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Missed Classic 4: The Scoop - Des Wahnsinns Fette Beute

By Kenny McCormick

Kenny’s filthy notebook (with anatomically accurate drawings of asses… and mules) legible page #6: Mrs. Tracey, apparently, is a woman with expensive tastes and can’t seem to keep her legs closed. A woman after my own heart. Except that I’m cheap.

Before carrying on, I just noticed, and let it be known, that I have not provided a subtitle for the editing team to work on. Ever. Meh. I’m sure they can think up something. They’re a smart bunch. They’d probably call this post: On the Trail of The Killer. Or something with similar amount of ‘Oomph’. I’d have called it: “Kenny Still Lives” or “Kenny Not Dead Yet”. 


Admin's note: Whatever you say Kenny, Oomph it is then!

Picking up where we left off, I was on a bus to Jumbles; some hoity-toity place where rich folks live away from the common unwashed masses. But guess who was on the same bus with me?

Howdy, neighbor! I mean, neighbour!]

Blast it, Mr. Oliver! Why are you following me around? Haven’t you any ideas of your own to work out?

Great minds think alike and I suspect Oliver is also hot on the trail to unravel what the late Johnson (Teehee! Johnson!) had discovered prior his untimely demise in a phone booth reeking of hobo-pee. I’m gonna beat him at his own game for I! Am! NormalMan! *Cue 80’s Superman theme music*

Looks as though he’s going West. To avoid looking like I’m his lapdog, I’m going East, like I always do. West is so 80s (they may be 80s but The Pet Shop Boys are da BOMB, guys).


Nope

And here’s where Glady lives. Nothing of importance to be found here, sadly, and it also happens to be a dead-end. Better rush after Oliver in case he scoops up my scoop!

Aha! What do we have here? Ye Olde English Pub! Getting myself a strong Irish brew!
Is gá dom a fháil ar meisce.

Yet again, Gladys is here but with another man. Hey, Gladys! Are you sure you’re not the one who can’t keep your legs closed? Let’s Observe again, shall we?








Uh… well… duh…

Scandalous! It almost looks as though Fisher had an agreement with Sharp for her to do in Geraldine to rob some jewels from her! Of course, knowing Agatha Christie, this is just a little side note to throw me off track. Then again, Gladys can be a potential help to me in uncovering what actually happened on that fateful day of Geraldine’s murder. I should try to get my hands on those jewels myself. As evidence, of course. Not to fund my retirement from this pathetic excuse of a newsman career.

Since I was caught out, I slinked my way out of the pub and continued on my Journey To the West.
You know what they say: big feet, big *beep*.

This is, I believe, where the goddamn jade dagger was found. 3 sets of footprints were here. 6-D is obviously Geraldine’s. Fisher, being the humongous fat man that he is, is probably the 9-DD who came to visit her. That leaves 8-E, our killer. With feet that size, the killer should be a man. But then again, it is also possible that Johnson (Teehee! Johnson!) was the 8-E who came over to pull out the dagger from that hole. Which would mean that 9-DD is the killer.

Am I reading too much into this crap? Gods know but I’m continuing on to the next screen towards Geraldine’s home. I’m sure I could pull out loads of wank materia- uh… evidence, I mean, from her residence.
Welcome! To the! *CENSORED*! Yeah, I’m trying my best to make this family-friendly.

Well, well… seems like someone’s been busy with the door. That’s strange. Only someone who does not have the keys to the home would need to do that. Which makes my initial suspicion, that Mr. Tracey is definitely not the killer, totally valid since he obviously has the keys to his love nest. This would, once again, put Fisher into the spot of Prime Suspect #1. I doubt those pigs in Scotland Yard would believe otherwise as well. Heck, if this wasn’t an Agatha Christie game, I’d throw Fisher in jail myself.
11-EEE? Mmm… Geraldine sure likes her men big…

Tally-ho! The door’s unlocked! Boy, does this look luxurious in a monochrome-y way. Strangely, there’s another set of prints belonging to an even large shoe size. 11-EEE? Is that the shoe size of people who contracted podiatric elephantiasis?
My my… someone’s having a heavy flow day.

And here in the sitting room is where the murder was committed, I presume? By the gods, is that another door? How big is this house?! Upon entering, I found that it’s Geraldine’s bedroom where she commits most of her sordid affairs. I don’t know. She might be doing it everywhere.
Yoink!
Let’s see what we got here, shall we?



WTF?!

Eeewww… ew ew ew… Incest? Agatha, you naughty wench, you. That’s a little below the belt, actually. Just how many men was Geraldine humping? Is she a nymphomaniac? What the heck is going on here? Stay tuned for the next episode.

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