Slylock Dares Reeky Rat To Say ‘What’ Again.

There’s three things I see way too much of: plain Bone Idiocy, things being Flat Out Surreal, and both at the same time. Any one of those can send a day right down the crapper.

As days go, today’s was already down at the sewage treatment plant before the call even comes in.

He's robbing Dr. Mario's apartment!

He's robbing Dr. Mario's apartment!

Things started off with a predetation case. Usually those involve a lot of stalking and counter stalking and maybe kidnapping, but not this one. Seems the would-be killer simply told the victim that he was, in fact, a log, and the stupid monkey bought it even while the killer was putting on a bib, getting out the silverware, and turning on the oven.

That one was dumb, but at least it didn’t take long to deal with. But then this Great Dane had to go smashing a through the window of a beauty parlor after a girl inside who was, quote, ‘giving him the look.’ He’s damn lucky she didn’t want to press rape charges. None of that’s really out of the ordinary: sometimes when a guy’s big, he gets the idea that he can just do whatever the hell he feels like without any consequences. What set my teeth on edge was that the whole time I was trying to get statements, the dog’s buddy, or according to him, business partner, kept butting in to talk about the paranormal investigation outfit they were gonna set up.

I’m not even gonna talk about the woman who claimed an attacked superglued a garbage bag to the side of her face. A full garbage bag.

So it didn’t exactly boost my spirits when my last call of the day turns out to be him again.

“Let me get this straight. The owner of this appartment let you borrow his candlestick.”

Like, yeah man.

“He let you borrow his floor lamp.”

Uh, yeah.

“He let you borrow a pearl necklace.”

Totally.

“He let you borrow his antique cuckoo clock.”

Like…. yeah.

“And you are not in fact about to go fence any of this stuff to feed the steroid habit that turned your hair pink last time.”

Uh, no way, man.

“At this point, I shouldn’t even have to say that you’re under arrest.”

Hey, no fair, you can’t, like, take me in on no evidence!

I think I snapped a little. Next thing I know he’s backed against the wall, and my snout inches from his face and all my teeth are bared. “You want EVIDENCE? Fine! How’s THIS for exhibit A: I, Detective Slylock Fox, Am Not In Fact An Idiot!”

His mouth is mmoving but nothing is coming out.

I’m holding onto his collar so hard it’s starting to rip. “So guess what,” I growl, “You’ve got the right to remain silent. Say it!”

Say what?!

“Say you’ve got the right to remain silent! Now!” There’s an audible thud as the back of his head bumps the wallpaper.

Oh holy shit- I, I have the right to remain silent, please man, let me go, I’ll come quiet please I swear!

I let him go, suddenly very tired. Max cuffs him and I vaguely hear him say something about how he thought it was an ok cover story. Either he thinks he’s playing good cop, or he’s been reading those specist Rodent Power pamphlets he thinks I don’t know abotu again. I don’t much care, at this point. Just want this surreal, idiotic day to be over, have a drink or seven, and go to bed.

But a shower first. Can’t beleive i touched him. Yuck.

Goes to show what can happen when you let your temper get away from you.

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