You are one of the top Problem Sleuths in the city. Solicitations for your service are numerous in quantity. Compensation, adequate. It is a balmy summer evening. You are feeling particularly hard boiled tonight.

What will you do?

You've already got arms, numbnuts!

You are quite positive there has never been a gun in your office, and never will be. Frankly, the notion strikes you as reckless and foolhardy.

You don't know why you are assuming the door will be locked. You don't usually keep the door to your office locked. Nonetheless, a guy this hard boiled doesn't go messing around with totally unmanly things like knobs.

You send your meaty fist glass-ward.

It seems there never was a glass element to the door. It was just a piece of paper taped to it.

The PIECE OF PAPER was added to your inventory.

The door is locked!! Funny, you don't remember locking it.

The most plainly obvious course of action is to call a locksmith. You examine the phone. While it appears to be hooked up to an active phone line, the rotary dial and receiver cord are both missing. You won't be talking to anyone on this phone!

Unfortunately, your desk has no drawers, since it is a board resting on some cinderblocks with faux wood panel siding.

Your pocket however yields bountiful returns. You found some CANDY CORN.

You pick up the gun.

The grip is cold against your palm. This is your only friend in the world right now. It's gonna be a long night.

Thinking the precious cargo may not be secure in your pocket, you explore alternatives.

But you don't know the combination to the safe!! You figure it's probably hidden somewhere in your office.

You have decided to examine PIECE OF PAPER.

Eureka! You discovered a SEQUENCE OF NUMERALS.

You will use SEQUENCE OF NUMERALS on the safe.

The safe doesn't seem to work. It appears to be a replica of a safe's facade, concealing something beneath it on the wall.

There is a painting of a clown under the safe cover.

There is a flask of whiskey under the desk.

You pick up the FLASK OF WHISKEY.

How do you expect to drink from the FLASK OF WHISKEY when it is not in your jacket pocket???

You swap the KEY for the FLASK OF WHISKEY, and wield it accordingly.

You topple backwards on to your desk.

You re-equip your GUN so you can blow a hole in the lock to open the door.

It looks like your GUN only has 1 BULLET(S) left. Are you sure you want to use it in this way? You might need it in case you have to off yourself later.

As you stoop to look at the bottom of the phone, your finger slips and you blow the lock off the door.

It is a business card for "Busts-R-Us". Probably a brothel, considering the lame double-entendre slogan, and the phone number, which if turned upside-down, spells "BOOBIES".

You put the BUSTS-R-US CARD in your inventory. You also put the phone upright and back on its hook to make sure you don't miss any important calls from would-be clients.

The door still will not open! It appears that it was never locked in the first place. Something must be obstructing its path.

No wonder the door won't open. Blocking it is an enormous and magnificent bust of Ben Stiller in his role as Starsky in the 2004 retro-mania comedy remake of Starsky and Hutch.

Lying on the floor appears to be an unfortunate bystander, an employee of Busts-R-Us. He was polishing the bust right in front of your door for some reason.

You can't reach them!!!

In any case, they are probably just a part of the statue, and not actual sunglasses.

You spend the next half hour trying to reach them.

The painting is exquisite. There is something funny about his eyes though. Light seems to be shining through from the other side.

It's too bright in this room to see anything in there! You do think you hear a voice though. You can't tell what it is saying.

You're just so angry about not being able to reach those sunglasses, you're about to lose it!

You first consolidate all the scrapped wood into a neat pile, then hoist the block towards the door.

It sounds like something was knocked loose on the other side.

You face EAST in the room to look out the window. Bright daylight floods the room through the glass. You've always been a stickler for natural light. This is the only source of light in the room.

What makes this particularly strange is the fact that it is 10 o'clock in the evening.

It's the view from your third floor office. You gaze abstractedly at the commotion below. Same scene, same faces every day. It's like it hardly ever changes. Not that you can afford to pay much attention to scenery, with your mind wrapped around the latest problem to sleuth, and your lips, around your flask.

You shout toward the moving truck, hoping someone might be willing to bust your problem, so to speak.

You do your best pantomime of Ben Stiller as a Starsky statue. But it doesn't seem like anyone can see or hear you.

You think you have a pretty good idea about how your office works by now. Acting upon this hunch, you hoist another cinderblock glass-ward.

No clue is too trivial for the keen problem sleuth. Your motto is "let no inventory go uncluttered".

You catch a glimpse of the reflection in the glass. It's the wall behind you.

Now facing SOUTH, you pause to marvel at the beauty of your office wall mural celebrating ethnic diversity. You had it commissioned some time ago by a promising young artist. Best $11,000 you ever spent!

It appears to be another business card. At a glance, one might think it was a calling card for a lady of the night named "Muriel" with a typo in her name, given the poor spelling exhibited elsewhere.

But on closer inspection, it is more likely a misspelling for "mural", given the smudged-out pun about walls. The suggestion in the phone number is probably regarding the old coat of paint rather than anyone's clothes.

It's an easy enough mistake to make, though. You feel sorry for anyone who at any point in the past may have called while under the wrong impression.

You stash the MADAME MUREL CARD in your inventory and set about making a really cool fort in your office! It is complete with a front step and a chimney. You are really proud of your craftsmanship.

Inside your fort, you are only bound by the walls of your imagination, and several small pieces of particle board.

This is what being a hard boiled problem sleuth is all about. It's about being a strong, silent type, oozing with confidence, charisma, and other fine qualities such as not being trapped in your own office. It's about having a working phone. A real desk. Not one, but two steak dinners. And some hysterical broad on the line, yackin' about some fella she's got troubles with. It's always the same thing with dames. You comfort yourself in your sublime fantasy by now and then saying things into the phone such as, "Now calm down a second, toots..." and "Hey, take it easy, sweetheart. I can barely understand a word you're sayin'..."

RING-RING.

Your call is rudely interrupted by a ringing noise. It can't be the phone, because you're already on it!

Something is ringing in your office.

You pick up the phone and mutter some impatient greetings into the useless receiver. There is no response. Looks like you just lost another client to technical difficulties.

You are fed up with your shitty phone. It has screwed you out of a case for the last time!

You're probably going to need to get that back somehow.

Even though the window is broken, you decide to open it.

You slide the lower pane upward, but the whole window frame seems to slip from its anchored position.

The window comes off the wall altogether. On closer examination, it seems to be a false window with a picture inside it. The picture is lit from within, sort of like a sophisticated light box.

The window/light box is plugged into the wall behind it.

The false window was concealing a large safe.

The false window is way too big to carry around, stupid!

But you did find a CURTAIN ROD just under the top edge. You never did get around to putting up drapes. Then again, it never did make much sense to cover up the only source of light in your office.

You put the CURTAIN ROD in your inventory.

You examine the heavy-duty safe. You must be keeping some serious loot in here.

You enter the SEQUENCE OF NUMERALS from the PIECE OF PAPER. The combination works!

However, instead of opening the safe, the dial has simply popped open to reveal a keyhole. It looks like it requires a key that looks more like a house key or a car key, rather than one of those old fashioned looking keys which tend to be littered all over video games, and which you are quite sure you have never once seen lying around in your office.

You don't need this PIECE OF PAPER anymore.

You discarded the PIECE OF PAPER.

Your KEY is out of bullets!!!

It's a long way down! You'll have to think of a way to reel them in if you want them back.

You unplug the false window, which is probably burning through electricity with its powerful fluorescent bulbs and strange spatial warping properties. You're not made of money!

The room goes dark.

With the room darkened, you should now be able to see through the painting.

Gadzooks! It's another urban mural. This one is particularly unpleasant. You have a feeling it might have been placed there just to annoy you.

You hear a voice from the other side. It's hard to tell what it is saying, but you think you can make out the words "toots" and "sweatheart" now and then.

It's hard to tell how far away the mural is. The clown's eyes are so close together, you can only see through one at a time, limiting your depth perception. You wonder what kind of freak this painting was made for.

If only you had some sort of thin, extendable implement to poke through the hole to tell how far away it is.

You feel the the CURTAIN ROD bump into something not too far into the wall.

It is the adjacent office. The man at the desk is talking to a client about some sort of problem which requires sleuthing.

It is your loathesome arch nemesis, Ace Dick! He is always scooping you on the best cases. That portly son of a bitch makes your blood boil!

You shout, but he cannot hear you. The walls may be too thick, or he is just engrossed in his conversation. It sounds like he is arguing over a misunderstanding about the nature of the services provided by Busts-R-Us, and an alarmingly large bill for those services.

In the darkness, you stub your toe on the false safe cover. You utter more profanity.

Inflated electric bills or not, you are getting sick of stubbing your toe on things.

The door bears the brunt of the bottled-up shitstorm brewing within.

The key which you can't actually see, and don't actually know is there, jingled a bit. You'll have to throw something heavier against the door if you want to knock it loose.

You take the cinderblock which was formerly your fort's front step. You decided you could stand to part with it, since you've been stubbing your toe on it constantly since you built it.

