Number One, an Interpol Agent on the smuggling ring case, had very bad news to deliver to his superior. He went to the hospital room where Shi-Long was recovering from the bullet wound in his thigh.

"Ah, number one!" Shi-Long said excitedly, "How is everything going?"

"The investigation is going well, but Agent Lang, sir, we have some news about Shih-na that you may find upsetting."

"What is it?" asked Lang, forehead wrinkling in concern.

"We, er, we found out who Shih-na used to be. I mean, even before she was Callisto Yew. There's no record that anybody named Callisto Yew existed before 2011 that couldn't have easily been faked, and her fingerprints matched on file with a pop star who was believed to have died a year or so before then. We believe that she faked her own death to assist in the smuggling ring's activities without facing public scrutiny."

"Well, Number One? What was her real name?"

Number One nervously looked at the floor, then handed the file to Shi-Long Lang, "You, er, really ought to read this for yourself, sir, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

Lang took the file, and his jaw dropped open. He mouthed disbelief wordlessly for a few seconds, and blinked rapidly, thinking that he must be reading the report wrong. Finally, he collapsed back onto his hospital bed with a dazed and vaguely repulsed expression on his face.

"Holy shit," said Lang, "I fucked Michael Jackson."

"Criminals are a cowardly and superstitious lot," thought Godot. "To defeat them in court, I must strike fear into their hearts, but how?"

Just then, a shattering of glass snapped Godot out of his reverie. He looked, and there, amidst the shattered glass of his office window was Shoe, a cat that a fellow prosecutor had adopted following its owner's murder conviction.

"Yes," thought Godot, "I shall become a cat."

Maximillion Galactica soared over the adoring crowd. He had done the trick hundreds of times before. He thought he would have gotten tired of it, but he hadn't yet and he wasn't sure he ever would. As stagehands in the rafters worked the nearly invisible wires, Max landed gracefully in the middle of stage to uproarious applause.

Max Galactica loved what came next. He tossed his right hand in the air with a flamboyant gesture while pressing a hidden switch in his left palm that sent a small stream of lighter fluid into the air and ignited it, creating an enormous fireball in the air above Max's head. With the entire audience focused on the flame, nobody noticed when Galactica dropped through a trap door, gazing in astonishment as the smoke had cleared to reveal an empty stage.

Max Galactica landed on the floor below the stage, basking in the muffled applause he could hear above him.

"Max! You were really great out there!" said Regina Berry, the animal tamer.

"What can I say? The stage loves me," said Max through a broad smile, "and it loves you, too," he added with a wink.

"Ooooh, Max," giggled Regina, bobbing up and down, "What a nice thing to say!"

"OooOOOooooOOOoooh, Maaaaax! What a nice thing to saaayy!" echoed a high, mocking voice from the door. "Oh, and P.S. asshole, Curls says he's got an important guest for you to talk to."

"Hey, Trilo," said Regina indignantly, "who are you talking to with language like that?"

The foul-mouthed puppet replied, "The asshole, obviously. And you're not an asshole, so I must be talking to that jerkoff Max. Rear in gear, Galactica!"

"Ben! I'm not sure I care for the company you keep," scolded Regina, and Max left the room to the sound of Ben the ventriloquist profusely stuttering apologies.

Max made his way towards the Ringmaster's office slowly, as he was in his stage clothing and thus easily recognizable and had to deal with several fans who wanted an autograph or to tell him how much they had enjoyed the show.

-----------

Meanwhile, in the Ringmaster's office, Lawrence Curls was anxiously waiting for Max.

"I'm very sorry to be wasting your time like this, Ambassador, but-"

"Nonsense! I enjoyed the show immensely, you have nothing to apologize for. If anything, I ought to be thanking you for arranging a meeting with your star performer so soon! I didn't expect to be able to see him today!"

"Yes, well, our band of performers is very flexible. We would have to be after the events of the last few years. It's the story of a successful circus that lost everything, and the one clown who had no choice but to keep them all together. It's Clownrested Dev-"

Suddenly, the door burst open and in strode Maximillion Galactica.

"Ah, wonderful! You must be Mr. Galactica, it's a pleasure to meet you. My name is Colias Palaeno, I'm the Cohdopian ambassador to the United States." Colias stood up and eagerly extended his hand to the magician in greetings. "I greatly enjoyed your illusions."

Max let a sly smile reach his lips, "Ah, so you're a fan of MAGIC!" and on the last word, he thrust his hand into the air the way he had on-stage and fired off a stream of lighter fluid... but this time the igniter had failed to activate. Max stood there dumbfounded for a moment but rallied valiantly, "Still, where did the lighter fluid come from?"

"Excellent! Marvelous!" Colias clapped his hands together enthusiastically, seemingly failing to notice that the trick had misfired. "I'm glad you brought that trick up, actually. How would you like to make the fireball more... exotic?"

