LIGHTNING ROUND (CUE AC/DC'S THUNDERSTRUCK)

AAAAAAH AHHH AHHH THUNDER

It has come to my attention that there's 298 of these fucking prompts left. And if I want any chance of completing this arbitrary goal I've set for myself that no one's reading and that has no time constraint, I'm going to need to really up the output.

Welcome to the lightning round. The points have been doubled making all other rounds irrelevant.

What is your favorite work of art? What do you love about it?

This one:

I love how many eyes there are.


Write a diary entry, dated 10 years in to the future.

Dear diary,

It's me. Ya boy. Remember that meme? Weird that I'd think of that ten year old meme, now of all times, here in the year 2029. It's still so crazy to me that the world came together near the end of 2019 and decided to just jump over 2020 in an effort to avoid a year of 'hindsight is 20/20' jokes. It didn't work of course but... Things are going great! Sure, the post apocalyptic hellscape we all reside in has taken some getting used to. And I'm getting, well, just down right irritated with travelling from settlement to settlement. Only to have a pack of raiders ride in and raze everything to the ground, leaving only blood and ash all in the name of their bloodless sky god, Ingrahllax.  But hey, at least my marriage to a cardboard cut out of 1995 Alanis Morissette that I found is going pretty great! Things were shaky with her for a little while after she discovered my brief fling with a poster of 1997 Natalie Imbruglia. She said some pretty hurtful things like, "why are all of your crushes on women from the year of their greatest financial successes? And "why are we both almost 20 years older than you? But your crush for us is from a time when we would have been the same age as you when you were ten years younger because this diary is from ten years in the future???""
Maybe she has a point. I don't really know what she meant by that last part, but maybe her asking that question has a point.
Really looking forward to Avengers 10: The Revengencing. Robert Downey Jr hasn’t missed a beat in my opinion.

Xoxo,
Eli Johansson

Give your city a new name that reflects what type of place it is.

Fart Wrath

Write about something presently in your life that is "worth it".

 I think staring at this prompt for 10 minutes was worth it. I mean, look at this incredibly interesting response all that thinking came up with. Everyone loves meta.

Let us do another one.

You are the wind’s interpreter. What is it saying?

I blow.

Another one.

Come up with a mathematical formula to express something you know/believe.

No + Way = José

ANOTHER ONE

Name one thing you lied to yourself about. Why did you do this?

NO WAIT GO BACK I DON'T LIKE IT

NO WAIT KEEP GOING MOVE PAST IT LALALA CAN'T SEE IT

What did you get into trouble for the most when you were a kid?

One time I got into trouble for saying "darn" and I'm still mad about it. DARN is the acceptable pg version of DAMN. And I mean even 'damn' is pretty pg. This happened 20 years ago and I still feel, in the cockles of my heart, the injustice that I felt that day. The righteous indignation still burns hot in my soul. I wish I remember that teacher's name.

Alright, that's enough. 8 down.
Two
Hun
Der
Red
And
Nine
Dee
Left to go

Coast to coast LA to Chjcago

Have you ever spoken up when you saw something going on that was wrong? Were you scared? What ended up happening?

Well, ask anyone about me and they'll tell you just how humble and unassuming I am. I mean, I don't like to toot my own horn. Butter my own biscuits. Swab my own deck. Button my own button.

There was this one time that I got into some hot water for standing up for what I believe in. And man I just hardly ever talk about it. Honestly it's kind of a complicated situation.

I had just started this great new job that would allow me to do some really great work for the community. But after starting, I realized that the whole system was just mired in corruption and graft. To make a long story short I ended up filibustering for 25 hours before the man who had taken me under his wing (who also happened to be at the center of the corruption! It was wild) burst on to the senate floor and-

Wait

Oh shit, y'know I think

Yeah, that was the movie Mr. Smith Goes to Washington

That's my bad.

Let me think

Alright, in seriousness this actually happened

There was this one time when I was in a car with some guys from work. I wouldn't call them friends because, well I legitimately don't remember their names. I also don't remember why I was in this car. I assume this was when I didn't own a car? Sounds about right.

Anyways one of them saw a TCU girl jogging up ahead as we sat at a red light. And he essentially said (I'm paraphrasing), "I'm going to cat call her"

Which was pretty wild to me. I had never really considered the possibility that cat calls could be premeditated. I guess I had just assumed that they were random outbursts. Uncontrollable spasms of patriarchal privilege being propelled up and out of sexually frustrated men. But here it was.