The key still won't jingle loose. It looks like you'll need to throw an even heavier object at the door.

Since Ace seems so intent on being able to see into your office, it looks like you put up something for him to look at.

You stashed the NOTE TO ACE DICK.

It appears to be some kind of heating unit to keep the coffee hot. It looks heavy.

It is quite heavy. And hot!

You contemplate throwing it at the door, but something occurs to you first. You don't want to knock the keys on the floor and not be able to reach them. (re: the sunglasses fiasco) You'd better be prepared to catch them in something after you throw it.

You resolve to catch the key with your hat. You let the ponderous appliance fly.

With quick reflexes, you shove your hat through the hole in time to rescue the key.

You got the SAFE KEY! And you can't think of a safer place for it than where it is now.

You keep the hidden recording device in your office to record anything said that might be incriminating. Unfortunately, the only incriminating statements it recorded were likely made by yourself.

Your prized confections will be safer here.

The recording tape begins to unspool while you're preoccupied.

You remember you're pissed off at Ace Dick, and in addition to which, you haven't been able to pee once in the 13 and a half hours you've been locked in your office. You decide to exact revenge by unleashing a torrent of urine through one of the painting holes, preferably while he is spying on you.

Unfortunately, your aim isn't that good, and you don't even come close to getting pee through the holes. The painting is now a smelly mess.

You unlock the safe with the SAFE KEY. The safe opens to reveal a hidden room.

You don't need the SAFE KEY anymore, so you discard it.

Wow, what a fucking waste of time!

You enter your secret chamber. It's a dark alcove you use to store a few modest valuables, and duck into whenever you're on a case and things start to get too hot to handle (which is never).

It appears to be a note delivered to you from Ace Dick. It smells a little like pee. You hate him so much.

You stash the UNPLEASANT NOTE in your inventory.

You can't do it. That tuba is filthy!

It's another business card for an intriguing trade. Some of these services sound really exotic.

You climb into the elevator, sometimes called a dumbwaiter. It's pitch black inside. There's only one direction to go.

The dumbwaiter goes down a little bit, then stops. This is as far as it goes.

The interior is somewhat illuminated from light coming in through a slit on the wall you're facing. It looks like you can slip objects through it, as long as they are narrow enough.

It's hard to see anything through it. But you hear a voice again.

It's Ace Dick's office again. He is still on the phone and sounds really surly. He seems quite upset about a mixup involving large stone busts, instead of some other service he believed he was getting.

He seems to be wondering if he has the right business card.

You deposit into the slot the BUSTS-R-US card.

A little too late, you realize you should have peed on the card to stick it to Ace.

You decide to pee on it anyway.

Ace Dick picks up the card and puts it in his inventory. He considers the card carefully.

He calls the number, hoping this one will bring satisfaction.

After a little while, some whores show up.

It looks like Ace got the better of you once again.

Feelings of dejection overwhelm you. You are tired of being shown up by your rival. He gets everything. All the good cases. The women. The ability to open his office door. You'd wager he even enjoys the lion's share of the candy corn.

You down a stiff belt from your FLASK OF WHISKEY.

You experience a boost in your IMAGINATION.

Suddenly, you are entirely dissatisfied with the condition of these horns. It is an absolute disgrace. You won't stand for it.

You set about polishing the instruments, but it seems your IMAGINATION is too high to conduct normal day-to-day activities. You topple some of the horns. The clarinet breaks.

If only there were a place that could serve as a proper outlet for such a high degree of IMAGINATION until the condition passed.

In your heightened state of IMAGINATION, you fall down the stairs.

You'd better get to the safety of your fort fast. You're no good to anyone out here.

You feel safe and sound in the cozy confines of your wobbly particle board walls.

You stand in your imaginary office. With the mind, anything is possible.

Your imaginary phone is ringing.

You answer the phone in the best Depression-era fast-talking way possible. On the other line is a hysterical dame.

You tell her to calm down and give you the skinny on what all hubbub is about. Her answers are vague and one-dimensional. The case is quickly going nowhere.

It turns out your imagination sucks!

The steak dinners have been sitting around for a while. They are both spoiled!

They don't taste as good as real candy corn.

Nevertheless, it gives your PULCHRITUDE a small boost.

You pick up the gun.

You'd like to bring it back with you, but you cannot fathom how that is possible.

You exit your office, into the hallway.

You burst through Ace Dick's imaginary door, rolling up your nonexistent sleeves.

But he is nowhere to be found. His imaginary room is empty, most likely because Ace is currently not using his IMAGINATION.

You exit, but not before you leave and imaginary present on the floor.

You are now facing SOUTH in the hallway.

You hear noises behind the door. It sounds like swing music, and riotous times being had. Whoever is in this office probably has a terrific imagination!

But the door is locked.

You feel your IMAGINATION beginning to fade, so you hurry downstairs to the imaginary street.

You find your motley collection of items which you earlier threw out the window in a fit of rage, stupidity, or both.

You see a familiar face through the window. A friendly face.

Your IMAGINATION wears off.

You experience the lingering effects of your IMAGINATION. The stat remains at the same level, but no longer affords you its advantages. However, you remain just as useless in the real world!

You are going to need to figure out a way to sober up fast.

You drink the COFFEE which is lukewarm. It is foul, bitter, and ridiculously strong. You can only drink a little of it.

Your IMAGINATION is reduced, while your VIM enjoys a healthy boost. You feel terrific now! Fit as a fiddle, and bristling with coordination.

Two pieces of CANDY CORN fall on to the floor.

You put the CANDY CORN into your HAT.

The phone is ringing again.

Your phone is now missing three components, making it that much more difficult to answer this call from an undoubtedly hysterical dame.

If only you could think of a way to reel in objects from the weird window/mind-space universe.

You try to shake your belongings from the blasted portal.

It appears to run on Etch-A-Sketch technology.

You use the magnetic tape to form a lasso. Maybe you can reel in your belongings this way.

However, you think the tape-lasso is way too light and flimsy to throw out the window with any significant distance or accuracy. You'll need something to weigh it down.

You tie the tape to a cinderblock, using it as an anchor.

It looks like there are two holes in the mural. They are spaced far apart, just wide enough for someone with sensible human anatomy to look through with both eyes.

You unplug the window again and have a gander.

It's an UNPLEASANT NOTE. You can tell using your DEPTH PERCEPTION that the note is very close, only a few inches from your face.

A painting of an elf jostles on the other side.

It falls to reveal a safe.

The safe pops open, revealing a painting of an elf.

It is the office of yet another one of your competitors, Pickle Inspector. He looks dazed, as if perhaps he's been trapped in his office for some time.

There are strange glass containers in the corner. You wonder if there might be a business card (worded professionally, of course) for a glass blower somewhere in his office. Perhaps taped to something, like a cinderblock, or the back of an elf painting.

His office is dark for some reason.

You suddenly hear noises coming from Ace Dick's office. You figure as long as your office is dark, you might as well check on him through the clown holes.

The whores tied Ace Dick up in a chair and stole his phone. The Huggy Bear bust is cracked open, and the treasure which was undoubtedly stashed inside has been stolen too. He was probably tortured for the information.

You celebrate by mustering one of the silliest dances you've attempted in hours.

Ace Dick hears your shenanigans from the other side. He seems to be pleading for a way to cut the rope.

You can't imagine how you can get a statue's attention.

You begin to covet the Hutch bust, and whatever secrets it guards.

The reel is way too weak to hold your weight! It will probably only be able to support and reel in lighter objects.

The reel begins to turn, pulling the tape taught. The cinderblock below does not budge. If the tape is re-tied to a lighter object, it will likely be pulled in through the window automatically.

You go into the back room and down the elevator.

Ace receives the SHARD OF GLASS. He uses it to cut himself free.

You are now Ace Dick.

You begin to question this feud you've been embroiled in with your neighbor for so long. After all, he did just give you the number for some honest to God whores, even if they did ultimately rob you. He also just helped you escape. Maybe it's time to bury the hatchet and help him out of his office.

You feel you should get some supplies from your safe first, though. If only you could remember the combination.

You can't pull it off! It's stuck fast. Maybe a heavy object will knock it loose.

Using your extraordinary strength due to your unusually high VIM characteristic, you lift the bust easily.

You send the Owen Wilson paper-ward.

The bust crashed through the window, knocking out an employee of Madame Murel. He was wheeling a portable scaffold into place to prepare for some more mural work. He looks like he's in bad shape now.

The Hutch head cracked open, exposing riches.

It looks like one of the whores may have taken Starsky's sunglasses.

The scaffold continues rolling, coming to a stop in front of your door, jamming it shut.

You are now trapped in your office too. You and Problem Sleuth will have to work together if you want to escape.

(Precede commands for Ace Dick with "AD:", and for Problem Sleuth with "PS:".)

