The case of the missing post counts

The name is Nick Malone, some say I’m a professional snoop, others say I’m a private eye, but when you take away the formalities I’m the man you go to when you’ve got a problem and the police could care two tics from Tuesday about it. I’m what you call a “cliché’” tan fedora, black tie, suspenders, and a dim lit office that’s perpetually filled with smoke. I keep two magnums on my desk, one’s a gun and I keep it loaded, the other is a bottle and it keeps me loaded. I’m your classic PI, a bastard with a checkered past, and a constant supply of playing cards to skillfully toss into a hat during slow days.

It was a day like any other; I was reclined in my chair, tossing cards into hats as I usually do from 9 till noon when he walked in. He was the weak willed sorts, had a 5 o’clock shadow at 11 am, either that or he forgot to shave. He had a suit and tie on, as was the style, but he didn’t wear it well, looked like it was hanging off his body. Probably spend a nickel on it at a thrift store and had enough to take the train home and order a blue plate special at Joe’s for dinner. Dame problems no doubt, it’s always a dame. Cheating wife is the usual case, but every so often we get a creep that wants the skinny on a dame he used to know in grammar school. You get a lot of creeps in this line of work, but it beats waiting in the bread line.

I tell him to sit down and ask what his story is. “Dame got you down?” I ask
“No, well, I guess it could be dame related if I think about it, just not right at the moment,” he replies.

This kid liked to beat around the bush, so I tried to oil the wheels with a little motivation. “Listen kid,” I said “I don’t go to where you work and slap the dick out of your mouth, now tell me your problem or you can go back to the police and have them turn you down again.”

“Okay, well, it’s my e-penis.”

I thought the kid was speaking some newfangled slang. “E-penis? What’s that kid? Some kind of backward slang for dame? Or are you talking about some kind of crazy new opiate? Someone take your heroin kid and you want me to get it back? Well sorry kid I don’t know what you think but I run a clean show here.”

“No, no, it’s not heroin, my e-penis, or my post count.”

I knew what he was talking about now, kids today use their computers to exchange information over phone lines. I don’t quite get it, all I know is that they argue about stuff I wouldn’t even tip my hat to most of the time, but I guess that’s what separates us from those pinko bastards in Russia. He tells me without it he’s lost all the former respect that he used to have. He can’t walk to the store without brats throwing half eaten moon pies and candy sticks at him. Old folks call him “gh3y” and “n00b”. I wondered what the hell he meant by that but didn’t bother asking, as I knew I had to take this case. I picked up a box of tissue and threw it at is head. “Cut the sob story jerk-face, now tells me, who might have pulled the prank. He said there was a higher up named Sin that might have a problem with him. Apparently they had an argument over the latest flick “kill bill” over the telegraph wire to my knowledge. I didn’t listen very well as I was busy exercising my lungs with a refreshing lucky strike cigarette. I told the kid to shut up and said I’d get the facts and figures on this Sin fellow, all he’d have to do is float me the bill when I asked him.

“Wait before you go, I was wondering,” he asked, “would you mind calling me Bluemageone?”

“No problem Bluey”.

The kid was a rube, but a likable one at that. I was interested in this job, no dames involved, I like that, dames are tricky business and you get sick of dealing with heartbreak time after time. I’m Nick Malone, PI after all, not some tuti fruiti advice columnist. I told Bluey I’d call him later and made my way to this Sin fellow’s place of residence. I packed away my Colt detective for insurance and hailed a cab.

When I got to his place I thought someone hooked me up to a car battery and gave me a jolt. The place would make Rockefeller jealous. Four stories high, statues of old gods everywhere, and enough windows to clean that would give the Windex Company a small fortune.

I opened the door and waked right in, I was never one for formalities. The place was decked out with marble and palm trees in massive clay pots. And in the middle of is all was a man, in a chair, no more of a throne, velvet with a gold frame. He was a tall man from the looks of it, long hair and a green suit. Wore it better then Bluey, probably custom made. He was spinning some brandy in a glass and reading a smart looking book. He looked up from his reading. “You must be Nick Malone” he said smoothly.

“What’s it to you buddy,” I yelled back.

“Hoho, pretty short for a man who just broke into a house! Really Nick, you must do something about that temper.”

“Cut the malarkey Sin, what do you know about Bluey?”

“Hmmmm, Bluey, well, if you mean Bluemageone, I’m afraid I can’t tell you.”

“You want to do this the hard way Sin? I’m sure you’ve heard rumors about me. Once I bite your ass, I ain’t gunna let go.”

