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This was the headline plastered across the newspaper being read by Inspector Walnut Nightcrawler as he sat behind his desk drinking a mixture of beer and battery acid. He frowned at he headline. "Acts of kindness?" he said aloud, "That's appalling! I must investigate further!"

He delved into the news story, which went EXACTLY like this:

Francine Fudderdiekek was having a perfectly normal, acceptably miserable day with her family of four, but she didn't realize that she would soon become subject to a horrific, completely unwarranted act of human kindness. "There I was," she says, "Minding my own business, when out of the blue, this old woman breaks into my house. She...she...OH, it's too HORRIBLE!" Miss Fudderdiekek went on to describe the horrendous act of generosity that the old woman comitted against her. The act is too shocking for us to describe here. But after committing the act of generosity, the old woman then went on to smash her way into Francine's childrens' room, where she committed the same act of gratuitous kindness against them. The neighbors are in shock. "Rape happens all the time around here, but KINDNESS? I don't get it. I really don't. I hope this is an isolated incident. I don't know if our community could survive too much generosity," says local heroine addict Bill Bubbles.

"Good God!" said Inspector Walnut, rolling up the newspaper so he could smoke marijuana with it, "An act of unprovoked generosity? In MY city? Who could have done such a brutally HUMAN thing? And what could possibly have been their motive? I must travel to the home of this Francine and investigate! But first, I need some coffee!"

Walnut called in his assistant, an obese young intern named Linda. "Yes, sir?" she asked.

"I need some coffee before I head out to solve a mystery," said the detective.

"Coffee, sir. Would you like it with cream? Sugar? Pesticide?"


"Yeah, our coffee machine comes with a "pesticide" button, right next to the cream and sugar dispensers."

"Isn't pesticide carcinogenic?"

"Probably. But who cares. It tastes good."

"You're weird!"

Linda rolled her eyes and laughed, causing her massive belly to wiggle grotesquely. "Of COURSE I'm weird!" she said, "What else would you expect? This is surrealism! Everything's weird!"

"Oh yeah. I forgot. It's lousy surrealism though."

"TELL ME ABOUT IT! I didn't want to be in this article! I really didn't!" her eyes welled up with tears. "I originally auditioned for the leading female role in the article about the brother, the sister, and the tree, but TEH told me he was looking for somebody more attractive!" she burst into tears, "Then I tried out to be in the article about slugs discussing the meaning of existence. About halfway through the audition, I suddenly remembered that I'm not a slug! I had a nervous breakdown in the middle of the audition! Oh, I tried to make up for it afterwords. I told TEH I'd get plastic surgery and turn myself into a slug."

"Is that POSSIBLE?"

"Hell yeah, it's possible!" she sniffed and wiped her nose. "The surgeons remove all of your body except a tiny chunk of brain, about an inch long. Then they paint that piece of brain the color of a slug. Voila! You're turned into a slug! But TEH turned me down again, and the only condolence he could offer me was a supporting role in this second-rate article. DAMMIT!" She burst into tears again.

"Uh...I'm sorry to hear that...but I really could use some coffee..."

"Sorry. I'm sorry. I'll stop." she sniffled. "I just hope I'll be impressive enough to land a leading role in another article, maybe by Testostereich or Hindleyite, or someone else more kindly then friggin' TEH." She wandered out of the room. When she came back, she handed Walnut a cup full of dirt.

"Uh...I asked for coffee."

"Yeah, I know. but I thought characters would like my character more if I did eccentric things. So yeah. I filled your cup with dirt."

"Forget it. I have a crime to solve."

"Oh, oh, can I come?"

"If you promise not to give me any more dirt. Seriously. I only eat dirt in bed with my wife. Now let's go."

Inspector Walnut grabbed his trusty heat-seeking missile launcher and tried to stuff it in his pocket. This was very difficult, considering that the missile launcher was 15 cubic feet in size.

"That's not gonna fit into your pocket," observed Linda.

"I know, but I need it with me at all times! We're in great danger! Didn't you read the newspaper article? There's somebody out there committing ACTS OF KINDNESS! Our city isn't 100% full of nasty, self-centered people anymore! There's a chance that we might be complimented, or worse, GIVEN A GIFT! Don't you want to be prepared to blast the brains out of anybody who tries?"

"God, I wish I was in a different article."

"STOP COMPLAINING! Make yourself useful and fetch me a wagon."

It just so happened that there was a red, plastic wagon in the office's closet. This was a mere coincidence. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the author being lazy.

"Excellent," said Inspector Walnut, and he placed the missile launcher in the wagon. "People might notice this, though," he said, scratching his forehead, "I KNOW!!!" He threw a blanket over it and wrote "this is ice cream" on the blanket, in crayon. "People will think I'm a street vendor selling ice cream!" he declared triumphantly. Together, he and Linda left the office and went out into the street.

Gunshots rang out everywhere. Dead bodies were lying all over the place.

"This is the way our city SHOULD be," began Linda, but Walnut interrupted her.

"--Hey, I'M supposed to say that! Don't steal my lines!"

"I'm sorry but...I thought maybe I could give that speech instead of you! I'm concerned that my character won't play a promiment enough role in this story. I want more dialogue. I want other writers to notice me so they'll hire me and stick me in their stories."

"No writer would want you in their stories! You break the fourth wall every six seconds! It makes for very fractured storytelling."

"No it doesn't! It's zany! It's absurd surrealism!"

"Absurd surrealism, which is a longer way of saying "complete crap." But that's not the point. The point is, I'm supposed to make a speech elaborating on the nastiness of the setting, and I can't if you keep interrupting me with your random outbursts."

"sorry. It won't happen again. At least not for another few paragraphs."