The scaffolding is jammed in place! It seems the brake for the wheels was triggered after it came to a stop. You can't push it away either. The top just bumps up against the ceiling. There's no climbing out of the window with your portly frame because of the scaffold bars.

Unless someone comes to help you, or you find a blowtorch to melt through the bars, you're probably not getting out of this office any time soon. Nice try though!

I beg your pardon?

You put the PHONE PARTS in your inventory.

You slip the PHONE PARTS through the slot to an awaiting Problem Sleuth.

But he is not waiting for them in the dumbwaiter!!

The phone parts fall somewhere into the dark shaft below. Nice work, Bonehead McFuckup.

There is a HAMMER in the broken Snoop Dogg bust. You place the HAMMER in your inventory.

The window loses it's extra-dimensional portal properties, and severs you mid-way through. You are dead.

<- GO BACK

You're not sure what you were thinking.

Behind the poster is another clown drawn directly on the metal.

Under the paper is a long GAME CODE. This is probably a code you can use to return to a particular state in this game.

You put it in your inventory.

You pick up the RING OF KEYS.

Armed with your TOMMY GUN, you are one hard boiled lug. Nobody mess with this tough guy, see?

You go down the dumbwaiter.

Ace Dick tries to give you an item. But the HAMMER is too big to fit into the slot.

Ace gives you all his BUSINESS CARDS instead.

In return, you give him your collection of UNPLEASANT NOTES.

You recognize both of these notes. You wrote and delivered them to your neighbor to get his goat.

One of them has something on the back. He wrote a rebuttal on the other side and taped it to the back of his fake safe for your viewing pleasure.

Luckily, the combination to your safe is on this paper. You carelessly composed your note on this document without noticing.

You enter the combination. The smaller compartment opens up to reveal three old fashioned key holes.

You have to unplug your large panoramic window from its portable generator first.

You topple backwards on to your particle board desk. It was supported by a couple of smaller busts, including one of your favorites, Snoop Dogg from Soul Plane.

First you organize all of the particle board into a neat pile to reduce clutter.

You ready the Snoop for throwing.

The bust crumbles against the rigid surface of the unplugged window. There's just no breaking the plane unless it's plugged in.

Amidst the rubble is a couple pieces of CANDY CORN, and a SMALL KEY.

First you plug the window back in so you stop stubbing your toe on things. Stubbing your toe is known to be brutal on your PULCHRITUDE stat.

You pick up the CRUET OF BRANDY.

You pick up the ROPE.

You use your RING OF KEYS to unlock the key holes on the safe.

The RING OF KEYS blows a hole in the safe. The safe is open.

Now that the window is plugged in, you may effectively vent your rage with a heavy object.

The HAMMER shatters the glass and falls to the street far below your penthouse office suite .

You pick up CANDY CORN and SMALL KEY.

Ace Dick ate the candy corn.

He is an unimaginative lout and an all-around wet blanket!

Ace enjoys a small boost in PULCHRITUDE from the candy. His modest PULCHRITUDE gauge is now maxed out.

He inadvertently swallowed the SMALL KEY along with the CANDY CORN. It is now safely stored in his stomach.

You figure it's time to do something constructive for a change.

Your stout bunker of particle board is a smashing success. The Zoolander chimney is the jewel in its crown.

You can't reach the opening!

You would stand on the chair, but you don't think it's quite high enough. Besides, it is now built into your fort, and there's obviously no going back.

That's the stupidest idea you've ever had!

By stacking two bust stands, you can easily reach the safe opening.

It's your secret hideaway, a great place for ducking into when being persecuted by unscrupulous whores.

Acrid fumes from the room fill your nostrils.

The dumbwaiter goes up, revealing the PHONE PARTS which had fallen down the shaft earlier.

While you're at it, you compose another UNPLEASANT NOTE on the back of one of the others, and slip it through the slot.

Your phone is now 2/3 complete.

It is ringing again! You're going to need that receiver!

You throw your RING OF KEYS at the lock. They jangle uselessly against the door.

You're not sure what you expected was going to happen. You sure can be dumb sometimes.

The RING OF KEYS ammo is down to 90%.

You pick up your TOMMY GUN.

You won't need to use the ROPE to escape through the window. There is a fire escape stairway.

You climb on to the generator, out the window, and on to the stairs.

The generator is chugging away. It is fueled by potent grain alchohol. Its fuel gauge is at 80%.

The stairs end at the roof of an adjacent building. There is a pulley on the other side. There is a small skylight window on the center of the roof.

It's Pickle Inspector, the poor sap trapped in his office by that petty bastard, Problem Sleuth. He is currently in his fort.

There is no light in his office. His skylight window must not be powered.

You suddenly feel weird about standing on the other side of an unpowered window. You feel as though there will probably be metaphysical consequences.

A frightening beast appears!!!

You have a feeling your portly ally is in trouble somehow. You pound against the wall, but the Inspector is in his fort, off in his own world.

You decide to take the matter up with him directly.

You take a healthy swig from your FLASK OF WHISKEY to boost your IMAGINATION, and duck into the old fort.

In a stirring homage to the tubby boy "Chunk" in The Goonies, you lift your shirt and produce the most blubber-jostling jig you can muster.

You are quickly slain by the hungry beast.

You really like The Goonies, and you think the beast probably does too, but you think a little restraint is called for in this situation.

You squeeze the trigger of your TOMMY GUN and fill the creature with lead.

The beast is unfazed! You are down to only 5% ammo, and you doubt the remainder of your bullets will finish off the encroaching monster.

You run up the stairs into the safety of your window.

You can't just vomit things on command! That's ridiculous.

On the other hand, when there's liquor in your system, that's a different story...

Well, ok, it's not whiskey, but you decide to open your CRUET OF BRANDY and throw back a stiff belt.

The alcohol has no effect on your VIM characteristic. But it quickly maxes out your crude little IMAGINATION gauge.

The room starts spinning. You'll need to duck into a safe place to expend the IMAGINATION fast.

You are standing in your imaginary office.

You can hardly believe how shitty your imagination is.

You pick up the SHITTY GUN. You'd be shocked if it worked at all.

Problem Sleuth is already there, trying to get into the locked office.

You shatter the glass with your beefy fist.

It is Pickle Inspector's imaginary office. He sure knows how to live it up.

He uses his potent imaginitive powers to replace the broken door with one of solid steel.

Problem Sleuth is gone. He probably went downstairs.

You find Problem Sleuth on the street. He is rounding up items scattered on the street and tying them to the magnetic tape.

It looks like he brought down a LARGE BAG OF CANDY CORN from his office. He may have considered tying it to the tape, but it is too heavy to be hauled up through the window. It probably will need to be hauled up by something stronger, like a rope. Perhaps one slung around a pulley...

You let go of the tape. It is reeled in through the window with the items.

Unfortunately, the HAMMER catches on the window's power cord and unplugs it.

A terrifying beast appears!!!

You are both armed with imaginary weapons and ready for melee.

The gentleman appear to be a brainless nonentity!!!

The beast gobbles the torso. He is temporarily placated by the red meat.

Your imaginary guns seem to be no more effective than pea shooters. Ace's bullets barely manage to clear the barrel.

The beast suffers minimal damage.

You stand on the cinderblocks and take aim.

Your piece of shit gun jams and explodes.

The beast takes significant damage. Ace Dick loses an imaginary life.

Ace Dick has returned to the physical plane.

You are feeling nauseous from the earlier boost to your IMAGINATION. You puke.

Problem Sleuth has been slain by the beast.

You wake up from your imaginary boss battle with a very real hangover.

You quickly drink some coffee to restore your VIM.

The recording device reeled in the PHONE RECEIVER and the HAMMER.

Finally, you can field some phone calls from flustered broads!

You put the HAMMER in your inventory.

You don't know Pickle Inspector's number, or if he even has a phone. Besides, your rotary dial appears to have strange symbols on it rather than numbers.

You vaguely recall seeing somewhere the sequence of symbols, STAR - HEART - HORSESHOE. However, you can't quite remember the symbols STAR - HEART - HORSESHOE. You will need the piece of paper with STAR - HEART - HORSESHOE written on it if you wish to remember the sequence STAR - HEART - HORSESHOE.

You pick up the SMALL KEY.

You unlock the lock and open the door. Powerful fumes waft into your nostrils.

You pry at the boards with the HAMMER.

But before you can pry any off, the door swings open, away from the boards. It seems the boards never actually served to obstruct the door in the first place.

You are now Pickle Inspector.

You examine your surroundings. Your door is blocked by something. Judging from the marks on the door, it looks like you attempted to open it with some sort of weapon.

There is a HAIRPIN on the floor.

You equip the HAIRPIN.

Armed with the MACHINE GUN, you are an unstoppable murdering machine. The heavy weapon is perfect for sating that burning desire to fill something with hot lead.

You drop the MACHINE GUN. Your VIM characteristic is way too low to carry around such a heavy object.

A trombone is wedged between the door and the wall. The horn is really rusty. It could use some serious polishing.

