“This limerick’s a fat waste of time!
I think reading it should be a crime!”
After those words were said
Our hero was dead
When he drowned in a pool full of slime
“This limerick’s a fat waste of time!
Detectives stood speechless at the crime scene. There was the body, lying there with a dagger buried in the chest, with nary a clue as to who the culprit was.
“Idiots,” Inspector Smonj uttered after having surveyed the scene. “I know who did it.”
Not only were the detectives unimpressed, they seemed annoyed. Inspector Smonj’s powers of deduction were so keen they seemed robotic in nature. And here he was, not even on the job one minute when he assessed enough evidence to uncover the culprit.
“The floor is still wet,” Smonj said. “I can smell the Lysol. Since the killer didn’t want to leave anything behind, she would have had to bring her own cleaning supplies. Therefore, it was the cleaning lady.”
“Aww, how did you know!” shrieked the cleaning lady.
Moments later, Smonj arrived at another crime scene with a flurry of police activity. Detectives had lined up numerous suspects for questioning.
“Excuse me!” yelled out Smonj. “Who perchance does the gardening?”
“That would be me,” spoke up an elderly man.
“You’re under arrest. This house is so overrun with weeds it’s an insult to think you’re doing any real gardening. You can’t plant anything except the murder weapon.”
Time and time again, Smonj was able to instantly identify the culprit.
Fed up with his abilities, police gave Smonj the ultimate test. An unsolved murder involving the slaying of a police officer over 25 years ago. The case had gone cold with no promising leads to solve the case.
“Let’s you see crack this one,” the sergeant snarled.
“Well, I can see from the X-ray that the fatal shot came from high above the officer’s head. Someone on the fourth floor, to be exact.”
“How can you tell?”
“For every foot away from the target, the bullet’s velocity is reduced by 1/2 micrometer. Compared to a point blank shot which would have completely penetrated the skull, the bullet only went halfway through. The bullet would have been fired from someone standing on the balcony of the fourth floor.”*
Armed with this information, police once again searched the surrounding complex. Sure enough, there was a casing, rusty but otherwise intact, that matched the bullet from the fatal shot, still lying on the balcony. The tenant at that balcony was questioned.
“I tell you, I have no idea where the casing came from,” the tenant explained.
“He’s lying,” one of the officers blurted.
“No, he’s telling the truth,” Smonj corrected. “The decor of this apartment is characteristic of a law-abiding citizen. He can’t have lived here very long.”
The landlord was asked to produce a listing of all the tenants at that residence, and sure enough, the current tenant had only resided at the apartment for 6 months.
Another name was found at the residence at the time of the officer’s murder. A listing at the public records catalog revealed that the tenant had been killed in a robbery gone wrong, a victim of his own crime.
Smonj had solved the case, and this time the police were glad to have had him on their side all along.
* This “information” was made up and was not intended to be factual.
The bathtub was slowly filling with hot water. After a depressing visit to Chicago to bury my grandmother, I was more than ready for a little escape, even it if did mean taking a bath in my room at the hotel. I was watching some TV to pass the time while the tub was filling. I was flipping through the channels before concluding there was nothing on. So I shut the TV off and walked to the bathroom to check on the bathtub. Just about there. So I began getting ready for my bath. I took off my glasses and undressed. I turned off all the lights in the room except for the light just outside the bathroom door. I walked up to the door to the room and turned the knob to engage the deadbolt. No way anyone could enter the room now.
I then walked into the bathroom, dropped the towel from around my waist and stepped into the tub. That water felt good.
There I was, sitting in the bathtub, closing my eyes and feeling the comforting water surround me. I could feel my anxiety and stress melt away and for the first time I was able to relax. I left my mind drift away on an invisible sailboat, letting it go wherever the winds blow.
Suddenly I opened my eyes. I had an alarming feeling that I wasn’t alone anymore. How could that be? That door is LOCKED.
It’s just me, all alone in the room.
How could anyone even get in the room?
Finally convinced I was alone, I closed my eyes. Again I set my mind adrift, setting it free to chase away the day’s stress.
Again, I opened my eyes.
There’s that feeling again. Someone is definitely in this room.
I looked towards the bathroom door and my eyes widened in horror. I could see the bathroom light shine from the other side of the door.
And moving feet.
Moving slowly past the bathroom.
I did a double take.
Was my mind playing tricks on me? Was I sleeping? Dreaming?
This was the second time I had that feeling I wasn’t alone.
Finding the bath soothing no longer, I had to investigate. I climbed out of the tub and wrapped a towel around my waist. Standing in front of the door, I summoned all my courage and cautiously opened the door.
What was that smell?
There was the smell of something in the room. I didn’t know what it was but I did know one thing.
It didn’t smell like this before my bath.
I slowly stepped out of the bathroom, daring to investigate. The feeling I was no longer alone blared louder than ever and I was struggling to get a grasp on what was going on.
