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WARNING: MAY CONTAIN READING
A young man awakes from a restless night. It is 5:30 in the morning, and the rain from yesterday had not ceased. What little moonlight there was shone through the window to his right, revealing dust floating carelessly through the air. Everything is overpowered by the sound of rain pounding on the roof; everything except the screeching of an alarm clock. Today would be just another cycle: wake up, go to school, work, play, and then sleep.
The young man wrestles to reach the alarm clock to the right of his bed. He flips the switch with a hurried motion and then collapses back into his pillow. It was time to get up, but he can barely stay awake. He finally builds up the confidence to twist his legs over the edge of his bed and slowly stand up and stretch. His mind is barely turned on at this point, only able to stumble across the carpet to his door and pry it open. He can barely remember anything. He thinks to himself, "Name... name... what was my name?"
The Story Thus Far
A young man awakes from a restless night. It is 5:30 in the morning, and the rain from yesterday had not ceased. What little moonlight there was shone through the window to his right, revealing dust floating carelessly through the air. Everything is overpowered by the sound of rain pounding on the roof; everything except the screeching of an alarm clock. Today would be just another cycle: wake up, go to school, work, play, and then sleep.
The young man wrestles to reach the alarm clock to the right of his bed. He flips the switch with a hurried motion and then collapses back into his pillow. It was time to get up, but he can barely stay awake. He finally builds up the confidence to twist his legs over the edge of his bed and slowly stand up and stretch. His mind is barely turned on at this point, only able to stumble across the carpet to his door and pry it open. He can barely remember anything. He thinks to himself, "Name... name... what was my name?"
At that instant, his identity came to him. "Whistlefist Stevenson Gumjaw!" he blurted out so that all the nobody in his house could hear him. A feeling of accomplishment washed over Whistlefist like a tidal wave made up of kittens, which in return, allowed him to completely ignore the stairway that he was walking towards. Whistlefist tumbled down like a sack filled with rock-shaped laundry and landed with the force of a feather. So far, Whistlefist's day was not going according to plan, but then again, this was not an ordinary day in the slightest.
Pulling his fleshy, grinning face off the silken carpet, Whistlefist had a sudden thought. What if, perhaps, today wasn't gonna be a special day? What if it did, in fact, happen to be a perfectly ordinary day like any other? "No," Whistlefist confidently said to himself, "today's a special day. I can feel it deep in my liver, just like I can feel the thirst for political offices in my heart!" He hefted his stubby frame from the glossily delicate marble floor and skipped off to the bathroom to freshen up before breakfast and put his prosthetic arm back on. The smile had not left the still-stinging face of the clumsy boy, for he was certain that this was going to be an amazingly special day.
Whistlefist was in the middle of preparing his usual breakfast when there was a knock on the door. The smell of rotten flesh emanating through the front door let him know who it was before he even opened the door: His local City Postman, his bloated form held aloft by the thousands of flies inside his lifeless husk, like all City Postmen. A smaller swarm of flies held a package addressed to a "Whistlefist S. Gumjaw".
"Yes, that is me" Whistlefist smiled, despite the package's vulgar abbreviation of his glorius name, as he accepted the package. The Postman buzzed off, continuing his rounds.
This was unusual for Whistlefist, as he didn't recall receiving anything delivered straight to his door. He was further surprised when he examined the package and saw that the return address indicated the package's origin point to be from his uncle Sargon.
His dear Uncle Sargon, who had been sentenced to be transported into the Penal Colony in Hell due to crimes too innumerable to be listed here, often sent letters his way, but never a package. He wondered what it might contain...
Whistlefist struggles to open the package with his one remaining human arm, for on his prosthetic arm sits a kazoo. Whistlefist then fumes over the irony his parents bestowed upon him at his birth. Why couldn't they name him something honorable like "Buttkingham" or "HoopsMcSlamjam"?