You try to push the safe closed, but it is too heavy! Your VIM is not nearly high enough.

You're not sure where the elf painting cover went. Perhaps an elf took it. Elves may or may not be real.

They are not Smarties, they are Tootsie Rolls!

You attempt to woo your fan by turning it on. However, there is no electricity in your office presently.

There is a card taped to the fan.

You place the GLASS BLOWERS INC. CARD in your inventory.

Andrew Hussie becomes aroused by fans of MS Paint Adventures. Way to break the 4th wall, numbskull!

Yeah!!!

Ace Dick enters the back room.

There are a couple of stills. One is for making illicit liquor during the prohibition era. Another is for making another sort of substance, possibly also illicit. All of the liquor appears to have been stolen!

There are some HANDGUN BULLET(S) on the floor. There is also a target painted on the ceiling for some reason.

Loud swing music and lively footsteps are heard from the room above.

Problem Sleuth enters the back room.

It appears to be a storage room for various instruments. Mysteriously, most of the instruments have been plundered from the room. Hung on the wall are portraits of some legendary jazz musicians. You regard them with awe.

Loud swing music and lively footsteps are heard from the room above.

The first bottle contains ILLICIT MOONSHINE. The second bottle contains HOT SAUCE. The third bottle contains your own EXCREMENT saved up from prolonged office entrapment.

You would take a swig from one, but you seem to have misplaced your handy DRINKING IMPLEMENT.

You pick up the HANGUN BULLET(S). They are not compatible with your TOMMY GUN. You will have to use the remainder of its ammo if you wish to fire it.

You point the RING OF KEYS target-ward.

The room above is a busy speakeasy. The clients boisterously enjoy illicit libations.

There is a bust of the speakeasy's owner, the MOBSTER KINGPIN. He is obviously the scourge of this pseudo-prohibition era universe. Nobody fucks with him.

Bullets pierce the floor in a semi-circular pattern around the bust. The patrons flee in fright out the exit.

The exit is now barred through some automated security mechanism, probably to prevent meddlesome coppers from barging in.

The gunfire ignited the potent fumes from the stills. The room is on fire.

The RING OF KEYS is out of ammunition.

You take a limp-wristed swing at the glass.

But it seems there is no glass in the door frame. You tumble through the opening.

You are in a small room with an elf. The elf possibly guards secrets. And a switch behind him.

Your PULCHRITUDE is too low to command the loyalty of elves!!!

You exit the small room through the door.

You find the RUBBER TUBE under your HAT.

You retrieve your TEA SET from your fort. You had been keeping it in there to supplement your imaginative games of make-believe.

You siphon some of the HOT SAUCE into the TEA POT.

You siphon some of the ILLICIT LIQUOR into a TEA CUP.

You decide to leave the SHIT where it is.

You take a small sip from the TEA POT. Your VIM is boosted.

You begin to sweat profusely.

You equip the HAIRPIN.

The MACHINE GUN suddenly goes off. The lousy thing has a HAIRPIN trigger.

The bottles are shattered, leaving an UNPLEASANT SLURRY all over the floor.

You drop the MACHINE GUN. You are still too weak to wield it.

It goes off again, and the volatile concoction catches fire!!! Your office is on fire!!!

The SKYLIGHT above jostles. It pops out of place to reveal a SPRINKLER, which has been activated by the smoke.

The SPRINKLER douses the flames.

The SKYLIGHT dangles from its power cord, which is plugged into an outlet on the ceiling.

The water cools you off. Your VIM returns to normal.

1: Blind Willie "Buttermilk" Stubbs

2: Father "Blind Pappy" Ramblin' Jackson

3: Earl Stokes "Can't-see-a-damn" Molasses Fatts

Such extraordinary jazz legends. They bring a tear to your eye.

It seems they are without their instruments though.

You can't remember the notes to that song!

Instead, you play an improvised rendition of a classic Buttermilk Stubbs composition. Things are really starting to cook!

Some icons beneath the plaques are revealed.

Both of the doors are blocked from the other side.

It appears someone has wedged an oboe between the doors.

You imbibe heavily to drown your conflagrative sorrows.

You enter your fort to escape the shrieking nightmare that has swallowed your life whole.

You take the SKYLIGHT.

You take a sip. It only marginally boosts your already naturally high IMAGINATION stat. You will need to consume a much more powerful form of liquor if you wish to boost it much further.

You duck into the fort to escape the freezing downpour.

You hear your phone ringing from the other room.

You gather up the horns.

Beneath the TUBA is a cartridge of TOMMY GUN MUNITION(S).

You supply the musicians with their horns.

A switch appears on the wall.

The power is activated in Pickle Inspector's office.

The fan turns on. The wind from the fan blows the safe shut.

The power in Problem Sleuth's office shuts off.

The phone is still ringing.

You answer the phone in a hard boiled manner. You explain to the woman gruffly that you'd love to help her out, sweetheart, but you're up to your neck in all this weird puzzle shit. You hang up.

The dame explains into the dead receiver, please don't go, she's been trapped in her apartment for hours and needs help.

You enter your imaginary office, now with only two imaginary lives to spare. Try to be a little more careful this time.

Ace Dick and Pickle Inspector are having a chat. You wonder if they are talking about you.

Ace Dick is whispering something to the lanky fellow. You smell a plot. Your mind furiously sets to work on a way to disrupt their connivings.

This is the best plan you come up with.

The other two, inspired by your magnificent PULCHRITUDE, rally around you as a leader and follow you toward the exit.

You stop them, reminding them that there is a monster on the street, and they are terribly ill-equipped for the battle. You will all need better armaments.

Pickle Inspector nods sagely. He'll see what he can do.

Problem Sleuth is armed with the CANDY CORN HANDGUN.

Ace Dick is armed with the TOOTSIE ROLL SHOTGUN.

Pickle Inspector is armed with the PEZ UZI.

You copy and paste your previous poses into a new file and animate the background rapidly.

The great beast is ready for battle with a replenished health bar.

Fast-paced organ music and a haunting vocal chorus accompanies your epic struggle.

The beast makes a preemptive assault on your party's leader!!!

Your AUTO-PARRY kicks in. You avoid the savage lunge with your SLEUTH ROLL.

You open your BATTLE MENU and select "AGGRESS".

You fire your CANDY CORN HANDGUN at the monster. It takes heavy damage from the projectile treats.

You follow Problem Sleuth's lead and riddle the beast with high-powered rounds of PEZ.

Ace Dick cocks the TOOTSIE ROLL SHOTGUN and strikes a BRUTAL AFFRONT for massive damage!!!

The beast is slain.

PROBLEM SLEUTH GAINED A LEVEL!

IMAGINATION: +1
PULCHRITUDE: +5
VIM: +1

PROBLEM SLEUTH ACCRUED BATTLE TECHNIQUE: SLEUTH DIPLOMACY
PROBLEM SLEUTH CAN COMMUNE WITH THE FOLLOWING ANIMAL(S):
WEASELS

ACE DICK GAINED A LEVEL!

IMAGINATION: +0
PULCHRITUDE: +0
VIM: +6

ACE DICK INCREASED STOMACH CAPACITY BY 0.4 LITRES.
ACE DICK INCREASED STOMACH CAPACITY BY 0.5 LITRES.
ACE DICK INCREASED STOMACH CAPACITY BY 0.75 LITRES.
ACE DICK ACHIEVED LEVEL 18 STOMACH PROWESS.
ACE DICK ACCRUED COMBAT OPERANDI: BELLY OF THE WHALE

PICKLE INSPECTOR GAINED A LEVEL!

IMAGINATION: +10
PULCHRITUDE: +2
VIM: +0

PICKLE INSPECTOR LEARNED HOW TO IMAGINE THE FOLLOWING ITEM(S):
JAW BREAKER CANNON
GUMMY BEAR I.E.D.
PEANUT BRITTLE DUMBWAITER

ACE DICK GAINED A LEVEL!

IMAGINATION: +0
PULCHRITUDE: -3
VIM: +8

ACE DICK ACCRUED BATTLE TECHNIQUE: LV. 2 TRUFFLE SHUFFLE

THE BEAST DROPPED ARTIFACT: POLISHED HORN

The torso cavity is mushy and warm. It makes for a comfortable bucket seat.

Problem Sleuth goes for a stroll.

Its lustre is arresting; its mysteries, unfathomable.

You place the POLISHED HORN in your inventory.

You pick up the BAG OF CANDY CORN.

You take the UGLY DOG.

You do not have enough ELF TEARS to summon the WEASEL KING!

You cannot go up the stairs to Ace's office. The path is blocked by a frightening beast!

Sensing your compatriots are in trouble, you decide to use your powerful legs to leap into battle.

But something distracts you. A light coming from that store front. And music.

It is a dancer, spinning to the tune of a music box.

An unfamiliar face looms large behind it.

You would use COMBAT OPERANDI: BELLY OF THE WHALE with gusto, however your cache of ELF TEARS is dry as a bone!