Anyways, I said, "Don't do that. Don't be a dick"

And he didn't.

Y'know I assume most men are sitting at a very low number of cat calls made. I would hope for most it would be at 0, but who knows.
But how many men do you know have literally made negative one cat calls.

Anyways, you can see how I would get myself confused with Jimmy Stewart in the landmark 1939 film Mr Smith Goes to Washington.

Not every hero wears a cape.

-Goosip Goirl

Holy Shit: This Still Exists

Huh

This still exists.

Wow. I am VERY curious to see if people are still going to get email notifications from a new post. If you did, well...
Hello again old friend. It has been almost a decade? Something like that.

So, I was going to write an entry about how awful it was to read through this. How cringe-y about 98% of these old posts are. That remaining 2%? Well, that's just my ego protecting itself by saying that "hey, y'know it's not ALL garbage. There's at least... Well, I mean Penguin Holmes sure was...creative?"

I was about halfway through writing that and just...
Just intellectually destroying my teenage self when I realized the adage, "people in glass houses..." probably applies here. Yes, those old posts make me want to go take an incredibly long sadness nap where maybe, God willing, I don't wake up. BUT I mean, has my writing improved any?

Probably not. I haven't written hardly anything since then. A few poems here and there. A college course on creative... Creativity? Was it just creativity? Even the course was a long time ago. I think it was just about creativity? Jesus, that college was just the epitome of liberal arts.
Anyways I wrote a short story there...

 See? Look? Halfway through that paragraph I just entirely lost the point I was making! I'm still garbage! How can I mock my younger self for being terrible when I haven't improved at all! Fuck! Look at how many ellipses I've done for no reason! I'm a moron!  That's the point. Glass houses, man...

Glass...fucking...houses...

Anyways, I'm writing in this blog again. For my own benefit. H-h-here I go!

 A couple of years back my parents gave me a book called 300 writing prompts. Or it was last year? Or earlier this year? Listen, the point is it sat in my room unopened for a rather long time.

I'm going to do that.

300 of them.

If you did actually get a notification for a new post, now would be a really good time to turn that off.

What is your favorite way to spend a lazy day?

I'm beginning to see why I haven't opened this book in a long time. I just do not care at all to do this prompt. I mean, I'm doing it. Look at me do it. Pretty soon I will have done it.

But just what am I supposed to say here? Every day is a lazy day.

 Apple fairly recently started giving me like a screen time recap for the week. I mean, not just me. I assume. I hope everyone else is also getting that and it's not just like, "Hey, don't look at your screen so much. Check these stats out. You are in danger"

 I don't remember the exact numbers but I'm pretty sure it was something like 400 billion trillion hours spent watching videos on Facebook and Instagram.

I'm never more disgusted with myself than the times that I look up, 1-2 hours later, from the rabbit hole of many many 5 minute clips of life hacks, stand up routines, Adam Ruins Everythings, Cooking videos that DON'T EVEN HAVE THE RECIPE ANYWHERE IT'S JUST LOOK AT THIS THING THESE HANDS MADE WHILE WE PLAY ROYALTY FREE MUSIC, and videos of people zip lining through forests.
It's an actual addiction. I hate all these things and yet... And yet, I have seen so many of these things. And CONTINUE to see these things.

That's the real reason I'm writing again in this shitty old blog. Maybe if I distract myself with this, I won't ever have to watch another Adam Ruins Everything.

But Michael, all of that is under your own control. You could just sto-
Wait wait wait. I'm still doing that? Italicizing questions posed by 'the reader'? Yeah, I guess I am.

What can I say? Old habits die hard.

 But Michael, all of that is under your own control. You could just stop watching those things and do something more productive like-

MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS. NO ONE ASKED YOU. ALSO THAT'S NOT EVEN A QUESTION. YOU INTERRUPT MY TRAIN OF THOUGHT WITH JUST AN INTERJECTION? A STATEMENT? THIS ISN'T A DIALOGUE. I AM TRYING TO ANSWER PROMPT 1 OF 300 OUT OF A BOOK ENTITLED 300 WRITING PROMPTS GIVEN TO ME BY MY DEAR FATHER AND STEP MOTHER.

They paid five hard earned dollars for this book as made evident from the price sticker still on it. From a store named Five Below. I have NEVER even HEARD of THIS STORE but I have a PRETTY FUCKING GOOD IDEA as to what THE GIMMICK of THE STORE IS.