Then I stepped on something.
Something that wasn’t there earlier.
I stooped down for a closer look.
It was dirt.
Then I noticed that the dirt was shaped like a footprint.
Not far from it was another footprint. In fact, there was a trail of footprints on the floor. But from who?
“Hello, Michael,” a voice rang out. Instantly a violent chill shot up my spine. Immediately I went for the door but found it just as locked as it was before.
“I’ve come to tuck you in,” my visitor said.
That’s when I got a good look at who dared drop by during my bath.
There, standing next to my bed, still wearing her blue dress with sprinkles of dirt, stood the person I never thought I’d see again.
My dead grandmother.
“Hoo boy, another one,” Officer Wilson said as he surveyed the scene of the crime. There, lying face down with a sword protruding from his back, was the victim, none other than the mansion’s rightful owner.
“I wonder who’s going to tackle this one,” wondered Officer Stevens.
“Why, none other than Sam Queasy.”
“Him? He can’t stand the sight of corpses.”
“Yes, but his logic and deductive powers are second to none. He’ll solve the mystery.”
Just then, the doors to the library opened, and there stood Sam Queasy, the greatest detective in the world. He began surveying the crime scene but when his eyes descended on the corpse, he turned white and fled the crime scene. A second later, a door slammed. Queasy had locked himself in the bathroom.
“Mr. Queasy?” Officer Wilson was knocking on the door. “You can come out now. The butler confessed to the murder.”
“And the body?” Queasy shouted from the bathroom.
“It’s gone. We removed it. It’s okay to come out now.”
The bathroom door opened and Sam Queasy emerged triumphantly. “Another crime solved by the great Sam Queasy.”
With that, he left the mansion, leaving everyone in awe.
Undisputedly, they are the single loudest and most violent group in rock. Anguished are both revered and hated for their reckless attitude and deafening music. Not to mention their devastating concerts featuring pyrotechnics, explosions and self-inflicted injuries. It’s what fans of Anguished have come to expect and year after year, they deliver.
They have just released I Hate Your Guts, their fifth studio album that features the usual blasts of severely distorted guitars, basses, drums and the usual scorching vocals from lead singer Braf Bagg. Make no mistake about it, Anguished still have their signature sound but years of recording and touring have taken a heavy toll on the members. All of them have lost their hearing from years of deafening music but the members have no regrets. The members of Anguished agreed to sit down for this rare interview and after 15 years as a band, are just as reckless as their music.
GUITAR WORLD: Thanks for taking the time to talk to us today.
BRAF BAGG: Yeah, whatever. What the hell do you need to know?
GUITAR WORLD: Well, I can see you’re just as reckless offstage as you are on.
BRAF BAGG: Is that a problem? What, you want me to act MATURE?
GUITAR WORLD: We’ll get back to you in a minute. Gead, (Luitar, lead guitarist) can you dispel the long running rumors that you really don’t know how to play the guitar?
GEAD LUITAR: You really think I’m gonna answer that question? Fuck off. (gets up and leaves)
GUITAR WORLD: Okay, thank you for that. Pass (Glayer, bassist), can you cite some of the influences behind your band’s sound.
PASS GLAYER: (sarcastically) Gee, how about, NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS! (gets up and leaves. Drummer Prum Dlayer follows suit.)
BRAF BAGG: What the hell did you do that for!
GUITAR WORLD: What? We ask these questions of every band. Nothing wrong with that.
BRAF BAGG: We’ve got a major problem with that. (stands up) I’m ready to close this stupid interview. (sits down) All right. One more question.
GUITAR WORLD: Why do you play your music so loud?
BRAF BAGG: Good bye. (gets up and leaves)
Ralala was seated on the bench in the park, long since darkened by the setting sun. Soon she would see the two whom she loved the most, but alas, she could choose only one. The deadline was approaching and Ralala was still in agony. She was nowhere closer to deciding than she was 2 years ago when she met the two handsome vampires, both oozing with charm and irresistible passion.
“Ralala,” came a voice from the bushes, “Listen not to your mind over such matters.” Greyphx emerged. “Long you have agonized over the two of us. It should be clear which one is the better half.”
“Oh, Greyphx,” Ralala cried. “I do love you so. But my heart has reservations over your true loyalty.”
“Ralala! You surprise me.” Greyphx replied. “My loyalty to you is immeasurable. Surely you see that.”
“Liar!” yelled Tromas, who was lurking nearby. “Your loyalty can be measured by a cheap plastic ruler!”
“Nonsense,” Greyphx retorted. “Surely one who yells can’t yet hear the true voice of the heart.”
“If you know what’s best for you,” Tromas growled, “Then you had best confess who is your truest love of all, but it is not even close to the love you profess to Ralala!”
“Ralala is my one and only love,” proclaimed Greyphx.
“LIAR!” Tromas bellowed.
