Game 16 Season 35 Gonzo whorehound assesses Anderson Park crime scene

I am no stranger to death, but this was the worst I hadn't seen. Blood, everywhere, and mud. Some weird music was playing on the gramophone . Or maybe it was just a muffled Iphone 6.
Intense deja vu nearly me made me pass out. I vomited in my mouth a little bit. Crimes didnt come weirder than this except in pornography. The senseless murder of a collective ego. The smell of bacon and eggs wafted from the toilet. My partner Roger was in there with his friend Marky - a swarthy cokehead. They were likely bantering in their usual homoerotic fashion, or possibly just going at it. I suddenly felt tired. We had a scene. We had blood. But no body. Even the scene was sketchy, as if it might have been staged. With an eerie backdrop.

Here is fruit for the crows to pluck,
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck,
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop,
Here is the strange and bitter crop.


rasp rasp rasp.

The breeze block building smelt of used vaseline and socks. There were cars everywhere and I was trying to secure the non scene. I had no chance, events were against me. I asked Ken Ring about the weather he told me he wasnt up to telling what the weather had been, was going to be, or anything else. You can never rely on those scientific types when you really need their help. A well known local hispanic rentboy Carlos sauntered across the wet muddy field. What the fuck was he doing here. He's got no business here. then it dawned on me. He was Probably looking to score off Marky. More senseless crime I was powerless to prevent. Carlos winked at me. i told him to fuck off. He scored.

The Doctor pulled up. A youngish heart surgeon prone to trying too hard. I put out my arm for the needle. He missed. I screamed a little bit. More blood, and still no answers. This was just getting harder. I suddenly felt tired.


Pastoral scene of the gallant south,
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth,
Scent of magnolias sweet and fresh,
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh.


rasp rasp rasp

The chief arrived. I knew I was for it. Tiberius you cunt he whispered, its all your doing, its a fucking mess. You are a disgrace. I said, chief - yellow really isnt your colour. He said Fuck off Tiberius. And sort this shit out asap. A man with a burning intensity was blowing a whistle somewhere. What did it mean. the clouds passed across the sun in time lapse. was it tomorrow, or yesterday, or today - again.


Southern trees bear a strange fruit,
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root,
Black bodies swinging in the Southern Breeze,
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees.


rasp rasp rasp

I knew I could solve this thing. A nubile local hooker called Nicky with large breasts and blue eyes replaced Marky in the toilet. She was hot for it and Roger had his hands full in that bacon and egg stinking shithole.

I had suspects. Somewhere between 11 and 15 of them, but the blood had all washed away. Maybe it had never even been there. Everybody came together to eat pasta - we had three lots. The clouds contributed to my lack of clarity. Everything was ethereal - like I wasnt there. The strange fruit kept swinging in the breeze. Luckily next week is a new day.