AND I'M SICK OF THESE CONSTANT INTERRUPTIONS. I CAN'T WORK LIKE THIS. I WON'T WORK LIKE THIS.

Where was I?



CHRIST.





I'M STILL UPSET BY ALL THESE INTERRUPTIONS. JUST KEEP YOUR ITALICS OFF AND KEEP YOUR THOUGHTS IN YOUR STUPID SKULL CAVERN. I CAN'T DEAL WITH THIS RIGHT NOW.






AND JUST HOW LONG AM I GOING TO KEEP DOING THIS BIT? YELLING AT MYSELF FOR 'INTERRUPTING' MYSELF?



LIKE, THEY GET IT. IT'S META.


IS THIS WHAT I'VE COME TO?
A DECADE LATER AND THIS IS WHAT I'M WRITING? JUST THIS INCREDIBLY DRAWN OUT JOKE IN ALL CAPS?
IT'S PROBABLY PRETTY HARD TO READ EVEN.

Anyways, have you guys seen those dash cam videos of Russian drivers? Those are CUH
RAZY. What a wild country that must be.

-Gossip Girl

College Application Essay (Hamlet)

I suppose it’s a fairly obvious choice for a theatre student to choose a Shakespearean character as a ‘significant influence’ but I’ve decided to adhere to the cliché and write what I know. And ‘what I know’ is Hamlet. Is it his melancholia, his antic disposition, or his slight paranoia that keeps me enthralled in the tragedy that has more than once been called ‘the greatest play in the English language?(I myself, have yet to read every English play, so I’ll hold my judgment)I’ll admit that the whole having an incestuous uncle, a dead father, and an emotionally distant mother doesn’t really connect to me personally, but something about the way Hamlet goes about the whole situation really speaks to me.

I was first exposed to Hamlet by my father (Luckily he was alive at the time, because he has no brother.) who was the production manager of a theatre company known as ‘Shakespeare in the Park’. People from all around the DFW area would bring a blanket and come listen to the Bard beneath the stars, paid for entirely by sponsors (until money got tight, and they had to shut down). I was a little too young at the time to enjoy the poetry and prose of the Danish prince but I remember really enjoying the bit with the swords near the end.

I was in high school when Hamlet reentered my life through Kenneth Brannagh’s uncut 4 hour production of Hamlet. I do not often admit to this, but I have watched that movie more than once. More than twice. More than thrice, even. But four times. 16 hours of my life have been given o’er to Hamlet. And that’s not even taking into consideration how much time I’ve spent reading the play. And not just the play, but books related to the play. I’ve read I Hate Hamlet, Thinking Shakespeare, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead, and the very interesting first folio copy of Hamlet (colloquially referred to as the pirated folio, but that’s another essay).

I’ve given quite a bit of thought as to why I’ve given so much time to the original man in black, and I’ve come to quite a simple conclusion. Hamlet’s mortal flaw is his indecisiveness. Without it the play would have been over when he finds Claudius praying in Act III, if not sooner. And I too, suffer from a lack of assertiveness. When confronted with a decision, I would sooner flip a coin than actually decide. And as such, I take Hamlet as a cautionary tale. When my friend turns to me and asks, “Where do you want to go for lunch?” I imagine Ophelia, floating down a river, clutching flowers in her hand. I imagine Gertrude, wrongly poisoned with the treachery of a king. I imagine Laertes, poisoned with his own envenomed blade. And with a renewed sense of purpose I say, assertively, “Spiral Diner. Magnolia Street.”

And this little baby step in the direction of bettering myself is how Hamlet has influenced me. Doesn’t seem like much now, I know. But in the words of Lao-tzu, the journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step. Plus, here I am making a decision that will affect my entire adult life. Who knows, perhaps without Hamlet I would still be standing between colleges ‘like a man to double business bound. . .in pause where I shall first begin, and both neglect’

Any feedback is welcome.

Sleuthier

Steel Deadeyes sat on the floor of his office, crossed legs, Indian style. He had been told a long time ago that it was a good for circulation, and while he had not looked into whether that was true or not, he felt now was the best time to figure it out on his own.