Whistlefist removes the ｋａｚｏｏ accessory from his prosthetic arm and equips the ｂｏｘ ｃｕｔｔｅｒ tool and quickly cuts the tape on the box. Inside the box he finds a yo-yo with the string missing, a lucky penny with the face of President Obama, a Feline magazine with the catchphrase "This year's hottest pussies", and a decrepit looking scroll that gave of a smell of brimstone and fresh blood. " Whistlefist breaks the skull-shaped seal and opens the scroll.
The scroll opened up with a flourish to reveal a vintage magic eye poster. Uncle Sargon loves these things, Whistlefist thought wistfully. He used to make them himself before his arrest; the magic eye poster economy suffered a big hit when Uncle Sargon was deported and his company went bankrupt.
Looking at the bright colors and the bits and pieces of clip-art volcanoes made Whistlefist a little dizzy. A pang of disappointment in himself settled in his chest. He loved Uncle Sargon, but he was never able to solve these things without vomiting in his mouth a little. Uncle Sargon acted affectionate towards him, sure, but was never emotionally there when Whistlefist needed him to be. All Sargon's other nieces and nephews could come to him with problems, be them diplomatic or emotional or even criminal, and they would receive advice and a promise of confidentiality. When it came to Whistlefist, all he'd ever gotten was a hair-tousle and a "Keep at it, champ!", and it made him a little sad and more than a little jealous of all his other cousins.
The smell of burning dandelion greens jerked him out of his quagmire. "Oh diggity, I scorched my breakfast!" As he raced to resolve the combustion of his soon-to-be consumptions, he remembered that his classmate, the star student Nickysticky sur Liquie, was exceptional at seeing the hidden image in magic eye puzzles.
But just as he was dousing the flames, chewing on the remnants of his breakfast, and thinking about how good it would be to see old Nickysticky again, he noticed his morning newspaper, which had of course grown organically from the news geranium at the breakfast table.
Nickysticky sur Liquie found dead under mysterious circumstances
"Oh no!" Whistlefist exclaimed. "Nickysticky is dead! Now he can't help me decipher this Magic Eye puzzle that will no doubt lead me on an exciting adventure!"
Then Whistlefist had a realization.
"But this means I get to solve his murder! It's going to be an exciting day after all!"
So Whistlefist ran over to Nicksticky's house to investigate the murder, only to find that it was already under investigation by his cousin Laminas du Travac, the world's greatest detective.
"What are you doing here, Whistlefist?" Laminas asked as she flipped through her notebook. "I hope you're not trying to solve a murder again, we're still taking care of the paperwork from the last 'case' you 'solved'."
"I still say the parrot did it," Whistlefist grumbled. "And one day you'll see I was right!"
"Whatever. The point is, I'm already on this case, and I don't need you distracting me."
"But Nickysticky was a friend of mine! Years ago! Well, sort of."
Then Whistlefist had an idea for how he could get an exciting adventure out of this terrible tragedy after all.
"In fact, we didn't get on well at all! I secretly hated him the whole time! That makes me your top suspect and we're going to have a high-speed car chase while I try to prove my innocence!"
Laminas sighed.
"Whistlefist, we already have an airtight alibi for you, please stop trying to make yourself a suspect in a murder that doesn't involve you at all."
"Oh come on, there must have been some way I could have killed him! Maybe I mailed him a poison letter... no, wait, the Postmen eat those. But there was probably something I could have done!"
"Just go home, Whistlefist."
Dejected, Whistlefist left the investigation of his old acquaintance's murder in the hands of trained professionals and started walking home.
But he was still determined to have an exciting adventure today, no matter what.
A wild frog appears and starts dancing towards Whistlefist!
Armed with his trusty box cutter, he inflicts 62 damage to the slimy beast!
The frog reals back; Whistlefist is victorious. 270 experience points were gained. Level up! Whistlefist gained 2 hard-boiled points, 3 murderer points, and 1 amputee point!
