Mystery Comedy Theatre

Mystery Comedy Theatre

What?  Are we going to be like those Palm Beach assholes who needed a shrink after Bush's election?  Or  whiny liberal pukes fleeing to Canada? This isn't over.  Nothing is over until we decide it is! Was it over when the Germans bombed Pearl Harbor? Hell no! What Americans do during times of crisis is gird their loins, and go to war.  There will be many opportunities to smite these fuckers.  In the meanwhile, here's the opening of my new novel, a comedy/crime thriller.  Maybe you can improve on it.  Or come up with a better scenario.  Let's laugh, drink, eat meat, screw, drink some more, and puncture tires of that neighbor with the O'Malley yard sign!  Be productive.  Hoo-ahhhhhhhhh!

Inspector Clouseau was baffled.  Thousands of Americans, apparently all of them democrat activists, had decided to commit suicide. He was reading from news accounts in a Washington Times newspaper. The concierge had apologized, explaining that the requested New York Times had evidently not published today. Had the biggest names in American journalism also answered this mysterious siren's call? The news accounts were stark. Speaker Pelosi found hanged.  Kennedy shot in apparent suicide.  Leahy, Reid, Schumer, all dead.  It appeared that there was not a single living elected democrat left in the nation.  The death toll was in the tens of thousands.  Surely the act of a criminal mastermind, mused Clouseau as he buttered a croissant. The problem was, most of these suicides were witnessed. He himself had watched a man with a Greek name, from an organization named ''KOS,'' accuse someone named ''Rove'' of the murders. Then, and on a live CNN feed, he produced a pistol and shot himself in the head. When CNN had suddenly gone off air, he switched to Fox News Channel.  Reports were pouring in from other parts of the country.  Entertainment names.  Streisand, Redford, Newman ... all dead by their own hand.  A ''Michael Moore'' tied a rope around his neck, and jumped off a California overpass.  His weight caused the head to pop off, the torso slamming into the windshield of a passing automobile. This would be an interesting case, thought Clouseau.   Damn.  He had nearly severed his pinky with the butter knife.