For you see, Steel had sold his chair (along with his desk, gun, and ‘coffee towel’) in order to pay the rent for his office/apartment. Laid out in front of him, on the floor, were his crime journal, a telephone, and a phone book opened to his own ad that he had bought at the start of his detective career. The ad ran as follows:

Need a detective? Call Steel Deadeyes
and he’ll “Steel” your problems
right from under you!
55S-TEEL

Considering his line of work, he wondered whether it had been wise to associate his name with theft. Also considering that he had received a total of no phone calls.

As of yet. He thought. Only a matter of time. And time is the one thing, I’ve got plenty of.

A month of time, to be exact. And then he’d have to either sell more of his possessions (and he didn’t have much left to sell) or be evicted.

He was wondering whether he would sell the phone book or the phone first, when he heard four very distinct knocks.

“What the hell is that?” he said to himself, reassuring himself with his own voice, as he is liked to do. He looked around from his vantage point of the floor, trying to locate the origin of the knocking.Failing that, he returned to the whole phonebook or phone selling issue.

Well… He thought. While I do think the phone is an important aspect of getting and then solving cases…I do get a kick out of seeing my name in print-

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He looked to the phone, wondering if this might actually be his ringtone, as he’d never actually heard his phone ring before. Again the knocking ceased.

“Okay Steely boy,” He said aloud to himself (and instantly reminded himself to never call himself ‘Steely boy’ again.), “Think like the detective you are. First, what was the noise? A knocking noise-“

“Hello?” came a voice from the hallway, on the other side of his door.

“Be with you in a moment!” he yelled, slightly irritated in having his thought process interrupted.

“Alright,” He continued, “Second, what kind of knocking was it?” This took him a while, “Kind of like knuckles…against wood.” Again he scanned the room, his eyes eventually falling on his door.

He stared at the door of his office for a few moments when he heard, “Is this a bad time?” from the voice in the hallway. All of the pieces locked in place, like a jigsaw puzzle. A jigsaw puzzle of someone knocking on a door. His eyes grew wide in excitement.

A possible client! He stopped himself from yelling it aloud. Instead he yelled, “I’m coming! Don’t leave me!”

He attempted to stand from his crossed legs position and suddenly realized how sore his knee joints were. He slowly made his way to the door, emitting a small expletive with every step.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine! Just…uh… Stubbed my toe on my desk!” He yelled. Then looking back to his things piled on the floor, he instantly regretted it.

It was another few seconds before he reached the door and opened it.

The woman standing in the hallway was the kind of gal you only saw at the grocery store. The kind of woman that guys like Steel would approach in the vegetable aisle under the pretense of looking for a good head of lettuce, and then back off when he lost his nerve.

“Hiya,” She said, “Are you Mr. Deadeyes?” Her voice was nasally in a 1950s-New York- secretary-lost-in-a-crime-novel kind of way. Steel could have kissed her for being so cliché. Her being cliché made it easier for him to be cliché.

“That’s what they tell me, Toots,” He said, knocking on the cloudy window pane on his door that had his name etched into it. The pane fell back into the office and shattered.

Steel had always prided himself on having a neat and, above all, safe work place. He thought back to his days of reporting at The Crimetown Chronicle, and his desk with home made "safety edges" and the perfectly organized system he had set up to file away papers. When he tried to take his system office wide, he had been fired. He assumed for unrelated reasons.

So while Steel trembled at the thought of all those deadly shards of glass spread out in his office, he put on a brave face for his prospective client, and decided it was best to ignore this and continue as if it had not happened.

“How can I help you?” He continued.

“May I come in?” She countered. Steel looked back to the glass shards and his “desk area” on the floor. An ordinary man would have come up with an excuse. In a town like this, looking unprofessional could get you killed. It was a proven fact; this town had the largest death rate for unprofessional looking people in the nation. These were the kind of facts Steel would report on in The Crimtown Chronicle.

But Steel was no ordinary man, and he had seen too many detective movies to start improvising now.

“Watch the glass,” he said, swinging the door open and walking back to where his chair would be, had he still owned a chair. He began to sit back down on the floor, but then stopped himself, remember his sore knees. He straightened himself back up.

“Now, what can I do for you, Ms…”

“Mrs.” She corrected, looking around the room, “I thought you had a desk.”

“What?”

“You said you stubbed your toe on your desk”

Steel considered this for a moment, shook his head, and simply said, “No.”

A moment passed. Steel knew he had this effect on people. Most of his conversations had a moment just like this one. The other person would have to stand their and consider what exactly had just happened. They rarely make heads or tails of the situation, and Steel usually took the initiative these moments allowed.