"How do you mean?" asked Max.

Colias produced an elegantly designed business card from his vest pocket, "This hardly looks magic, does it? You wouldn't think it could do anything more than tell you who I am, what I do and provide you with a few ways to get in contact with me if you so choose. However..." with this last word, he produced a lighter from an inner vest pocket and with one deft motion, flicked it open directly underneath his business card, which disappeared in a burst of brilliant sparkling green flame. "...Abracadabra," and Colias quietly returned the lighter to his pocket with a look of quiet pride on his face.

Galactica realized he had been entranced at the light show and felt a bit embarrassed. He was the greatest magician in the world, and here he was staring at a trick business card like some sort of slack-jawed yokel. Deliberately trying to act nonchalant, he asked, "Oh, so how did you do that?"

"Oh, that's nothing hard at all," answered Colias, "It's just a property of Babahlese ink. It's only produced in our country, but we in Cohdopia are committed to sharing our natural resources with other countries. Especially resources as beautiful as Babahlese ink."

Lawrence Curls spoke up first, "So, you're the bigshot ambassador from Cohdopia to America and you're... what, selling ink? What's the story behind that?"

"Ah, you see... A year ago, there was an incident where Babahlese ink was used in a counterfeiting ring, and that's something that we of Cohdopia would like to put behind us by showing other uses for the ink."

"So you come to a circus to see if we can use ink," asked the Ringmaster, "What exactly were you 'inking?' AHA! AHA! AHA! AHA! AHA!"

Colias just smiled benignly and continued, "Well, another area of income for Cohdopia is tourism. We actually put quite a lot of thought into increasing tourism. I was thinking that if we came to an agreement on this, Mr. Galactica could prepare a dramatic speech about the 'beautiful magic of Cohdopia,' to recite before he performs the trick."

"That sounds like a fabulous idea, sweetie!" gushed Max, "What do you think, Moe?"

"Mr. Curls," corrected the Ringmaster

Max rolled his eyes, "What do you think, Mr. Curls?"

"I think Ambassador Palaeno should let us know just what else is included in this agreement he thinks we might come to."

"Naturally," replied Colias as he pulled a folded sheet of paper from out of his vest pocket, unfolded it, and passed it to the Ringmaster and magician.

Galactica let out a low whistle and the Ringmaster blinked a few times, "Jeez, Palaeno, you've got a lot of rules about ink, don't'cha?"

"It's a national treasure," said the ambassador innocently, "Surely you can understand why we'd have such standards concerning it's use."

"...And it's so expensive," continued the Ringmaster, not acknowledging Colias's answer. "I mean, really, the way you're explaining it, we'd be doing your country a favor with this 'beautiful magic of Cohdopia' garbage. Why are we paying so much to advertise your country for free?"

"Mr. Curls, the price is, if you wish, open to negotiation. As a matter of fact..." and here Colias reached into his vest pocket yet again, and in a tone of voice most often used by pet owners asking who is the best dog in the world, said "...I have coupons!"

Max Galactica took the first coupon he was offered and read it aloud, "This coupon good for one (1) snuggling session by the fireplace."

"Aheh! Oh, dear, I'm sorry," apologized an embarrassed Palaeno as he snatched the coupons back, "those were meant for my wife! Wedding anniversary coming up, you know. Here, these are the ones I have for you."

Max took the new coupon Colias offered him and read, "This coupon good for 10% off the purchase of Babahlese Ink."

"Well, that's better than snuggling, I guess," grumped the Ringmaster.

A flustered Palaeno intent on making the sale piped up, "There's more things you can do, of course. We have some Cohdopian performers who could join your circus. It would do wonders for our tourism industry if, say, a team of acrobats from Cohdopia regularly performed in your circus. And if you had natural-born Cohdopians in your circus, then it's only natural that we could find a way to provide Cohdopian goods and services for lower prices. And for the record, nothing... NOTHING is better than snuggling EXCEPT for the one (1) roll in the hay coupon. JUST. ASK. MY. WIFE."

...

Trying to change the subject, Max Galactica said, "Well, Ambassador, would you like to see a card trick?"

"I'd love to!" smiled Colias Palaeno.

Max held out a deck of cards spread out face down. "Pick a card," he said, "Any card. Look at it, and place it face down on the table."

Colias did so. Max smiled and said, "Well, Mr. Palaeno, it looks like we'll be accepting your offer. After, it's the Ace of Hearts!" Max turned over the card and saw the Ace of Hearts looking back up at him.

"Ambassador... You've stolen one of Maximillion Galactica's hearts!"

Colias looked Max straight in the eyes with a mischievous grin, "You bought 52 decks and made a deck where every card was the Ace of Hearts, didn't you?"