Whistlefist was still in the select-a-skill screen when Laminas took notice of what transpired. "Okay, now you're a suspect" Laminas said whilst yanking poor Whistlefist out of his hard earned skill select screen. This took Whistlefist by surprise and somewhat scared him. "Wait, but I was defending myself!" Whistlefist exclaimed, trailing frog blood all over the pavement. Laminas just look back at him with a cold, unfeeling glare. "It was a frog. All it was doing was dancing. How was it going to hurt you?" the detective inquired, still dragging the perpetrator to his police motorcycle. Whistlefist thought hard for a moment and exclaimed, "he could have been one of those assassin dancers!" Laminas stopped just short of his vehicle and pondered the idiocy of his cousin's statement. He often wondered how Whistlefist's brain worked without total failure and the idea of a dancing frog assassin was one of the many examples. But he had no time for his cousin, for he had a murder to solve. "Just get in the passenger's seat and keep quite until we get to the station, please." Laminas commanded to his clueless cousin. Whistlefist, did as his cousin asked, Laminas removed the box cutter from the prosthetic arm, started the engine and drove towards the police station.
The car eventually stopped in front of a solid blue cube, bathed in constant light streaming from the heavens: The Police Station. Laminas led Whistlefist inside. There were a lot of people with featureless silver skin and wings dressed in calming blue uniforms, along with normal folk like him and Laminas. The detectives were the only non-celestials employed by the police force (Laminas was half-pudding from här mother's side, but that's just semantics) because they were seen to be better at the analytical side of policework.
When Laminas got to the Desk Sergeant, hän was going to tell them that hän was bringing him in when they interrupted här.
"oh-thank-goodness-you-are-here-there-has-been-another-murder-like-the-other-ones"
Laminas looked more annoyed by these news more than anything, like it had become a common occurence recently.
Whistlefist looked over Laminas' shoulder at the police notice. The victim had been Dr. Ling Boipelo Appelo, a noted magic eye puzzle master. Just like Nickysticky...
"Hmmm, this truly is a strange coincidence," Whistlefist pondered to himself, "another famous eye puzzle master dead."
Whistlefist looked to the far wall of the police station to see Boogiefrog's wife and child. They are weeping frog tears. Whistlefist can't help but feel guilty for what he had done, but there was no going back now.
He then remembers that he stored the magic eye puzzle his uncle sent him and grabs it out of his extremely tight black leather pants. Whistlefist works carefully as to not rip the fragile vomit-inducing puzzle. Finally it is free.
Whistlefist presented the puzzle to här and the Desk Sergeant, who was typing with two hands and eating a delicious ketchup and cheese sandwich with his other two. "Say, maybe you could take a look at this puzzle for me?" Whistlefist inquired.
The young man wrestles to reach the alarm clock to the right of his bed. He flips the switch with a hurried motion and then collapses back into his pillow. It was time to get up, but he can barely stay awake. He finally builds up the confidence to twist his legs over the edge of his bed and slowly stand up and stretch. His mind is barely turned on at this point, only able to stumble across the carpet to his door and pry it open. He can barely remember anything. He thinks to himself, "Name... name... what was my name?"
At that instant, his identity came to him. "Whistlefist Stevenson Gumjaw!" he blurted out so that all the nobody in his house could hear him. A feeling of accomplishment washed over Whistlefist like a tidal wave made up of kittens, which in return, allowed him to completely ignore the stairway that he was walking towards. Whistlefist tumbled down like a sack filled with rock-shaped laundry and landed with the force of a feather. So far, Whistlefist's day was not going according to plan, but then again, this was not an ordinary day in the slightest.
Pulling his fleshy, grinning face off the silken carpet, Whistlefist had a sudden thought. What if, perhaps, today wasn't gonna be a special day? What if it did, in fact, happen to be a perfectly ordinary day like any other? "No," Whistlefist confidently said to himself, "today's a special day. I can feel it deep in my liver, just like I can feel the thirst for political offices in my heart!" He hefted his stubby frame from the glossily delicate marble floor and skipped off to the bathroom to freshen up before breakfast and put his prosthetic arm back on. The smile had not left the still-stinging face of the clumsy boy, for he was certain that this was going to be an amazingly special day.