The beast makes an unexpected pounce!

Pickle Inspector employs a successful AUTO-PARRY, with the technique PICKLE DISTRACTION.

You show the beast what you, and fat kids everywhere, are made of.

The beast suffers minimal damage.

Ace Dick is slain.

The dancer in the window stops spinning. The window goes dark.

The JAW BREAKER CANNON inflicts a SAVAGE UPBRAID for 100x damage!!!

The beast is defeated.

PICKLE INSPECTOR GAINED A LEVEL!

IMAGINATION: +12
PULCHIRTUDE: +1
VIM: -4

PICKLE INSPECTOR ACCRUED BATTLE TECHNIQUE: LV. 5 DISCONCERTING OGLE

THE BEAST DROPPED ARTIFACT: BURNISHED HORN

You strut your stuff with some fancy footwork.

Problem Sleuth is slain.

You acquire the BURNISHED HORN.

You speed toward Ace's office to make sure he's alright.

Your imaginary body cannot be sustained on the material plane!

Pickle Inspector loses an imaginary life.

Ace Dick is nowhere to be found.

Ace Dick suffers the unpleasant aftermath of his IMAGINATION binge.

The flames in the still room are doused by a large volume of VOMIT.

Problem Sleuth quenches his hangover with the remainder of the COFFEE.

Pickle Inspector returns to the material plane. The office is flooded. The outlet's electricity is shorted out.

Water spills into the small ELF CHAMBER.

One of the elves playing poker waves at you. He seems to beckon for you to join them.

It is too late for him. There is nothing you can do.

This would be a horrible idea even under the best of circumstances.

You pick up the HAIRPIN anyway.

It looks like an apology note from Ace Dick, or something approximating an apology. Maybe he wants to bury the hatchet after all these years. The mollification is likely on account of your high PULCHRITUDE stat.

This reminds you, now that Pickle Inspector's safe is closed, you can go read that note again.

Sure enough, there is the note. You can now remember the sequence STAR - HEART - HORSESHOE.

You hear the safe opening from the other side...

You topple backwards and crush your fort.

There is no way to turn it off. You will suffer the same fate as that poor elf if you stay much longer.

You duck into the elves' lair for sanctuary. They activate the emergency shutter to seal off the room.

The elves introduce themselves. ROPO, ZOBO, FOKO, and BLOD all sit around a table playing cards, while strategizing against a common enemy.

You are a little nervous. You dip your head politely to your new hosts.

You spy a small hatch on the floor.

ROPO must insist you cease your snooping. Maybe someone with more PULCHRITUDE could persuade him to see reason.

Despite your most aggressive showing, the elves remain unmoved.

They are obviously emotionally stalwart creatures. Totally implacable.

BLOD notices a pornographic playing card has slipped into the deck. He begins to cry.

You harvest the ELF TEARS in your TEA CUP.

The small portal lights up.

You accidentally drop the HAIRPIN through it. The heavy object shatters the glass.

The face of the phone opens, revealing a hidden chamber. There is a piece of paper inside.

It is sheet music for the song Moonlight Sonata.

You place the SHEET MUSIC in your POCKET.

You enter the speakeasy.

You face NORTH. There is another stunning mural on the wall, as well as a mysterious poster behind the bust.

Wow, what a fucking waste of time!

Your VIM is simply not high enough to dislodge the instrument. It's really stuck!

You've got to be kidding!

The doors are barred from the inside. It sounds like there is someone on the other side who will not let you in.

You will either need a very high VIM rating to knock down the doors, or a high PULICHRITUDE rating to sweet talk your way in.

You sure are proving useless in this room!

You are a little disgusted to find a skeleton in your office. You nevertheless rifle through its belongings.

You take the BAG OF CANDY CORN. The HORNS are unsettling to you for some reason, so you leave them there. Same with the PEZ UZI, which suddenly seems just plain silly!

First you wheel the JAW BREAKER CANNON off to the side.

You pick up the MACHINE GUN. A brute like you is easily able to wield the heavy weapon.

The melody is haunting. No wonder you locked away this music. It is a treasure to the ears.

A compartment is revealed, exposing a powerful industrial fan.

The fan blows the bust across the room, on to the other X.

Problem Sleuth passes the KEY through the dumbwaiter slot.

Ace Dick passes the RING OF KEYS through his slot too.

Ace Dick picks up and loads the HANDGUN with HANDGUN BULLET(S).

Problem Sleuth picks up and loads the TOMMY GUN with TOMMY GUN MUNITION(S).

You go back down the chimney and get the ROPE.

Using your unusually high HEIGHT characteristic, you rig it up to the ceiling pulleys, with the other end tied to the stubborn oboe.

You feed the CANDY CORN into the still. This should brew something with a real kick to it. It will take a moment...

You riddle the ceiling with bullets in a circular pattern.

But nothing seems to happen...

Things are really percolating in there! You'd better head for cover, fast. You won't want to be anywhere near that thing when it's done!

You shut the safe first, sealing it off tight.

And elf pokes his head out of the window. You wave, urging him to get his head down.

This action unsurprisingly results in your death.

GO BACK.

The front wall has been obliterated. Your office is now an inferno, but you are free to leave it.

The sprinkler system goes on.

You feel the whole building shake. Was that an explosion?

You hear a cracking noise from above.

The bust falls on the piano.

The oboe is dislodged.

Parts of the wall and ceiling have collapsed. The path is blocked!

Looks like the path here is blocked too.

Allies are united for the first time on the material plane. You eye each other with suspicion.

You dump the liquor out of your TEAPOT and fill it with ELF TEARS.

You equip the HANDGUN, a weapon more suited to your physical strength.

You fill Problem Sleuth's FLASK with the ELF TEARS.

You collect some of the potent CANDY CORN LIQUOR in your TEAPOT.

You wonder what the fuck happened out here.

The exit is locked! You will need the fabled MEGATON KEY to open the door. Legend has it that only the strongest man on Earth may lift this key.

Water from the flooded room spills into the hall, dousing the flames.

Using your advanced political acumen, you PERSUADE the party on the other side of the door to let you in.

The door unlocks.

There is a large door guarded by two SURLY THUGS.

The door is locked. It looks like it will require more weird puzzle shit to open it.

There are three skull-shaped grooves on the wall.

Wrong adventure, dumbass!

<- GO BACK

The thugs are advancing menacingly. It seems the sway of your charisma has worn off!

You obtain the ACE DICK SKULL.

You comb through your list of BATTLE TECHNIQUES for a peaceful, diplomatic solution to the conflict.

You expend 1 ELF TEAR(S).

You acquaint the SURLY THUGS with your brand of diplomacy.

Pickle Inspector returns with the skull.

You place the Ace Dick skull in the middle slot.

You retrieve your ally's skull and drop it through the skylight.

You prepare to use the instrument as an oversized snorkel. But as should have been obvious to you, the room is no longer filled with water.

You have absolutely no idea how to solve this stupid puzzle and open the doors. As a last ditch effort, you think it's finally time to summon His Majesty.

You expend 3 ELF TEARS(S).

You had enough ELF TEAR(S), but unfortunately in order to summon the WEASEL KING you will need some WEASEL SNOT.

The WEASEL EMISSARY appears instead.

You use your strong sense of animal communion to commune with the Emissary. He communes back, communing concern over whether he can trust you.

You must make a choice. To which group does your allegiance belong?

PRESS START

The Emissary flips the fuck out!

Pickle Inspector politley suggests that he be allowed to try something first, before such extreme measures are taken.

The Emissary's hysterical state appears to subside.

You enter the small room and throw the switch.

The room starts to travel upward, like an elevator.

The Emissary appears pleased.

He explains that his people face a critical impasse. They require your help.

He asks if you can spare exactly 1 HERO(ES) from your ranks to help them with their plight. It is imperative that this chosen one have an unusually high HEIGHT characteristic, for reasons that remain mysterious.

The Emissary thanks you. He and Pickle Inspector disappear into the portal.

Ace Dick arrives at the elevator's destination floor. It appears to be some sort of control room.

There is an array of monitor displays, as well as a CODE MACHINE sitting on the table.

Four nations at war. You wonder who the warring parties are, and why they can't just get along.

It looks like some rooms are under surveillance.

The door is blocked from the other side!

It can only open part of the way, into a very dark room. It bumps up against something totally immovable.

The hatch, shockingly, is locked.

There appears to be a convoluted puzzle on the opposite wall. Perhaps it will open the hatch.

You are pretty dull and not very creative though. You have no idea how to solve it.

Yes. YES! None stand taller than you in this realm. You are a giant among men!

There are no weasels around to be impressed, however.

You stand amidst a field of SALTED MELONS.

Oh hell, you forgot to switch your ALLEGIANCE.

The elves are quite agitated.

The elves are pacified by your gesture of good will.

