Detective Made Easy
John Swartzwelder
Language: English
Pages: 75
ISBN: 0982273681
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
One of a series of comedy/science fiction novels featuring slow-witted detective Frank Burly, by John Swartzwelder, the writer of 59 episodes of The Simpsons.
(Unfortunately, no plot summary available anywhere I can find. I'll write one after I've read it.)
Hullawrerr China!: The Best Of Francie And Josie
Now That's Funny!: Jokes and Stories from the Man Who Keeps America Laughing
Sick in the Head: Conversations About Life and Comedy
CHAPTER ONE I pressed a button and a ball bearing bounced off my forehead. I pressed another button and something—I think it was the button—knocked one of my eyes sideways. I flipped a switch and found myself on the other side of town. I walked back to my machine and looked it over. Something was wrong with it somewhere. It wasn’t working right. I opened up the instruction book that came with it and a faulty paragraph shot out and nearly took the lump on my head off. I decided to try a different
after I got home I made my usual loud drinking and singing and tripping and cursing and crying and fighting sounds, then went over to my open window and hollered out: “Well, I guess I’ll go to bed.” Then I turned out my light and made realistic sounding snoring sounds, while I stealthily started putting on my hat and coat. When I woke up it was 3 o’clock in the morning and I was hanging by my feet out of the window, and my coat was over my face and my hat was on the sidewalk below. Nobody seemed
meant, but I didn’t like the sound of it. I didn’t like the grammar, for one thing. And the word “Caution” always makes me cautious. Another more ominous looking sign said: “I’d Go Back If I Were You.” And I was starting to go back—I’m no hero. I don’t want to die—when I noticed that it was just a sign advertising “I’d Go Back If I Were You Margarine.” I breathed a sigh of relief and kept on going. I also made a mental note to try that margarine next time I was at the supermarket. It didn’t sound
filled with all of the largest and finest faux gems that money could buy off of late-night television. Faux pearls, Diomels, commemorative coins layered in pure goldelle, you name it. I was impressed. It must have taken, like, a thousand phone calls to assemble a fine collection like this. And now, apparently, it belonged to me. “Can I take all this stuff away?” I asked. “I mean, like, put it in the trunk of my car and drive off with it?” “No, Sire.” That surprised me. “I thought you said all
completely ruined now, isn’t it? And all because you replaced me with a machine.” And they said: “Okay, don’t rub it in.” And I said: “I just want to make completely sure that you’re sorry.” And they said: “Yes, we’re sorry. Lay off.” I could have rubbed it in a little more, but I decided it would be better to leave it right there. I didn’t want to be a jerk about it. That’s when I told everyone to cheer up, because it wasn’t all bad news. There was some good news too. Because I had found all