Whistlefist was in the middle of preparing his usual breakfast when there was a knock on the door. The smell of rotten flesh emanating through the front door let him know who it was before he even opened the door: His local City Postman, his bloated form held aloft by the thousands of flies inside his lifeless husk, like all City Postmen. A smaller swarm of flies held a package addressed to a "Whistlefist S. Gumjaw".
"Yes, that is me" Whistlefist smiled, despite the package's vulgar abbreviation of his glorius name, as he accepted the package. The Postman buzzed off, continuing his rounds.
This was unusual for Whistlefist, as he didn't recall receiving anything delivered straight to his door. He was further surprised when he examined the package and saw that the return address indicated the package's origin point to be from his uncle Sargon.
His dear Uncle Sargon, who had been sentenced to be transported into the Penal Colony in Hell due to crimes too innumerable to be listed here, often sent letters his way, but never a package. He wondered what it might contain...
Whistlefist struggles to open the package with his one remaining human arm, for on his prosthetic arm sits a kazoo. Whistlefist then fumes over the irony his parents bestowed upon him at his birth. Why couldn't they name him something honorable like "Buttkingham" or "HoopsMcSlamjam"?
Whistlefist removes the ｋａｚｏｏ accessory from his prosthetic arm and equips the ｂｏｘ ｃｕｔｔｅｒ tool and quickly cuts the tape on the box. Inside the box he finds a yo-yo with the string missing, a lucky penny with the face of President Obama, a Feline magazine with the catchphrase "This year's hottest pussies", and a decrepit looking scroll that gave of a smell of brimstone and fresh blood. " Whistlefist breaks the skull-shaped seal and opens the scroll.
The scroll opened up with a flourish to reveal a vintage magic eye poster. Uncle Sargon loves these things, Whistlefist thought wistfully. He used to make them himself before his arrest; the magic eye poster economy suffered a big hit when Uncle Sargon was deported and his company went bankrupt.
Looking at the bright colors and the bits and pieces of clip-art volcanoes made Whistlefist a little dizzy. A pang of disappointment in himself settled in his chest. He loved Uncle Sargon, but he was never able to solve these things without vomiting in his mouth a little. Uncle Sargon acted affectionate towards him, sure, but was never emotionally there when Whistlefist needed him to be. All Sargon's other nieces and nephews could come to him with problems, be them diplomatic or emotional or even criminal, and they would receive advice and a promise of confidentiality. When it came to Whistlefist, all he'd ever gotten was a hair-tousle and a "Keep at it, champ!", and it made him a little sad and more than a little jealous of all his other cousins.
The smell of burning dandelion greens jerked him out of his quagmire. "Oh diggity, I scorched my breakfast!" As he raced to resolve the combustion of his soon-to-be consumptions, he remembered that his classmate, the star student Nickysticky sur Liquie, was exceptional at seeing the hidden image in magic eye puzzles.
But just as he was dousing the flames, chewing on the remnants of his breakfast, and thinking about how good it would be to see old Nickysticky again, he noticed his morning newspaper, which had of course grown organically from the news geranium at the breakfast table.
Nickysticky sur Liquie found dead under mysterious circumstances
"Oh no!" Whistlefist exclaimed. "Nickysticky is dead! Now he can't help me decipher this Magic Eye puzzle that will no doubt lead me on an exciting adventure!"
Then Whistlefist had a realization.
"But this means I get to solve his murder! It's going to be an exciting day after all!"
So Whistlefist ran over to Nicksticky's house to investigate the murder, only to find that it was already under investigation by his cousin Laminas du Travac, the world's greatest detective.
"What are you doing here, Whistlefist?" Laminas asked as she flipped through her notebook. "I hope you're not trying to solve a murder again, we're still taking care of the paperwork from the last 'case' you 'solved'."
"I still say the parrot did it," Whistlefist grumbled. "And one day you'll see I was right!"