ROPO, their leader, briefs you on a CRITICAL MISSION. You exhibit signs of being the chosen hero for this mission, of which has long been prophesied by elven lore.

There appears to be some commotion by the tree in the distance.

Some weasels congregate beneath a nest of ELF EGGS. They yearn for the succulent yolk.

If only they had a SAVIOR OF HEIGHT to help them.

The elves are grateful for your bravery. ROPO instructs you to first leave behind all of your material possessions. You cannot be burdened by such things on this quest of the spirit.

You dump everything from your inventory into the skylight, including your HAMMER, ELF TEARS, BUSINESS CARDS, and GAME CODE SHEET.

You drop your TOMMY GUN on the floor. You leave your CANDY CORN where it is, though.

ROPO lifts the table to reveal a hidden hatch.

They look delicious, but you just can't do it. It would just be so impolite!!!

Your valor is lauded robustly.

This is how a real man falls. A man's man.

You better secure your HAT to safeguard the CANDY CORN.

You acquire the GAME CODE.

While you're at it, you grab the flask of ELF TEARS.

You decide to bring your WINDOW with you, so you won't have to go up and down every time some goofball somewhere drops another cool item through the skylight.

You strap the GENERATOR to your back.

You prop the WINDOW up vertically against the wall.

You land.

There is a SMALL COTTAGE.

A pair of funny looking hands places a pie on the windowsill to cool.

You recall the CRITICAL MISSION detailed in your briefing.

YOU MUST ABSCOND WITH THE PIE.

You contemplate the civil approach, but you just can't do it. It's too risky!

Besides, you don't have enough MANNERCITE SHARDS in your ETIQUETTE MONSTRANCE for a polite request.

The cottage dwellers appear to be preoccupied. Now is your chance!

You haul ass through the woods. The clowns are hot on your trail.

You walk through the vertical window.

You land on the side of the enormous beast.

It appears the beast has defecated Problem Sleuth's imaginary remains, including his skull.

Suddenly, you hear some music from the storefront window begin to play...

The beast disappears. You fall to your death.

<- GO BACK A FEW TIMES.

You find a PARACHUTE inside. You take it.

The WEASEL EMISSARY comes to grant you a boon.

By tapping the raw energy locked within your ample MANNERCITE SHARDS, you politely accept.

The emissary guides you to the SPIDERHOLE OF DISQUISITION. You are to embark upon a journey of the spirit.

No way!!! You simply cannot spare it!

The ELF EXEMPLAR offers you sanctuary from the cruel rogues.

The exemplar thanks you for your heroism. He accepts the pie and grants you one (1) boon. You are allowed to embark upon a quest of the spirit.

He disappears, leaving you alone in this room with no exit.

The only object in the room is a MAGIC WARDROBE.

You wonder what magical realm this portal will lead you into. There is only one way to find out.

You crash against the back of the wardrobe, which is rock-solid. You fall unconsious.

You are a HYSTERICAL DAME. You are trapped in your apartment. You are about to go into a fit of hysterics.

You could really use a strapping fella to come help you out.

You've already got arms, sugartits!

You are quite positive there has never been a teddy bear in your apartment, and never will be. Frankly, the notion strikes you as silly and childish.

It didn't work.

The exertion has increased your HYSTERIA GAUGE.

It's absurd to think there will be any strapping fellas in here, but on a day as strange as this one, who knows??

The drawer is locked.

You shut the WARDROBE. You're not sure what it was doing wide open like that.

Why, it just so happens there is one in your HANDBAG.

Unfortunately, it seems your phone is missing a variety of PHONE PARTS. You can't make the call.

It seems to help a little.

They are nowhere to be found in the room.

Facing EAST, you see your large bedroom window, of course providing its view of the breathtaking urban mural across the street.

On the small table is a locked MUSIC BOX, the key for which you have misplaced.

You really have no idea what to do. You're simply too hysterical to think straight.

You punch the GAME CODE into the CODE MACHINE.

You feel the game around you reconfiguring itself into a different saved state.

After going through a lengthy and mostly pointless series of events, you have finally managed to reassemble your phone. Maybe you can finally call for help and end this nightmare.

However, you have been dialing the number for hours to no avail. There has been no answer. Maybe this time will be the charm?

The man on the phone answers in a hard boiled manner. He explains to you gruffly that he'd love to help you out, sweetheart, but he's up to his neck in all this weird puzzle shit. He hangs up.

You are a little disappointed, but can sympathize with his need to address the weird puzzle shit.

In this state of the game, it appears the really convoluted puzzle has been solved. It probably took hundreds of pages to solve it.

You have no idea who was clever enough to solve that sudoku up there, or tall enough, for that matter.

The solved puzzle appears to have activated a blinking button on the control panel.

It releases the lock on the hatch. A vertical column extends upward. But it bumps into the ceiling before the column's entrance can be fully revealed.

There is not enough space for it to extend into.

In this state of the game, you have finally finished falling. There is no one in the room, and nothing except for a MAGIC MEDICINE CABINET.

You pick up the KNIFE. Its cuddly comfort calms your hysterical condition considerably. (And alliteratively.)

Suddenly you flip out!!! Wielding the TEDDY BEAR has maxed out your HYSTERIA GAUGE.

This is very bad!

The MEDICINE CABINET remains closed, however you do find yourself mildly disconcerted.

Inside, along with some sort of dimensional rift, are ASSORTED MEDICINES.

<- GO BACK

The column extends easily into the ample space provided by the window.

The bulk of the column is lopped off.

You prop the window up over there, plug it back in, and shove the rest of the stuff off to the side.

You enter. The column's stump recedes into the floor.

The window falls over, upside down.

You're not sure why you're flailing around your cute TEDDY BEAR like this.

You look a little closer and see something tied around its neck.

It's a MUSIC BOX KEY.

You put it in your inventory.

A dancer twirls and a sweet melody begins to play.

The mirror becomes illuminated. Something is inside.

It is a dashing man riding a noble mount. Your eyes meet. You are overwhelmed by feelings of longing. Is this the man of your destiny?

The music stops, and you put the music box down. There is something looming out the window.

Your HYSTERIA skyrockets. You feel dizzy, as if you are about to pass out.

You wake up in a strange dark room.

Was that it? Has your quest of the spirit ended? Are the elves pleased?

On the four walls of the room are large stone busts. Each appears to be blocking a doorway.

It won't budge an inch! You are not surprised in the least, since you do not recall ever receiving a boon from the weasel kingdom.

Something mystical is happening with the elf bust. It appears to be momentarily phasing out of this temporal plane. It looks as though you can pass through it.

You hit your head against the rear of the cabinet, spilling all the medicine. You have a splitting headache. Maybe some of these pills will make you feel better.

You take a large dose of the powerful hallucinogens.

You are a NERVOUS BROAD. You wake up locked in your apartment.

For a second, you thought you saw something disappear into the mouse hole.

You land in a mysterious realm. A small band of hogs is there to greet you in the hospitable comfort of a muddy wallow.

Your pulchritude is likely low enough to commune with these creatures.

The hogs are enamored of your rowdy, no-nonsense brand of ruffianism. Your superiority has been clearly established!

Their leader, PORKHEARST, relates to you the woes of his kind. They crave SALTED MELONS, yet the prize is guarded by a loathsome enemy.

Will you accept this righteous mission?

You pick up the LIPSTICK. It is a sultry shade of red. Nothing happens, but it makes you a little nervous.

It is a toy carousel affixed atop your full length mirror. It will not turn or play its music without the CAROUSEL KEY.

You do not have the physical strength to close it! If only a tall brawny fella would stop by. Maybe that Pickle gentleman you remember reading about somewhere. Where was his card again?

As you push the mirror, you notice your own reflection. Your frayed nerves have caused you to look dreadful. Your makeup could use some freshening.

You enter the control room.

Hey, look. An old fashioned CODE MACHINE. You wonder if there are any codes lying around to punch into it.

It is a pig sty in here. You wonder what slob was responsible for this mess.

Something about this idea makes you very nervous. You proceed with nervous caution.

Suddenly you flip out!!! Wielding the LIP STICK has maxed out your NERVES GAUGE.

This is very bad!

You drop the disconcerting instrument. You may think twice before picking it up again. You're not sure if your nerves could take it.

You blindly accept, and begin gathering melons into your parachute.

It appears your intrusion is unwelcome. A weasel nearby is flipping the fuck out.

You consider how to phrase the diplomatic request, but you come up empty. Your ETIQUETTE MONSTRANCE has no MANNERCITE SHARDS!

You beat the weasel to death with your MONSTRANCE.

You go down the elevator and grab the poster.

As you suspected, there is a GAME CODE printed on the back.

You return to the control room, but first you stop in your office and grab your window. You've grown fond of the thing and sort of missed it. You think it might be cool to have around for whatever reason.

It's not working! The mural is just too unpleasant!

You are quite sure there are no Fancy Santas to be found in your room, but just to be absolutely certain, you look around.

...

Wait a minute... is that...?