“Oh that’s very interesting, but you for got one thing, I AM ABOVE THE LAW, MUHHAHHAHAHA.”

His laugh took me by surprise, it cut into my belly like a spoon through split pea soup. Then it hit me, literally from behind. I went down faster then a lightweight on nickel beer night at county stadium.

I woke up, musta been 8 hours later in a dumpster on the east end. I had a piece of paper in my hand that read “Find Pierson”. This case is going to be harder then I thought….

Cute.

:hahaha; exactly what I was going for.

It will soon be finished

Are you Setz? o_o; I don’t have the patience to read that entire thing. I just saw “The name is Nick Malone” and “Find Pierson”. >_<

Wait, is this some kind of total fic, or is it an official story being told via a fic?

Holy shit, that was the fuckin’ funniest thing I’ve read in a LONG time :stuck_out_tongue:

That was great =) . You gonna put a sidestory in about an signature racket or worms?

http://homepage.mac.com/tigershark/tracerbullet/tracer1.jpg

I have the collection that contains that comic. Calvin and Hobbes rocks.

Ha! I did my homework, and you know what I found?! Nick Malone is 35 years old, born in 1905. This would mean that today’s date is January 6, 1940, but everyone knows that film noir, detectives, and the prohibition era all belong in the 1920’s! It seems you are caught in a lie, Mr. Malone!

dies laughing :hahaha; :thud:

stares blankly at Nick Malone What the…

You deserve a cookie. Too bad I’ve eaten them all. MwoHoHoHo!

*agrees

Oh, oh, I read it! I love it! I hope Sin dies :3 He doesn’t seem like a very nice person. Go Malone!

Way to go… err, Pierson?

I dusted myself off and gathered my thoughts. My brain was dancing faster then an Indian during a drought. Who was this Pierson guy, and who the heck slipped me his name. I knew I had to find the guy, so I used an old detective’s trick and checked the phone book. There he was, living on the English side of town. I don’t go to that side of town much, confuses me. Bunch of scone eating rubes down there, but I had to go if I wanted a hot meal and fresh bottle of cognac on my desk. I took the subway down this time, cheaper then a cab as funds were short, and made my way to the mark’s house. Not surprising for England Town but Pierson’s house had a thatched roof, birds had nested in it, gave it a quaint feeling, I hate quaint. I knocked on the door this time, not use getting beat up twice in do days I always say. Pierson opened the door; he was a man of my height with a handle bar mustache that seemed to jump out at you. He had a monocle and bowler hat, and was wearing a tie with a Union Jack tie pin. The guy was 100% English that’s for sure. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had invited me in for a nice warm Christmas Ale and some beans on toast.

“Well, hello there chap, can’t stay out in the cold all day can you? How about you come in for some Christmas Ale and a plate of beans on toast.”

My jaw dropped like a backhoe, but I wasn’t one to give up a free meal, I stepped and he gave me the grub. His house had wall to wall oak paneling and there were pictures of the queen everywhere. Standard for English town, but his seemed more extravagant. I cut the BS pretty quick and started asking him questions.  

“What do you know about Bluey and the stolen e-penises?” I asked.

“Ahhhhhhh yes, ol’ Bluey eh? What has that rapscallion gotten himself into now? I know that lad lives for his post count, I do wish he could get it back, I do, but personal I know little about what Sin does with the post counts after he takes them. Well, I can tell you one thing chap, I lost mine a while ago as well.”

“Stolen?”

“Oh no, nothing like that, I had it removed! You see, the internet is like a hunt in the heart of the African savanna. You drive out there for weeks and weeks, having quite the splendid adventure. You can shoot the rhino and take its head home to mount it on the wall, but it never is as fun as the actual hunt you see. I enjoy accumulating and adventuring, watching my post count grow, but I always have it removed before it gets to big you see. That’s the fun, you can’t be the biggest for to long.”

“What about children throwing moon pies? And the abuse from the elderly?”

“They make the hunt that more exciting old bean!”  

“Well, lets say I wanted to get one back”

Pierson’s monocle fell off into his Christmas ale. He looked dumbfounded.

“Then you would have to go through Sin…” he said scared.

“I tried that wasn’t pretty. I ended up with a free brass knuckle boxing lesson.”

“Well, yes, but did you ever think about going through the back door?”

“Pierson, I think you may be on to something.”

I got up and left without a word. “Give the rapscallion a good ear toss for me old bean! No one should have their e-penis taken away forcefully unless they committed a wrong. But even then it’s for the local constables to take care of!”