"Whatever. The point is, I'm already on this case, and I don't need you distracting me."
"But Nickysticky was a friend of mine! Years ago! Well, sort of."
Then Whistlefist had an idea for how he could get an exciting adventure out of this terrible tragedy after all.
"In fact, we didn't get on well at all! I secretly hated him the whole time! That makes me your top suspect and we're going to have a high-speed car chase while I try to prove my innocence!"
Laminas sighed.
"Whistlefist, we already have an airtight alibi for you, please stop trying to make yourself a suspect in a murder that doesn't involve you at all."
"Oh come on, there must have been some way I could have killed him! Maybe I mailed him a poison letter... no, wait, the Postmen eat those. But there was probably something I could have done!"
"Just go home, Whistlefist."
Dejected, Whistlefist left the investigation of his old acquaintance's murder in the hands of trained professionals and started walking home.
But he was still determined to have an exciting adventure today, no matter what.
A wild frog appears and starts dancing towards Whistlefist!
Armed with his trusty box cutter, he inflicts 62 damage to the slimy beast!
The frog reals back; Whistlefist is victorious. 270 experience points were gained. Level up! Whistlefist gained 2 hard-boiled points, 3 murderer points, and 1 amputee point!
Whistlefist was still in the select-a-skill screen when Laminas took notice of what transpired. "Okay, now you're a suspect" Laminas said whilst yanking poor Whistlefist out of his hard earned skill select screen. This took Whistlefist by surprise and somewhat scared him. "Wait, but I was defending myself!" Whistlefist exclaimed, trailing frog blood all over the pavement. Laminas just look back at him with a cold, unfeeling glare. "It was a frog. All it was doing was dancing. How was it going to hurt you?" the detective inquired, still dragging the perpetrator to his police motorcycle. Whistlefist thought hard for a moment and exclaimed, "he could have been one of those assassin dancers!" Laminas stopped just short of his vehicle and pondered the idiocy of his cousin's statement. He often wondered how Whistlefist's brain worked without total failure and the idea of a dancing frog assassin was one of the many examples. But he had no time for his cousin, for he had a murder to solve. "Just get in the passenger's seat and keep quite until we get to the station, please." Laminas commanded to his clueless cousin. Whistlefist, did as his cousin asked, Laminas removed the box cutter from the prosthetic arm, started the engine and drove towards the police station.
The car eventually stopped in front of a solid blue cube, bathed in constant light streaming from the heavens: The Police Station. Laminas led Whistlefist inside. There were a lot of people with featureless silver skin and wings dressed in calming blue uniforms, along with normal folk like him and Laminas. The detectives were the only non-celestials employed by the police force (Laminas was half-pudding from här mother's side, but that's just semantics) because they were seen to be better at the analytical side of policework.
When Laminas got to the Desk Sergeant, hän was going to tell them that hän was bringing him in when they interrupted här.
"oh-thank-goodness-you-are-here-there-has-been-another-murder-like-the-other-ones"
Laminas looked more annoyed by these news more than anything, like it had become a common occurence recently.
Whistlefist looked over Laminas' shoulder at the police notice. The victim had been Dr. Ling Boipelo Appelo, a noted magic eye puzzle master. Just like Nickysticky...
"Hmmm, this truly is a strange coincidence," Whistlefist pondered to himself, "another famous eye puzzle master dead."
Whistlefist looked to the far wall of the police station to see Boogiefrog's wife and child. They are weeping frog tears. Whistlefist can't help but feel guilty for what he had done, but there was no going back now.
He then remembers that he stored the magic eye puzzle his uncle sent him and grabs it out of his extremely tight black leather pants. Whistlefist works carefully as to not rip the fragile vomit-inducing puzzle. Finally it is free.
Whistlefist presented the puzzle to här and the Desk Sergeant, who was typing with two hands and eating a delicious ketchup and cheese sandwich with his other two. "Say, maybe you could take a look at this puzzle for me?" Whistlefist inquired.