OH FUCK IT'S A BUNCH OF FANCY SANTAS.

It is your prized collection. They always help to calm your nerves.

It appears that one is missing.

You pick up the BUSINESS CARD.

The tall brawny fella does not seem to have a phone.

Your NERVES have elevated again.

You accumulate enough WORRY POINTS to add a new NERVETECH to your arsenal: LV. 3 CASE OF THE VAPORS.

You are about to pass out.

You can't! A band of enraged weasels is hot on your trail!

Ah, but there is PORKHEARST! Sweet PORKHEARST. He guides you into a hole in the tree trunk.

PORKHEARST has gratefully accepted the melons and departed, but not before leaving you with a profound quest of the spirit.

Against the wall is a MAGIC BUFFET TABLE. Plated on its surface is a gorgeous feast.

Throbbing magical energy is concealed within the furnishing.

You enter the GAME CODE from the pig poster.

The universe around you begins to change.

This code has taken you to an earlier point in the game.

You are Ace Dick, with no conscious knowledge of what just happened.

You have a strange sense of deja vu. You were about to take a PARACHUTE from the panel, but you space out and forget to take it.

There was something else you were about to do. What was it...

You land on the side of the enormous beast.

There is something familiar about this situation as well.

Something unfortunate is about to happen!

You head for the window and notice an enticing skull along the way.

You disregard the mysterious gateway. You would probably only bump your head on the back of the thing anyway.

You partake of the mouthwatering feast.

In spite of your tremendous stomach capacity, you pass out from over-eating.

You feel yourself drifting to another plane of reality.

Ace Dick's imagination is too crude to have a female alter ego!

You scurry into a mouse hole on the south wall.

It looks like there is a FANCY SANTA over there. You don't have time to admire its beauty though.

It seems like that GAME CODE did nothing. What a waste of time!

<- GO BACK

The occult bust weeps tears of blood.

It appears to be some sort of lounge room. Although it looks like the couch is missing.

There are three face-shaped indentations on the wall at different heights.

You miss landing on the brothel by a bit.

You wave to the whores as you pass them by.

The table contains smutty material which makes you highly uncomfortable.

The COUCH ARCHETYPIFIER is triggered by the interface afforded through your mighty TALLNESS attribute. It settles upon a couch suitable to your profile.

It's quite an elegant piece of furniture. It looks like your imagination could run wild with it.

The small man reappears from the hole with some LIPSTICK.

You cautiously appraise the cosmetic accessory. There is nothing unusual about it at all, and there is no reason whatsoever for your HYSTERIA gauge to elevate.

You start flipping out with the CHAINSAW.

You saw the Fancy Santa in half. There was a CAROUSEL KEY inside.

It's a lustrous head of hair. You've always been pretty insecure about your baldness, and maybe it's finally time you did something to boost your self esteem.

You take the PRUSSIAN KÜRASSIER HELMET.

The powerful liquor maxes out your IMAGINATION gauge. Your lithe frame can barely contain the raw power, causing you to feel mildly disconcerted.

You are possessed by violent imaginative numina. You feel as if you can bend this entire continuum to your will. You can do anything!

A loathsome beast approaches.

It appears the realm below is locked in escalating conflict. These warring parties clearly need a diplomatic savior.

You land in an enchanted palace.

You bow before His Majesty. The tale of his kingdom's sorrows plucks at your heartstrings. He has a royal appointment for you which you cannot refuse!

You thought you saw something moving by your window.

You take a look outside, and notice an exceptional work of art.

The mural seems to be a single tile in one of those really cool but somewhat dated photo mosaics.

The mosaic appears to be printed on the opposing wall of a gigantic office.

Whoever was occupying this office has likely been trapped in here for some time. This seems like a safe assumption to you.

But the office is empty. From the vantage of your doll house window, it looks like someone has just vanished into a portal in the floor.

Your imagination is like an untamed stallion bucking through the cavity in your imaginary skull. There are so many ways to deal with this beast, you can't possibly attempt them all.

Or can you?

You slice your cherished lockbox in half. (actually it was a music box)

The small, terrified man has taken the CAROUSEL KEY and fled.

The beast invokes COMBAT OPERANDI: Lv. 18 BELLY OF THE WHALE. One of your duplicates is swallowed whole.

Once inside, you quickly set about turning its various organs into delcious candy. The beast suffers moderate damage.

One of your duplicates decides to achieve deity status. He now resides as the serene, omnipotent master of all realities. Godhead Pickle Inspector will no longer respond to any user commands other than "GPI: Fondly regard creation."

You transform into an absolutely grotesque monster.

In this form, you quickly dispatch the lesser beast.

But now Monster Pickle Inspector is out of control! It will only respond to user command "MPI: Succumb to unfathomable bloodlust."

I think perhaps you've misunderstood.

Never!

You gladly accept your duty and are honored by His Lordship's trust.

You don the Royal Diplomat's tunic and head garland, and accept perhaps the most potent weapon of the kingdom, the legendary TECTRIX OF THE ARBITOR.

You think the getup is a little silly though, so you change back into your normal clothes.

You take up the head of the negotiating table with high ranking officials from the four kingdoms. A map of disputed territory is handy. You listen with sage composure as the representatives list their countrymen's grievances.

The HOG PROVOST relates with measured dismay recent events which have thrown the entire kingdom out of balance. Recently, a mysterious visitor has been abetting clown-kind, helping them to slap the plump, unsuspecting rumps of innocent hogs. This has triggered a most pronounced and unwelcome escalation.

This situation is clearly a diplomatic mine field. One misstep could send the realm into oblivion. You will have to tread carefully, and choose your balance of alignments wisely.

GAME FUCKING OVER

This sounds like exactly what you are looking for.

The line is busy. You wonder who he could be talking to.

The whores say they will be right over. They take off in the whore-mobile.

Ace wakes up in the pentagram room.

You're not totally sure, but you think this means there are now three Ace Dicks running around.

You enter the room through the vanishing hog bust.

There is a computer station along with a DOT MATRIX PRINTER and a PUNCH CARD MACHINE, which is on the floor for some reason.

Moster Pickle Inspector is going berzerk! He employs BATTLE TECHNIQUE: LV. 48 DISCONCERTING OGLE.

Half your party is slain, leaving 3 remaining, including the one piloting the mecha.

Well, ok you don't have a lazer, but you pump the beast full of hot sugar. It suffers moderate damage.

In a fit of cowardice, the beast absconds!

It looks like the little fellow had brought you your CAROUSEL KEY. What a kind small man.

Something is happening to the mirror.

There is something funny whirling in the sky.

Ace Dick busts through the door and smacks the beast with the ROMANCE NOVEL, dealing a BRUTAL AFFRONT.

The beast is slain.

You wonder where Nervous Broad went.

PICKLE INSPECTOR GAINED A LEVEL!

IMAGINATION: +580
PULCHRITUDE: +1
VIM: -103

PICKLE INSPECTOR EXCELLED TO NEW RATING: PIQUANT ARISTOCRAT

PICKLE INSPECTOR ACCRUED COMBAT OPERANDI: ABSTRACTED THOUGHT


ACE DICK GAINED A LEVEL!

IMAGINATION: ¿¼l&ÈÑ"
PULCHRITUDE: -0
VIM: +45

ACE DICK INCREASED STOMACH CAPACITY BY 3.3 LITRES.
ACE DICK INCREASED STOMACH CAPACITY BY 4.2 LITRES.
ACE DICK INCREASED STOMACH CAPACITY BY 6.8 LITRES.
ACE DICK ACHIEVED LEVEL 26 STOMACH PROWESS.
ACE DICK ACCRUED COMBAT OPERANDI: CHECK YO'SELF JONAH

ACE DICK EXCELLED TO NEW RATING: JOWLY ROUGHNECK


PICKLE INSPECTOR GAINED A LEVEL!

IMAGINATION: +1040
PULCHRITUDE: +2
VIM: PICKLE INSPECTOR HAS LOST HIS VIM GAUGE ENTIRELY

PICKLE INSPECTOR HAD LEARNED A NEW TYPE OF OGLE: DISQUIETING LEER

PICKLE INSPECTOR ACCRUED COMBAT OPERANDI: TEMPORAL REPLICSIMILE

THE BEAST DROPPED ARTIFACT: FERRUGINOUS HORN

You are transfixed by its rich, rust colored patina. It's probably worth a fortune.

It dispenses a PUNCH CARD.

The aging machine noisily performs tens if not hundreds of mind boggling computations per second.

The DOT MATRIX PRINTER churns out a PRINTOUT.

You draw a line around the door with the LIPSTICK.

You fade from the imaginary reality, leaving your final duplicate behind.

Pickle Inspector has woken from his fort-trance. He is now capable of functioning in reality while still maintaining a presence in the imaginary realm!

Mobster Kingpin finishes his soul quest. He emerges from the experience inwardly enriched and full of wisdom.