“As if shouting will help Ralala decide,” hissed Greyphx.
“Stop it! Both of you!” screamed Ralala. “Keep fighting and I will choose neither one of you!”
Immediately Greyphx and Tromas ceased their shouting. The two of them casually strolled to Ralala, still seated at her bench.
“I have reached my decision,” Ralala announced. “My heart has only one room for one, true love and it is demonstrated through loyalty, compassion and devotion. For you see, through the years, I have been testing the both of you. Yes, the kidnappings, the wars, the apocalypse, all of them, were tests.”
“I knew it,” Greyphx spoke up. “I had a feeling there wasn’t much reason to war.”
Ralala held up her hand.
“I’m not done. I am ready to announce my one, true love through which I will spend the rest of eternity.”
The two vampires stood.
“My one true love,” Ralala started.
Pick me, Greyphx thought. I have put my love of you above all else capable of stopping a man in his tracks. Not even fear or the worst of adversity can block my love and devotion to your heart.
Why are you wasting your time when the right choice is staring at you right in the face? Tromas thought. How your name plays like a melody, even the name itself sounds like a song. I have played the melodies of my love on the strings of your heart. And I know all the chords.
“EDUARDE??” screamed Greyphx and Tromas. “WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK!”
The shadows of a third vampire descended upon the confrontation. A very handsome vampire of a man stepped out in all his glory, his heart glowing with desire for Ralala, humbled to have been chosen,
“Why Eduarde?” screamed Tromas, “Where did he come from?”
Ralala spoke up. “Eduarde has been there for me, to comfort me, to sooth me, and has been at my side while you two were fighting over who was to rescue me, to save me, to prevent my heart from sinking into despair.”
“We’ve never seen him, not once!” protested Greyphx.
“That’s because the only thing you did see was the whites in your enemy’s eyes,” Ralala said. Smiling, she turned to Eduarde. “Take me away into the night. Show me more of the truest devotion you swear upon my heart.”
Eduarde replied, “You will not be disappointed, for there are more verses to sing of our love.”
With that, Eduarde and Ralala took off as a single shadow piercing the night, never to be seen again.
Greyphx and Tromas stood, staring at each other with fury.
“You!” screamed Tromas, baring his fangs.
“YOU!” Greyphx bellowed, charging at Tromas.
The two furious vampires charged at one another, their fangs aimed at each other’s necks. Once in place, the two proceeded to suck the life out of their bodies transformed into empty bags of bones. Then the sun came up and the morning breeze blew the last of the two vampires away, never for them to meet again.
There once was a girl named Lorraine
Who went for a flight on a plane
She made it okay
To Chesapeake Bay
But her luggage got flown into Spain
Artore and Ginsmed arrived at the mouth of a huge canyon with a passage through a series of short walls of granite arranged in the form of a huge, complex maze.
“Ah, the dreaded Maze of Riddles,” sighed Ginsmed. “Some say it’s a maze, others say it’s more of a sequence of riddles. But there is a puzzle at the heart of the riddles that shows the safest path out of the maze. To my knowledge, no traveler has ever merged from the Maze of Riddles alive.”
“Riddles are not my thing,” Artore replied.
“Then we had best turn back,” Ginsmed warned. “If we venture into the maze at this point, we will surely perish at the first wrong guess.”
Artore wasn’t listening. He had already set foot inside the maze.
“That clumsy fool,” Ginsmed muttered, before entering the maze, When he found him, Artore was at a dead end, reading the first riddle inscribed on the wall.
Ginsmed walked up to Artore. “We had best – ”
Artore held up his arm to silence Ginsmed. He was reading the first riddle:
Suns may set and moons may rise
To which flows forward the hands of time
Heroes prevail where cowards flee
At the gifts bestowed them thrown away.
Ginsmed just stood, shaking his head. “I have no clue what the answer is.”
Artore just stood there, reading the words again and again. Suddenly he lifted his battle axe and with great force struck the wall bearing the riddle. Instantly it crumbled into a pile of rubble and revealed a passage to the other side. Artore walked through the passage with Ginsmed close behind, shaking his head in disbelief.
The two arrived at an arch of gold with an engraved plaque bearing these words:
Your genius and persistence have served you well
And guided you through the maze
For so your efforts shall be rewarded
For so you get the Glass Key of Bozreth.
Sure enough, hanging nearby was a key crafted from glass. Artore reached for the key and put it in his backpack. Then the two continued on.
After a long and stunned silence, Ginsmed spoke up. “Artore, how did you know to break the wall the way you did? Was that the answer to the riddle?”
“Ginsmed,” Artore replied, “As I said, riddles are not my thing. The only knowledge I possess is my strength and my only tool my battle axe. If I can’t reason with my mind, then I use other means I know well to solve the riddle.”
There once was a self-righteous fool
Who decided to go to the zoo
To ponder the fact
How the lions react
When he opens a can of cat food