“Now, what can I do for you, Mrs…?”

“Beckwith. Bellany Beckwith,” she said, with a voice so nasally Steel felt like sneezing.

“Mrs. Beckwith. I’m Steel Deadeyes-”

“Yes, do you have somewhere I can sit?”

Steel looked around the mostly empty room. “Uhhh…Here we go.” He said, bending over and placing the phone book perpendicular to the floor.

She looked at the makeshift seat for a while and then decided to stand.

“Now,” Steel continued, turning toward his window, looking contemplative and deep, “How can I help you, Mrs. Beckworth?”

“-with”

“What?” he turned his head to look towards her.

“Beckwith.”

“Becks with who?”

“ME. Beckwith. I’m BeckwITH. Bellany-“

“Beckwith, yes. I see. How can-“

“-you help me?” she hesitated, “I’m not sure you can…”

“What makes you think that?”

She looked around the empty room once more. Her glance, settling on the phone book for a few seconds, eventually found its way to meet Steel Deadeyes’ gaze.

Steel understood what she was getting at, “Yes, well. My desk and chairs are just out for…cleaning. Big murder case before you. Yeah, I solved it, but there was a lot of murder in here. Lots and lots of murd- where are you going?”

“I think I’ll just look into my problem myself. Thank you.” She said, as she started out the door.

Steel tried to run after her, but what with all the sitting, his knees were in no condition. He watched as she closed the door behind her

Steel went to the window and tried sitting on the sill, and as he was sliding to the floor he realized he had missed the window entirely by a few feet. He sat with his feet out in front of him and looked to the place on the wall where his calendar used to be. He could not remember when he had sold it.

Crazy broads. He thought, thinking back to Mrs. Beckwith. He smoothly took a cigarette from his pocket and placed it in his mouth. He searched his pockets for a lighter, but came up short. He smoothly took the cigarette from his mouth and placed it back in his pocket.

One month, he reminded himself, I’ve got one month to get a case.

He looked around his office. He tended to do that more often, now that he didn’t have much to actually see

I need some chairs.

The Finale of Penguin Holmes

Holmes was not particularly surprised to find himself in a dark, damp, jail cell. He scanned his setting. Again, not astonished to find Watson was not with him. He was however taken aback by the small rat in the corner sitting there, drinking tea, and reading a newspaper.

“Hey, rat-“ Holmes started

“I’m a mouse” interrupted the ra-mouse, without looking up from his paper.

“Really? You look like a rat.”

With a sigh the mouse, put down his paper and explained, “I’m getting paid by the hour to complete the jail experience. I told them that mice were just as likely to hang out at a jail as a rat, but they wouldn’t hear it. So, here I am.”

“Oh”

“Yeah, those unicorns are really uptight about the whole perfect appearance,” The mouse lifted his newspaper again.

“When did the mayor order the jail to be built?”

“A couple of weeks ago. About the same time the curfew was placed into effect.”

“Could you tell me the mayor’s name?”

“Look, I’m really not supposed to talk.”

“I see, oh well, I have a pretty good idea who it is anyway”

The mouse shrugged and went back to his paper.

Holmes looked around the cell. No windows, and the bars seemed pretty sturdy. And knowing who commissioned the jail to be built, he knew that escape was highly unlikely.

Holmes sunk his head down to his chest and closed his eyes. After about ten minutes like this he heard hoof steps coming down the hallway. When they stopped in front of the cell’s bars, Holmes looked up to his visitor, a moose walking on its hind legs, dressed in a three piece suit with a bowler cap standing several feet away from the cell. Holmes greeted his old nemesis, “I was wondering when you were going to show up, Moriarty Moose.”

Moriarty Moose smiled, “That’s Mayor Montgomery Moose to you, Penguin Holmes…and, well, everyone else, I suppose.”

“So, you wanted a new identity, but you thought, ‘Hey, why lose the alliteration?’”

Moriarty shrugged, and Holmes continued.

“It must have taken some work tricking all the unicorns into trusting you.”

“Not at all. They really are very stupid creatures.”

“Quite… But, I thought you were still in prison. Did 2 lifetimes go by that quickly?”

“Holmes, we both knew it was only a matter of time-”

“Prison sentences usually are.”

“-Until I escaped. You know Holmes, you mustn’t interrupt people. It’s very rude. A person might hold a grudge. Maybe hatch a plot, and exact revenge.”

“Indeed,” Holmes said, looking around his surroundings.