"MOTHER OF FUCK, HOW DID YOU KNOW?"

~~~

WOW, I SURE DID WRITE A HEART-POUNDING LAUGH-A-MINUTE THRILL RIDE ABOUT HAGGLING OVER THE PRICE OF INK, DIDN'T I? BAD. ASS.

"Alright, so I put 'W-O-R-T-H' after 'EDGE.' The 'H' is on a double letter score and the whole word is on a triple word score... Add it all up, you get 21, times 3 is 63!"

"Wow, Maggey, that's a lot of points," said Detective Dick Gumshoe, scratching his head, "but I thought you weren't allowed to use people's names in Scrabble."

"Oh, no," replied Maggey, "you can use names if they're also real words, like, 'I ran three miles today,' or 'the carpenter took out his edgeworth and made the final touches on his table.'"

"Oh, well that makes sense, I guess." Gumshoe broke into a huge grin. "I can't believe you know so many words, Maggey!"

"Oh, it's nothing, I just pick them up around the place," said Maggey, suddenly avoiding Gumshoe's gaze.

"Wow! I wonder if Mr. Edgeworth knows what his name means!" Gumshoe picked up the dictionary and starting leafing through to the "E" section.

A little "Eek!" slipped from Maggey's lips. "Wait a second, Dick, sir! Don't you trust me?"

"Of course I trust you, Mags! I just want to be able to recite the definition to Mr. Edge..." Gumshoe's eyes opened wide for a moment, and then realization struck.

"Edgeworth... isn't in here." He looked up at Maggey, hurt in his eyes. "You lied to me, pal..."

"I- I didn't mean to, sir!" Maggey bit her lip, "It-It's just that bluffing on a big word sometimes is just part of Scrabble! I'm really sorry I lied to you!"

"Argh!" screamed Gumshoe, "I can't believe you cheated on me with Edgeworth!"

"Baby, I'm sorry!" said Maggey, "What can I do to make it up to you?"

"Just don't say anything for a while, Mags. I'm so mad I could... I could just... take my shirt off!"

"It's okay, Dick, honey," cooed Maggey, "Let it out. Let it all out. I'll never cheat on you again, ever."

AND THEN THEY DID IT ON THE SCRABBLE BOARD.

Zinc LaBlanc pushed his way to the front of the room. He had missed the movie on his flight, gotten caught up in a murder investigation and had been used as a pawn in a smuggling, but it would all be worth it if he could participate in the Gatewater Art Auction, one of the newest events where promising young artists were regularly discovered.

The auctioneer cleared his throat. "Hello, patrons of the arts! It is ab-SO-lutely fabulous to see you all here on this fine day! We have a magnificent selection of artistic works for you all that I'm sure you will be ab-SO-lutely thrilled with!"

The auctioneer prattled on as LaBlanc checked his watch and tapped his foot impatiently. He went on for several minutes before concluding "...and now, ladies and gentlemen, it's the moment you've all been waiting for! Let the auction begin!"

"Finality," LaBlanc muttered under his breath as the auctioneer launched into a glowing description of the first work of art, a still life painting of a bowl of fruit that LaBlanc immediately dismissed as trite and unimaginative and refused to bid on. Zinc was similarly unimpressed by subsequent works of art until the moment that the auction reached the fifteenth item to be auctioned off.

The auctioneer tugged at his collar and began to grow red as he began his description of the fifteenth item. "Er, the next item to be auctioned will not be shown to the public due to the rather... er... risque nature of the artwork, but rest assured it is of the highest quality. The work is entitled 'Painting of Nude with Arrangement of Flowers,' and the brushwork is quite exquisite. It is drawn by Laurice Deauxnim."

Zinc LaBlanc's interest was sufficiently piqued. He had heard good things about an American named Deauxnim and although he did not recognize the name Laurice, he may have simply misremembered the artist's first name.

"The bidding will, ahem, start at 10,000 dollars," said the auctioneer, who was nearly immediately cut off by a shriek of, "I bid 50,000 dollars!"

"Ah, very well! 50,000 from the lovely lady in the security uniform! Do I hear 60? Going once, going tw-"

"I am bidding the six million cents for the painting!" bellowed Zinc LaBlanc, and the auctioneer's lips moved silently for a second before responding, "Ah, yes, 60,000 dollars exactly! Do I hear a respons-"

"$75,000!" came the shriek from the old security lady.

"100,000 dollars!" yelled LaBlanc.

"150!"

"200!"

"250!"

"400!"

"500!"

"I bid ONE MILLION DOLLARS!" yelled Zinc LaBlanc, followed by a hush over all the auction hall. The auctioneer called out, "Very well, One million dollars! Going once, going twice, and... SOLD to the heavyset Borginian man!"

Zinc was elated to have won a Deauxnim original. He left the auction early with his and adjourned to his hotel room to admire the work of art that had cost him so very much. He propped the painting against the wall, stepped back to admire it and froze. His face fell instantly as he realized where he had seen the nude model in the painting before.

