The Unstoppable BrooheMopth.

If this was Twilight Princess, he could just find a conspicuously sparkly patch of ground and press Y to DIG his way out.

G-gnyaha! N-now I have you, S-sl-slylock! Now n-n-none shall stand between me and my n-nefarious g-genius!

“You want to run that nefarious genius by me once, before you go?”

Yes.

He’s so predictable.

Witness the unstoppable might of my p-p-plan and tr-tremble!

“We’ll get right on that!” I shoot Max a significant look and point at the screwdriver.  He blinks blankly. Dammit.

Have ye heard of s-such a thing as a c-c-c-cow? A c-cow, mind?

“Let me think–yes, I have.”

Ah, but did you know that a y-y-young c-cow, also known as a c-calf, is sometimes f-fed a m-m-magnet to protect it f-from pieces of metal it m-may inadvertently c-consume?

I’m waving my arms frantically at Max, who still hasn’t grasped the whole ‘use the screw driver that’s three inches in front of your face to take the hinges off the door’ scheme, but I’m still paying enough attention to say, “Go on,” and make it sound halfway interested.

I shall aq-quire just such a b-b-beast, and it’s powerful m-magnetic field will allow me to steal s-so m-m-much spare change that I w-will finally be able to fund my D-d-doomsday Device! And g-get broadband.

That’s actually not a new scheme. This small-timer called Buford tried it once. We didn’t bring him in because he didn’t succeed in stealing anything: magnets don’t work on money, even I know that. It was good for a laugh, though. Especially since he was attracting scrap iron and had sucked a nail up his butt. Course, I don’t let on right now. I’m a bit busy demonstrating picking up the screwdriver to Max and putting it into one of the hinges. He still doesn’t get it.

W-well, detective?

“Uh,” I scramble for something to keep him talking, “Won’t people notice you leading around a magic money-attracting cow?”

Aha! I shall s-send my m-monster on ahead, you see, he pauses and some purple thing flaps at the side of the window, to t-t-terrify the p-populace into submission! They will be s-so frightened th-that they will not even notice!

I’ve got two of the hinges removed. I’m not sure at what point I stopped trying to show Max what to do and started doing it myself, but I’ve learned to ignore that distinction. “What monster, that?”

Y-y-yes, w-why?

“That thing looks like a paper plate that you scribbled purlply all over and then pasted googily eyes to. This is a city where people regularly see sharks driving down main street. Hairless pink ape-gremlins wander at large. Nobody’s gonna be scare or even interested in your after school arts and crafts project!” Three screws to go.

Well then, l-let’s s-s-see them f-face my m-most fearsome c-creation ever!

“And that would be?” Two to go.

A unholy h-hybrid of a b-broom and a m-m-mop! I call it the Broohemopth!

I can’t answer that. I just can’t.

Because, it sounds l-like ‘B-behemoth,’ see?

What is there that I can possibly say to something like that?

F-from y-y-your silence, I assume y-you are s-stricken with t-t-terror?

“No, I’m wondering if you mean the wet drippy broom locked in here with us.”

Sh-shit, hang on. I hear the bolt shoot back, but as I’ve just removed the last screw, there’s nothing holding the door up. That’s a pretty heavy door, as Count Weirdly finds out when he yanks on it and it falls on him.

Not much of an arrest, I have to admit. But at least I’ve got something to make Max clean the office with.

The Final Word.

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