“So…Holmes, no doubt you’ve already figured it all out. Should I explain or should you?”

“If you don’t mind. I haven’t figured out how or why, but after you busted out of jail you found yourself in Unicornicopia”

“I’m disappointed Holmes. Usually you know the whole story.”

“Yeah, well…I’ve only been on the case for a few conscious minutes. Anyways, like me, you must have been repulsed by the place. However, while I wished to leave immediately, you saw an opportunity to exploit a people, and I take it you had not forgotten me, the penguin who had sent you to jail. So you hatched a plot. You easily befriended the unicorns and became their mayor. You read in the newspaper that London Town had reached a record low in its crime rate. So, you started stealing Ms. Equulues’ freshly baked pies. Easy to do, with your new curfew in place. Knowing I would be out of work, you must have met up with Equulues and dropped into the conversation that I was a detective. So when her pies started disappearing she called me, and I was forced to come to this vile place by an empty wallet. When Watson, Equulues, and I were drinking our tea you sneaked into the kitchen and drugged the next round of tea. And now, with your newly built prison, you have the perfect place to keep me for as long as you like.”

“Correct, Mr. Holmes. And now that you’ve been caught, you shall be sentenced to death.”

“What?”

“Yes, death. Apparently the new mayor here is very hard on murderers.”

“Murderer?”

“Ms. Equulues. You poisoned her tea. You’re a very evil man, Holmes.”

“You killed her”

“No, as far as all the unicorns are concerned. You killed her. And in a way, you did. Without you, I never would have gone to prison, never would have broken out, never would have come here.”

“You can’t blame me for your crimes, Moriarty.”

“No, you’ll do that yourself. Won’t you?” Moriarty smiled as Holmes stared back at him.

“Where is Watson?” Holmes asked.

“He’s being held at Equuleus’ house. He was…heavy. But we’ll sort some kind of…harness or something to execute you both.”

“You won’t get away with this Moriarty.”

“And what makes you say that Holmes? When it looks to me, that I already have.”

“Just one thing, the murdering Mayor Moriarty Moose. Everyone knows, unicorns included (however naïve they may be), that mice are all good natured.”

Moriarty’s eyes widened and he looked to the now vacant corner of the cell, “…That was a rat, not a mouse.”

“It was a mouse” Holmes smiled

“I specifically remember it being a rat,” he started to back up down the hallway.

“I specifically remember it telling me it was a mouse. A London Town mouse, judging from the newspaper he chose” Holmes said, lifting up a tiny edition of The London Town Times.

“No…” Moriarty said, advancing towards the jail door at the end of the hallway.

“Meaning, he had probably read all about my cases, and about you, Moriarty. It only took your name to remind him of where he had no doubt seen your face before.”

“No!” Moriarty shouted, now running towards the door, and his escape. But before he could reach his destination, the door opened to reveal two unicorns, chest to chest, with a mouse perched on the head of the left one.

“That’s him.That’s Moriarty the killer.” The mouse said, pointing to the now cornered moose.

Moriarty lowered his antlers and charged for the door. He slammed into the stomachs of the two unicorns and bolted away as they lay on the ground. When they recovered, they made their way to Holmes’ cell.

“On behalf of Unicornicopia, we’re awfully sorry about this whole ordeal, but we have to be sure. It wasn’t you who poisoned Ms. Equulues?” the older unicorn said.
“No, the reason being that…I’m a penguin…and… penguins never kill with poison?“

“Okay then, off you go.” The unicorn said, unlocking the cell door.

“…Alright, thank you…” Holmes said as he started out of the jail. He stopped mid stride after passing the unicorns and turned to one of them to ask, “I don’t suppose, you know when the next train out of here is?”

“There’s a train leaving for London Town in a couple of hours.”

“With me on it.” Holmes said.

Holmes started out of the jail, but stopped when he saw the mouse standing there.
“Thank you,” Holmes said.

“Think nothing of it, Mr. Holmes. I read all about you in the London Town Times. I knew you couldn’t have killed that lady.”

“Well, thank you anyways…”

“It’s Ralph”

“Thank you, Ralph.”

Holmes once again started out of the door, but then ran back in after a couple of seconds passed, “Wait! I couldn’t have done it! Because, I’m a penguin and it would have been very difficult for me to reach the tea!”

The older unicorn, the younger, and Ralph stared at him.

