I arrived at the crime scene forty minutes after the call. I'd hit nasty traffic...literally...a diaper service truck had overturned and the results were not pretty. At least I got a free turban out of the tragedy. I was a big Korla Pandit fan and had always wanted to wear a turban to work just like the famed television organist. I wondered just what the L.A.P.D. would make of a detective sporting a jaunty turban. Personally, I thought it gave me an air of mystery. I sauntered up to the body of the dead perp, shoving the patrolmen and crime scene photographer roughly aside. Before me lay the bloody, bullet-ridden corpse of Jackie "The Ventriloquist Dummy Rapist" Jackson. It seemed the batty little perv had sodomized one Charlie McCarthy doll too many. Someone had Jackie's number and they weren't messing around with niceties. "What's with the diaper on your head buddy?" the photographer asked. I responded with a right hook to the chin, knocking myself temporarily unconscious.
When I awoke I found myself shoved into the freezer of an ice cream truck on the prowl. I could hear the tune of "Pop goes the Weasel" playing over and over and over again as I wormed my way free. It almost played out like some old slapstick comedy routine with that damn music, only I wasn't laughing. Finally back on my feet, I approached the driver of the truck from behind, removing my neck tie. He was a large man with a nasty scar running down the back of his bald head, as if someone had removed his brain during an autopsy. I jerked my tie around his neck and began to strangle the sinister ice cream salesman. The truck rolled to a stop as we fought. I could hear several children screaming that a genie was murdering the ice cream man. At first I looked around for the genie, but then realized that I was still wearing my new turban and it was me they were yelling about. I bit the man's right ear off and spat it out of the window of the truck. The children fled in horror. "Where is the crystal skull of Andreas DePlacas?!" I screamed...not knowing exactly what I was talking about...I simply thought that since I felt obliged to strangle my abductor that it should be for a good reason...like the secret origins of a mysterious crystal skull. "Who was the dragon lady with the butterfly tattoo?!" I added...elaborating on my fictitious trail of intrigue. The large man suddenly flipped me over his shoulder's, sending me flying through the windshield of the ice cream truck and onto the pavement. The next thing I saw was a large shoe heading straight for my face.
I awoke in a dark warehouse tied to a chair and missing several teeth. At first this bothered me until I realized that I could now eat as much candy as I wanted without fretting about tooth decay. A sinister character with a rattlesnake tattooed on his face stepped out of the shadows clutching a record album. The man shoved the album's cover into my face. The title of the album was "The Sounds of Holland". "Ever been to Netherlands?" the man asked. "No" I replied. "This album...this record album...it give one the feeling that one is walking the streets of Holland. It is uncanny" he informed me. "Would you like to pretend that we are in Holland?" he asked. "Yes...I would like that very much" I answered.
The man set the record on a turntable and switched the record player on. Within seconds we were audibly transported to the land of tulips and windmills. "Clickty Clack" went the sound of the wooden shoes. "They have killed the ventriloquist dummy rapist" the man muttered. "Yes, I'm afraid someone shot him so full of led that you could use his dick for a pencil" I answered. "The thin stick of pigment encased in the wooden cylinders of pencils is actually graphite...it is very common misconception" he informed me, rubbing his rattlesnake tattoo.
"May I have some cotton candy?" I asked...hoping to stall for time before the inevitable beating resumed upon my person and knowing that it was highly unlikely that a cone of delicious cotton candy would be readily available.
"The ventriloquist dummy rapist....he rape my dummy....he rip his cloth ass with savage rage...put his nasty penis in my little buddy" The man said...a tear running down his cheek. "I'm glad he dead. He deserve to die for what he did to my little buddy!" The man was understandably upset. "You wear diaper on head like genie" he continued. "Maybe you have magic power and see future".
"Yes" I said "My magic turban gives me the power to see the future...but I will need my crystal ball. You can pick it up on the way to get me that cotton candy we talked about".
The tattooed ruffian agreed to my requests and left me alone in the warehouse to make my escape. I wriggled and wriggled hoping to loosen the ropes around my wrists and ankles. Finally I managed to work some slack into the ropes and make my escape. As I ran down the street heading away from the warehouse the man with the rattlesnake tattoo drove past me in a red sedan, looking confused and pointing to a large wad of cotton candy he had bought me. I rushed into an alley and hopped a fence, heading east down North West South Street. The red sedan was hot on my trail. I could hear rattlesnake face calling behind me, "You say you tell future for cotton candy! You lie to Jocko! Now Jocko kill genie man!"
I dodged the sedan by inches, diving off a steep embankment on the side of the road and tumbling for what seemed like several miles down a rocky cliff, finally coming to rest in a shanty town inhabited by hobos situated at the bottom of the mountain. The hobos took me in and tended my wounds. They fed me chili, sardines and rot gut. At first I thought these pungent tramps were simply being kind, but I grew nervous when I kept hearing myself referred to as "fat and juicy" and "genie boy, good eats". In the dead of night I made my escape in a hot air balloon that I had secretly mailed away for that had been advertised in the back of one of the hobos' issues of "Hobo Quarterly".
As I sailed away from the shanty town, screaming obscenities at the hobos below, I was blown high into the atmosphere by a sudden and powerful gust of wind. The wind continued to pick up, becoming fierce, battering my balloon and blowing me to God knows where. When the storm finally subsided and I was able to land, I found myself on a mysterious island inhabited by 3rd rate celebrity impersonators. The team doing Martin and Lewis are annoying the shit out of me and the Marylin Monroe impersonator looks more like Harpo Marx in drag. We all live on coconuts and shell fish and I am learning to adapt to this strange place by attempting to perfect an Arnold Stang impression. Every night we have a wild sexual orgy and in the daytime we hunt and gather and work out new routines for our acts. It isn't a bad life. I find it peaceful here on "Celebrity Island". It is as if fate has brought me here.
