Why, He’s Just Misunderstod.

“Alright, let’s get this over with- gah.”

Whutsa matta?

“It’s… really blue in here.”

Th-that’s m-m-my new blacklight lamp! Isn’t it s-superkeen?

“I guess if you like glowing eyes and migraines, yeah.”

Because It’s Clear From The Drawing That The Lightbulb Is Cold, Yeah.

“Look, I’ve got a piracy case that’s been sitting on my desk like a pregnant hippo for a week, and a rash of bank robberies by a moose who can apparently be in five places at once–obviously identical quintuplets, but I have to prove it. So I’m gonna give you this ticket as fast as I can and get out of here, ok?”

Sly, whatta bout my-

“Not now!”

D-do you ever wonder, d-d-detective, why y-you and I must always be antagonists?

“No. No I don’t. I already know. It’s cause you’re crazy.”

B-b-but WHY am I c-crazy?

I ignore him. “You were apparently, uh,” gotta check the citation, “‘walking your Creepy Creature’ with intent to cause a breach of the peace, so-”

And my-

“Shut up, Max. So were serving you this ticket, for just fifteen dollars or so, so the homeowner’s association will get off our backs about you, ok? Just sign here and you can get back to your sketchy business with your creepy gremlin-having self.”

D-d-don’t you th-think it’s p-p-possible that I’m only d-doing all this, he flaps his clammy arms around the room, bec-c-cause really, I’m lonely? It’s j-just a w-way to get attention?

“Frankly, no.”

Oh, good. I knew my th-therapist was f-f-full of sh-sh-sh-, uh, crap. He signs the ticket. Is th-that it?

“Yup. See you.”

Out of curiosity, who called y-you?

“Promise you won’t try to melt their house with Omega Waves or whatever?”

He grins.

I roll my eyes. Must look trippy, what with the day-glo mood lights. “The interspecies couple on the corner were camping in the front yard.”

I kn-knew it! They will r-rue the d-d-day they aroused my wrath! He shakes his fist. Why I’ll… I’ll… T-tp their house!

“Whatever.” I’m already halfway out the door.

But Slyyyyy! Max whines, whut about dat monster stealin an eatin my clothes?!

“We’re not talking about that!”

The Final Word.


About this entry