Again Holmes started away muttering to himself, “Well, I thought it was a better excuse…”

*****************************************

When Holmes explained what had happened to Watson, they were on the train back to London Town.

“So, Holmes. I imagine we’ll be seeing Moriarty again.”

“I sincerely hope not Watson…”

“…Wait, what happened to Ms. Equulues? Was she drugged as well?”

“Yes”

“Is she alright?”

“No,” Holmes said, breaking eye contact with Watson.

“…I see… Holmes-“

“Watson, I could go a long time without ever talking about Unicornicopia again. The people were exploited by Moriarty as a trap for me. I know it’s not my fault for that, but then they were exploited by me to get out of prison.”

“But Holmes-”

“Yes, I know I am innocent. But I still don’t like it.”

They sat in silence. Listening to the train’s progression across the land. Already the musical quality and happy air of Unicornicopia were falling behind them. The sun had gone down and the darkness of the night was starting to set in.

“They’re too gullible, Watson.”

“Holmes?”

“The unicorns. I just wish they weren’t so gullible.”

“Yes, Holmes.”

*****************************************


That actually might be the last I write (or re-write) about Penguin Holmes in a while. I suppose eventually I might come back to it, as it is probably the most I have ever developed an idea, the most I've ever written about a single cast of characters, and the most effort I've put in to a storyline (as little as that may be). But, for now, I think I'll try and write more short stories and expand on different characters and ideas. Thanks for reading.

Penguin Holmes part 3

Penguin Holmes and Walrus Watson sat in silence as Ms. Equulues returned with more tea with a smile on her face. When she had returned to her seat and Holmes and Watson had refilled their cups the silence continued. And as Holmes and Watson sipped their tea the silence went unbroken. And nothing was what continued to be said as they sat there. Finally, Holmes tackled the growing silence with, “Good tea”. But the silence would not go down without a fight.

Holmes watched the second hand on the mantle above the fireplace tick 30 seconds past and a thought struck him.

“Oh right! I suppose I ought to look at the scene of the, uh, theft.” He stumbled over the last word, unsure of how it would be taken be his hostess and her inherent unicornian innocent nature.

She gasped. But composed herself to say, “Of course. It’s right through here” They rose from their seats, and followed her into the kitchen. The kitchen was as cozy and comfortable as the rest of the house, and seemed to be made for baking and then radiating the smell to the rest of the house. Ms. Equulues stood at the doorway as Holmes and Watson moved toward the window in question.

Holmes began to examine the area, noticed her standing there and said, “Excuse us Ms. Equulues, but my partner and I would prefer to look at the scene alone for a moment.”

“Oh, right. I'll just uhh...right.” She said and left.

“Why did you do that?” asked Watson.

“My friend, I would like to be able to say crime, theft, and suicide without a sharp gasp from behind us every time”

“Suicide?”

“As in, I’m going to commit it if I have to stay here longer than I have to.”

“Ah.”

“Watson, up.” Holmes commanded.

Watson lifted Holmes up and began showing him around the kitchen. Watson was unable to resist the temptation of making airplane noises and wooshing Holmes around.

“ Watson, if you do not stop I will be forced to find a new, less childish assistant. Now take me to the windowsill.” And Watson did. Holmes began searching up and down, and all around the aforementioned area of the windowsill.

“This is odd,” Holmes said, after examining the afore-aforementioned area of the windowsill.

“What is?” Watson asked.

“You can set me down now, Watson. Thank you.”

Watson did so on the kitchen table that sat directly underneath the window. And Holmes began to explain himself, “Watson, as you know, usually, in a crime scene we have evidence of some kind. A scuff mark. A hair. Something, anything that the thief, or the murderer may have left behind…” Holmes turned away from his associate and faced the window and said to himself, “Only once have I encountered nothing at a crime scene…”

Holmes turned around sharply, “Watson we must leave immediat-“ But Watson was no longer there. Holmes looked over the edge of the table to see his friend lying on the floor. A floor that was now swirling the new patterns and colors. And it wasn’t just the floor. Holmes blinked several times as the whole room started to dance in front of his eyes.

The tea. Holmes thought as the room started to darken. The stupid, damn, extremely tasty, drugged tea. And he passed out.

How will Watson and Holmes get out of this one? Stay tuned for the clarifying finale of The Endeavors of Penguin Holmes and Walrus Watson in Unicornicopia and the Case of the Stolen Pies from the Windowsill of Ms. Equulues but are Things What They Seem?! (working title)