I took the long walk to Sin’s house, and took the path too the back door this time. The door was locked, but it wasn’t a problem for me. I picked up some tricks a while back before I got into this business, helps out sometimes. I got in, and the rear of the house wasn’t as well maintained as the front. In fact, you could say that this wing was a dump, I’ve seen better furniture at a Saint John’s hotel. I walked through the seemingly endless hallway, and got to another door. It was bright red, and stood out among everything else. I knew behind this door there was going to be trouble, so I took a shortcut by kicking it down with my wing tips. It was the room in Sin’s house I had been in before, only this time I could see behind the velvet throne. It was some kind of crazy control panel, and there was a little guy in red sleeping on the bottom of it. The guy was small and imp like, he was scrawny and pale and hugging some stuffed pink blob with arm and feet like appendages. I kicked the rube awake and asked what the hell was going on with this place.

“Nick Malone? You again, came back for more eh?” the Imp said.

“Cut the formalities impy, what’s going on here, and what the heck is the deal with that machine works you got behind you?”

“Oh its quite simple Malone, it’s all for popularity. I am really a brilliant man, people just don’t know it, and I need some kind of ‘boost’ to get people to respect me.”

“What’s this all about anyway impy?” I yelled.

“You see, post counts mean respect, and respect means power, I crave power Malone, I NEED IT TO LIVE. The more post counts, the more power, the more power I have I can make people like me. The more people that like me, well, you get the point, I must make a giant e-penis, and RULE the internet.”

This kid was grade-A wacko, he was speaking 100% bolognaium, the kid needed to be put down, but first I needed a way out before he did something drastic.

“Of course you know that I can’t let you live now, SIN BOT, DESTROY!”

He started hitting buttons on the control throne, and Sin came out of his seated position on the other side. He started yelling “holy shit” over and over and swinging his arms around, looks like the kid was using a robot to gain influence over the boards. I didn’t like where this story was going, so I took out my 45 co-author to narrate me out of this mess. I’m no fancy shooter, but I know how to use a gun. I figure if I fire enough bullets one is bound to hit something important. I pointed the barrel at the general direction of the Sin-bot and pulled the trigger like mad. The bot was spinning his head around and kept up with the same “holy shit” phrase over and over. I must have hit a wire or an oil valve or something, since it came crashing down like the stock market of 1929 after 5 slugs or so. Impy was furious, he pulled a switchblade out of his stuffed blob and charged at me faster then a fat man to a buffet table. I took the last bullet I had and shot him hopping to get some time to reload. I didn’t need it though; I hit him, right in the stuffed blob he was carrying. It flew out of his hands and he chased after it, he was screaming something like “Kirby, God no, Kirby” but I wasn’t sure, I was trying to collect myself at the moment. While he was putting the stuffing back into his plush blob, a door crashed open. It was Sin, only he looked haggard and his clothing was tattered. 

“You bastard, you locked me in my own basement for days, and game me nothing to eat but Turkish delight. There is no question: you must die now” he said in a monotone voice. 

The real Sin put up his arm, there was a bright light, and before I knew it, he was wearing green spandex and a plastic helmet. Dernest thing I’ve ever seen, but he went to work on that Imp kid. I’ve never seen a man so angry. The fight took a good 10 seconds, and the last thing that came out of the Imp’s mouth was about 5 teeth and the phrase “light colors load faster”. 

Sin gave me the poop on the Imp kid. Was a rube named Urel and had been a thorn in his back for months. Never though he was much more then an empty threat until two weeks ago when he showed up at his house with some hired “help”. Well, at least old Sin got to go to work on him, I haven’t quite seen anything like that before. He told me he would see what he could do about the stolen post counts and gave me a 20 spot for the trouble. I asked him how he got the piece of paper in my hand telling me to talk to Pierson. He said that I shouldn’t question the power of the green ranger, and told me to leave, and that’s what I did.

I got paid by Bluey, he was just happy to see the situation cleared up. He hopes the mods can find it in their hearts to give him his e-penis back. Sin went back to ruling his part of the internet with an iron fist, and had developed a haltered for Turkish Delight. And as for Urel, I don’t know what happened to him. Probably scowering the streets of Chicago, looking for another message board to leech. I went back to my office and continued throwing cards into my old fedora. It was a case like this that made me think that dames weren’t really that bad after all.

This should go in the fanfic section, but it did have me chuckle. I’ll think about it. Pierson, should I give him back his posts?

Why were they removed?

Spamming and being a general annoyance, if I remember right.