It was the prosecutor from the plane! The murder suspect who had managed to throw the blame onto one of the attendants! He was even still wearing that damned cravat. Zinc slowly let his eyes wander downward and, thank heaven for small mercies, the crotch was blocked from the eye by a vase of irises.

But yet- It couldn't be! As Zinc studied the irises, he encountered a horrible realization of the painting. Hidden partially amongst the irises, yet still mostly visible was the prosecutor's half-erect and painstakingly detailed penis! No! Nooooooooooooo!

~THE NEXT DAY~

After Zinc LaBlanc failed to check out when scheduled, the hotel sent a security guard up to his room to check on him. When the security guard failed to report back, the manager himself went up to the room and was greeted by a shocking sight. Zinc LaBlanc was hanging from the ceiling fan by a tightly knotted bedsheet, dead as a doornail. And the painting, the painting he had spent 100,000,000 cents on, was gone without a trace. The prime suspect was the security guard who had been sent to check the room earlier that morning, but unfortunately, she was never found, and the case, to this very day, remains unsolved.

ATTN: Listen to some kickass music while reading, like "Born to be Wild" by Steppenwolf or "Bad to the Bone" by George Thorogood or "Ace of Spades" by Motorhead. WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? GO GO GO.


Godot and Badd drove motorcycles at 135 mph down the freeway.

"Red car, right lane!" yelled Badd in warning, and Godot swerved to the left lane to avoid it.

"Hey, Badd, look out!" said Godot, pointing ahead. "They're raising the bridge!"

Badd and Godot hit the gas SUPER FUCKING HARD on their motorcycles, hitting the bridge like a ramp. At the apex of their jump, Badd and Godot high-fived and all of a sudden Scarlett Johansson was pregnant with twins.

Badd landed his motorcycle first on the rear wheel and kept it balanced like that for several city blocks, while Godot has used his extra air time to do a backflip on his motorcycle. (I hope you timed your fic reading to coincide with a sweet guitar solo)

Badd came to a screeching halt in front of a gun store and marched inside to talk to the elderly store owner. Godot followed behind, accidentally hitting his head on the red lamp hanging from the ceiling.

"Excuse me," said Tyrell Badd, "but are you Calvin Pratt, the owner of this establishment?"

The old man replied, "Ayup, reckon I am."

Tyrell Badd pulled a MOTHERFUCKING BAZOOKA FROM HIS COAT HOLY SHIT HOW DID HE FIT THAT IN THERE? I DON'T EVEN KNOW AND I WROTE THIS SHIT! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

"Mr. Pratt," said the grizzled detective, "You're under arrest for the murder of John Fitzgerald Kennedy."

"CASE MOTHERFUCKING CLOSED!" added Godot, and he high-fived Tyrell Badd WITHOUT EVEN LOOKING AT HIM, THAT'S HOW BADASS THEY WERE.


9 months later, doctors were mystified and tabloid reporters went absolutely batshit when one of the Johansson twins was completely greyscale and was born with a lollipop already in his mouth, while the other child was noticeably Latino and already had perfectly groomed facial hair.

Franziska von Karma had finished her first week as a prosecutor. As befitting a student of Manfred von Karma, she had taken several cases and had wrapped up each case swiftly and decisively. And now, at the end of the week, she received her first paycheck. She had already set up a savings account in anticipation, for Manfred had taught her that it was never too late to save for the future.

Yes, Franziska von Karma was definitely going to invest her very first paycheck wisely.

Although, now that she had the check in hand, the amount of things a young girl could get with that sort of money was rather tempting...

fifteen minutes later

"I want your swiss rolls," she said to the lady at the cash register of the grocery.

"Oh, my, how adorable!" said the cashier, breaking into a broad grin at the sight of the determined youngster. "And how many Swiss rolls would you like, young miss?"

Franziska brought out her checkbook, smiled sweetly and replied, "EVERY LAST FUCKING ONE. PUT THE MOTHERFUCKING SWISS ROLLS IN THE MOTHERFUCKING CART, if you please."

The cashier did so, and when the store's stock was exhausted, the shopping cart was nearly overflowing with delicious Swiss Rolls.

"Thank you very much, madam," said Franziska, curtsying graciously, after which she paid the lady for the stockpile of Swiss Rolls and began to wheel the precariously balanced cart back home. "When I get home," thought Franziska with a dreamy expression on her face, "I am going to eat every last one of these delicious fucking Swiss Rolls, and I am going to enjoy the everliving FUCK out of them."

And when she got home, that's exactly what she did, and they all lived happily ever after until Franziska died of diabetes at the age of 23, may she rest in peace.

*DOWNER ENDING*