“Expecting someone else?” Crumpet-Hands Fixture crowed, removing the lampshade from his head and throwing it (the lampshade, not his head) against the wall. The mayor hadn't offered, but, “No, I won't have a tea – there is not the time for hot beverages! We must discuss the matter at crumpet-hand, this sticky-pink-stuff blockage matter thingy,” our hero impelled, taking a seat beside Detective Pilchard, before the mayor's desk. “I therefore propose, Madam Mayor, that we first–”
“Put that back!” Mayor Sperkins snapped. “And you can forget any notion you might have of getting involved in police business, Hands! I will not have your detrimental shenanigans disrupting my cases!”
“But your mayorness,” our hero insisted, “I must insist that I assist. I have already begun an exhaustive study into the inner-workings of Trifle City's sewage system. I know these underground passageways like the backs of my very hands.”
The mayor pointed out that Crumpet-Hands Man did not have backs of hands – he had backs of crumpet. “And the flat, tough underside of the crumpet, no less. The side which you toast under the grill first in order to preserve the spongy crown.”
“I see you are no stranger to the culinary secrets of crumpet cooking,” our hero winked. No Romeo, his fledgeling attempt at flirtation came across as somewhat demonic. (In hindsight, the squatting on all fours, the flapping of his cape, the running around the office squawking, weren't exactly conducive to the finer arts of wooing...)
“But still I must protest!” out her still protested, having climbed/fallen down from the rafters. “It is vital, nay, imperative,” he said, briefly turning into a horse, “that I accompany the detective during his investigationing. We make a formidable partnership, he and I. Consider our record together: Ten baddies arrested in the last month; dozens of evil plans foiled; more than a hundred crimes prevented–”
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“And over a million smackers-worth of property damage,” the mayor opposed. “Do you know how much it costs to rebuild a suspension bridge after it's been demolished by a high-explosive crumpet, Crumpet?”
Crumpet-Hands Man nosed the air. “I do not, madam. I do not. But what I do know is that when a fire-breathing dragon comes 'a crossing over said bridge, bringing with it an army of flag waving radicals, the only justifiable action is to–”
“That was a parade for Chinese New Year, you moron!”
Crumpet-Hands Man nosed the carpet; the fibres got up his nose, causing him to sneeze. And the detective to jump.
“Well...” our wannabe-knight muttered. “A dragon is a dragon...But invading mythical creatures aside, I must go down to the sewers. Look, I've worn my special waterproof crumpet-waders and everything!”
How a pair of so-called waterproof waders – fashioned from a breakfast time comestible famed for its abundance of holes – was going to aid our hero's endeavours was anyone's guess. (Crumpets, as we all know, do not so much repel liquids as absorb them like a yummy sponge.) Yet this minor detail Mayor Sperkins considered irrelevant; as she was currently running late for an emergency appointment with her stylist, and doubting that any sane officer would voluntarily agree to accompanying a half-blind detective into the city's smelliest of smelly sewers, she begrudgingly permitted Crumpet-Hands Man to assist Detective Pilchard in uncovering whatever was causing these infuriating blockages. Besides, the sooner this pastry-palmed dimwit got off his knees, removed his head from between her thighs, and quit his pitiful weeping, the better.
“Alright, I'll do it! You twisted my crumpety arm,” Crumpet-Hands Man leapt up, banging his head on the underside of the table and causing everything atop it, including Detective Blah, to blah-blah. “I shall once again deliver this city from bondage!” He took the mayor's hand in his crumpet-own, caressed it. “For, madam, what man could possibly say no to such a sweet and tender face as–”
“Get out,” the mayor burped.
“Righto,” our hero squawked, helping his partner and his eyebrows off the floor and dragging them all toward the door. “Too the sewers!”
“BHAAAARP!” the detective concurred.
