became so stuffed with knowledge in 1999 that I haven’t learned anything since. Sometimes it’s embarrassing in conversation when people mention bands that aren’t 98 Degrees.

Paul drove our car out to the movie theater, the scene of the latest crime. We already knew who the killer was. He was Bodyless Ned, a notorious madman on the loose from prison. Formerly he was Headless Ned, but his goons found his head and in the process lost his body. Rumor had it that he was murdering innocent people in search of a good body. It was pointless, though, because his two goons had a combined sixth grade education and poor hand-eye coordination, so their chances of actially attaching the head to a body were slim. What they did have, though, was a terrifying grizzly bear that they would dress as a human, sneak into a movie theater, and unleash upon the moviegoers.

When we pulled up to the theater people were running for their lives. Amid the chaos arose Bodyless Ned, held up by his goons. “Excuse me,” he said in that nasally voice of his, “but has anyone seen a body?”

He cackled with laughter as the grizzly bear horrifyingly pounced on a man and ripped his head off.

“Talk about a bad hair day,” said Paul.

No one laughed.

“What? That was a decent pun.”

“Not now, Paul. Not now.”

We had bigger things to worry about. Specifically the grizzly bear that was thundering towards our car, its demonic eyes set on Unlucky Eddie.

I stepped on the gas and we got out of there. We drove to Tennessee, changed our names, and became a traveling band called The Detectives Formerly Known as Craig Phillips, Unlucky Eddie, Penny Pasta, Paul the Punster, and Mutt the Spaghetti-Sniffing Dog.

The name was bad for two reasons. First, it wouldn’t fit on our album cover. Second, it gave away our identities so Bodyless Ned and his goons found us in a matter of days. They dressed their bear up like a record label executive and he tricked us into signing a 50 year contract.

So that’s how Bodyless Ned got us. Not by ripping our heads off, but by using a wild animal to trick us into signing away all the rights to our music.

Never sign a contract written by a bear.

1 comment:

rue said...

i vote for more stories on unlucky eddie.