The great detective... no, the other one.

Open letter to 10th_doctor:

Okay, you got yourself a raw deal. It happens to everyone - well, maybe not the whole mad parallel-worlds-and-metal-bad-guys-and-painful-goodbyes thing, but, well.. never mind.

The important thing is, the rest of us are still your friends, probably, and we're here for you. Anything within reason, we've got your back.

But I did say within reason, so I'll lay down some ground rules. As for the first favor that I know you're going to ask me, the answer is no. I'm a shapeshifter, but I have my limits, even for you, and especially regarding something as tasteless as what you were about to ask me for.

A big "no" to the second, third, and fourth favors you were about to ask me, as well.

Anything after that, hey, I'm here to help.

Oh, except for the fifth favor I have a feeling you'll want. That's just gross. No to that, as well, and quite frankly you oughtta be ashamed of yourself.

Anything else, just ask. What are friends for?

Cheers, buddy.
- F

Current Mood: sympathetic

I've been trying out some different bodies lately. The penguin suit is still my fave of course, but in my travels I sometimes find it more useful to look human.

Since it's easiest to take the form of someone I'm familiar with, and since thelouddoctor has made me promise not to look like him anymore (something about detesting knock-offs of high fashion,) my attention turned to my video collection.

I'd gathered my collection of various tapes, discs, chips, holospheres, and downloads. I set up a mirror next to the TV in my room. Flipper poised over the pause button, I polished my best impressions of my favorite detectives. When ready, I wandered around on whatever random planets we landed on for a test-drive.

First up was an oldie but goodie. And although Rathbone as Sherlock Holmes went over well on the beach world we had holidayed on, that nose has a bit too much wind resistance. It completely spoiled my windsurfing.

Hercule Poirot was a bit of an awkward body to mimic, and if I didn't pay strict attention it tended to degenerate into Dom DeLuise. Plus, I just couldn't do the accent without sounding like a total prat, which put the kibosh on my plans to later try out Inspector Clouseau.

Fletch was a natural fit to my considerable charm, wit, and improv ability, but after I was mobbed by a crowd of people on Walley World (a lost colony which had gone savage, and re-formed their entire civilization around old copies of the "Vacation" movies) I gave the Chevy Chase stuff a rest. I'm getting a bit weary of being mistaken for people's messiahs. (Never thought I'd say that, but after the thirtieth time it gets a bit draining.)

Being Columbo was loads of fun, but trying to function as a detective in that body was completely unnerving. Unlike on the shows, villains in real life tend to punch you in the face, knee you in the groin, or simply shoot you after one too many "just one more questions." Dramatically, practically, and medically unsatisfying.

I took a shot at being that one guy from CSI, but since I can form more than two facial expressions it just didn't feel authentic.

The less said about my Jessica Fletcher escapade the better, but I did keep the bicycle.

I finally settled on a true classic, the end-all and be-all of film detectives. And after hours of practicing in front of my prized Betamax bootleg of "The Maltese Falcon," I think it fits damn well.


Here's lookin' at me, kids!

Only thing is, I may have to take up smoking to complete the ensemble. Not so bad for me, not having that sort of lungs and all, but I don't wanna second-hand-smoke all my friends to death. Maybe the Doc can cobble me up a fake ciggie or something, just for dramatic flair.

Current Mood: creative

It was an honest month's work, and my agent, Mr. Glitz, assures me it'll lead to the big time.

Bit shady, though, how they're selling it all as a "documentary" of a "true story." Ah well, that's Hollywood for you.

I just wish they hadn't talked me into playing every role. As neat as that CGI stuff is, there's only so much reacting to stagehands holding ping-pong-balls on sticks in front of green screens one guy can do before he starts to go a bit peculiar. I was passing through the gym the other day, and for a brief second wondered if the table-tennis ball was my mother.

Current Mood: cranky

Ever do something undignified in public, and years later find out that some wag got you on video?

Those guys in that pen were a bunch of jerks, anyway. I wasn't willing to hang around them any longer than I had to. In my defense, it was all part of an undercover sting. The ice cream vendor at that zoo was a Foamasi in disguise, but me and thelouddoctor put a stop to his evil plans.

And then, we had all that ice cream! Good times, man, good times.

Current Mood: embarrassed

The PI business has been unendingly thin, so I begged for my old job back allowed an old pal to talk me into rejoining him on his travels. Poor guy needs all the help he can get.

I've gotta admit, though, he's really found some interesting types to hang around with. (Is that one wearing leather? I didn't know they could shape it like that.) And as long as the food machine remembers how I like my gumblejack, I could definitely get used to this again.

It's good to be freelance!

It was a dark, hazy night, the kind they explicitly fail to mention in any of the tourism guides. The fog hugged the ground like an eager toddler, and the mean streets of the city glistened weakly, reflecting what feeble remnants of the harsh lamps and neons of what we laughingly call "civilization" could penetrate the soupy mess in the air.

I sat back in my creaky chair, webbed feet propped up on my desk, pondering my most recent case. To put it another way, I was pondering how long it had been since my last case. My current financial situation was inversely proportional to that span of time, as evidenced by the half a packet of stale pretzels which comprised the entire contents of my cupboard.

I tapped a flipper on the edge of my desk as I went over my books. It didn't look good at all, and the prospect of obtaining employment anytime soon looked even worse. The world outside was dead silent, as it only gets when the conditions outside are too miserable even for the dregs of society to get any proper dregging done.

With there being little to no chance of anyone needing anything found, followed, unearthed, or detected privately in any way, I was quickly nearing the point of considering alternative sources of income.

I flipped open my trusty old laptop computer, and fired up the auction sites, just to see what a Betamax copy of "The Maltese Falcon" bootlegged off a rented video during a visit to Old Earth in the early 1980s was going for nowadays. My eyes darted to the Private Investigator College diploma on my wall, behind which I had a cleverly hidden wall safe.

I hoped it really wouldn't come to that.

My stomach growled.

I ate the last of the pretzels.

Current Mood: hungry