All quests have been completed. The curse has been nullified. The statues have been banished forever.

This is complete bullshit. You have no idea what to do with this stupid mesh or how to solve this crisis. You resolve to find some help.

The DOT MATRIX PRINTER prints out your code.

It is a luxurious above ground pool. It looks refreshing.

It also appears to have a jacuzzi setting.

Not taking any chances, you toss the horn in before going for a dip.

Something comes out of the manhole over there.

You put the FERRUGINOUS HORN in your inventory.

You take the POLISHED HORN and the BURNISHED HORN from your office.

It's sort of a pain in the ass getting around this place.

You deposit the POLISHED HORN, the BURNISHED HORN, and the FERRUGINOUS HORN into the still hatch.

You retrieve the CHIPOTLE PEPPER from your HAT, and put that in as well.

It will be a little while before it is ready.

You turn the key and enter the portal.

The small Ace Dick follows you through.

The candy mecha walks out the door for some reason.

You are surprised to find yourself as a giant Hysterical Dame. It causes you to feel slightly more hysterical.

Small Ace Dick is now a normal-sized Ace Dick.

The pool begins to bubble vigorously.

Something appears in the sky above the manhole.

You've already got arms, shitforbrains!

You're quite sure there are no BRASS KNUCKLES on your desk. That space has clearly been reserved for the MEGATON KEY.

You retrieve the CHEAT CODE.

There is a big mess in here. It looks like there was a fun puzzle that you would have really enjoyed solving, especially that sudoku up there. Alas, to your eye, it has already been solved perfectly.

It looks like your candy corn liquored-up imaginary self is floating out there. You wonder what he wants.

You split into two Pickle Inspectors. One of them disappears into the past, the other, into the future.

You appear in the past and enter the window to find Ace Dick struggling to solve a difficult puzzle.

You think you could probably take a crack at it. In particular, that sudoku is tickling your puzzle bone.

Absolute perfection.

The rest of this puzzle should be a breeze.

In a little while, you solve the rest of the puzzle, blowing yourself up in the process. The physical world can no longer sustain your imaginary body.

Godhead Pickle Inspector thinks you should just relax and have fun, and not worry too much about it.

But if you need a refresher on what's actually going on with all these character duplicates and time-bending shenanigans, he offers the scoop.

There is still only one Problem Sleuth, who is off in some enchanted land sifting through a political crisis.

There is one real Pickle Inspector, and there were 8 imaginary Pickle Inspectors. All but two of them were killed, and one became GPI. The other one just split into two, and one of those just went back in time and died. The other one went into the future, possibly to reappear some time later. This means there is now one real Pickle Inspector in the present, and one imaginary one in the future.

There are 3 Ace Dicks, for the following reasons.

PS, AD and PI each have a lady counterpart, in accordance with deep seated mythology that dictates that any man secretly wishes to have sex with a female version of himself (re: Alvin and the Chipmunks, Mickey/Minnie, etc.) HD is PS's counterpart, NB is PI's, while AD is his own counterpart because he has a very poor imagination. So that's one duplicate AD, the one with the wig/helmet.

Also, a while ago AD used a game code to restore an earlier state in the game. That earlier version of AD went through the storefront and out the music box and became small AD. Meanwhile, the present AD went about his business in the present.

That makes 3 Ace Dicks, the normal one, the small one with the skull (though now normal-sized), and the girl one, who is not actually a girl.

See, how hard was that???

Pickle Inspector in the present enters the cheat code.

Reality bends around you. You feel as if you are about to skip a lot of really difficult and boring parts of the game.

SUCCESSFUL POLITICAL NEGOTIATION!

Problem Sleuth has penned an accord among the four kingdoms. Parades choke rural hamlets. Statues erect. Peace prevails.

His Majesty approves. The treaty is ratified by royal decree. All is well.

PROBLEM SLEUTH GAINED A LEVEL!

IMAGINATION: +38
PULCHRITUDE: +1070
VIM: +10

PROBLEM SLEUTH EXCELLED TO NEW RATING: GUTSY CUSTOMER

PROBLEM SLEUTH ACCRUED BATTLE TECHNIQUE: LV. 10 SLEUTH DIPLOMACY
PROBLEM SLEUTH ACCRUED BATTLE TECHNIQUE: FAIR SHAKE

PROBLEM SLEUTH GAINED A LEVEL!

IMAGINATION: +45
PULCHRITUDE: +4520
VIM: +13

PROBLEM SLEUTH EXCELLED TO NEW RATING: GROOM TO THE HABERDASHER'S DAUGHTER

PROBLEM SLEUTH ACCRUED BATTLE TECHNIQUE: BRASS TACKS
PROBLEM SLEUTH ACCRUED COMBAT OPERANDI: SEPULCHRITUDE

THE KING DROPPED ARTIFACT(S):

(1) ROYAL CHEMISTRY SET
--CONTAINING--
(100) DROP(S) ELF TEARS
(100) DROP(S) WEASEL SNOT
(100) DROP(S) HOG SLOP
(100) DROP(S) PIE FILLING

(1) MUNITIONS BAG
--CONTAINING--
(1000) ROUND(S) HANDGUN AMMO
(10000) ROUND(S) TOMMY GUN AMMO
(100000) ROUND(S) MACHINE GUN AMMO
(1) BATTERY PACK
(1) EXTENTION CORD

You head for the skull slots, but along the way, to save time, you just drop it through the SKYLIGHT for Problem Sleuth to pick up.

Problem Sleuth eyes his own SKULL with unease.

You wonder why the skulls seem so much smaller than your own head, but you're not about to get hung up on that detail.

You pick up the SKULL, along with the other stuff lying around including the TOMMY GUN and the SKYLIGHT, because hey you might as well.

You load the TOMMY GUN to capacity using the MUNITIONS BAG.

You plug the SKYLIGHT into the BATTERY PACK.

You subject the skittish prohibition-era flapper to your vulgar overtures, making a number of unseemly references to her swell set of glad rags and swanky pair of gams. You suggest in no uncertain terms she is the berries and the bee's knees all in one.

Your advances go over like a lead balloon.

Enraged by the chilly reception, you give the gal a good shiner and remind her that there's still plenty of room on Whore Island.

Hysterical Dame is not pleased by Mobster Kingpin's treatment of her housemate.

The BRASS KNUCKLES are so heavy, the desk breaks in half under the extreme weight.

You've jerked around with that pool enough. It's time for action.

You grab your ROMANCE NOVEL and your BOX OF CHOCOLATES and gear the fuck up for some hardcore fisticuffs.

You go through the door once guarded by the clown bust.

It's a strange back room.

There is an open safe. Violent noises are coming from that room.

Horsefeathers, these bearcats have claws!!!

Mobster Kingpin takes no damage, and remains impervious to all physical attacks.

All three skulls are in the appropriate slots.

The double doors are unlocked.

It is hard to see through the portholes. They do not appear to be receiving any power.

The MEGATON KEY is too heavy to lift at your current VIM level.

You roll the dice.

As luck would have it, your VIM gauge maxes out.

Hysterical Dame is down for the count.

The small mecha releases a confectionary barrage.

Mobster Kingpin takes the tasty brunt of it in his pie hole.

Mobster Kingpin's BLOOD SUGAR elevates slightly, making him briefly susceptible to physical attacks.

Nervous Broad deals a blow for minor damage.

Enraged, Mobster Kingpin picks up the DOLL HOUSE and gets rid of it.

The door is blocked from the other side, so he has no choice but to throw it through the window.

With quick thinking, the candy mecha jumps into the pool first.

The mecha lands hard on the street, causing major damage to surrounding buildings.

The office window is knocked loose to the street below.

The skylight window also appears to have loosened from the concrete.

The DOLL HOUSE tumbles through the sky.

It lands on the candy mecha.

You're here for two things: to fucking ruin someone's shit, and to play a friendly game of make-believe.

AND YOU'RE ALL OUT OF IMAGINATION.

The doors lock behind you permanently.

A mob of Surly Thugs is there to welcome you.

Man, you wish you thought of that before you went in. That would have been so badass.

You are predicably detected almost immediately, and are socked right in the kisser in a very much non-undetected way.

You suffer a loss of 1 VITALITY CARAT from your PLUCK RELIQUARY.

You ask for your hat back.

You prepare to unleash your most devastating attack. The thugs cower in mortification.

But you decide not to bring that noise just yet. You just go with Sleuth Diplomacy instead.

The defeated Surly Thugs drop 14,250 SPONDULICKS.

You pick up the loot and progress to the next level.

You grab the OFFICE WINDOW and the SKYLIGHT, and head up to your office window.

You leave behind Problem Sleuth's OFFICE WINDOW because it is just too damn heavy and cumbersome.

You go to the skull slot room. The doors unfortunately are locked. It will probably take about double your own considerable strength to bust through them.

You lob a HAND GRENADE into MK's mouth.

His BLOOD SUGAR level rises again.

Now is the ideal time to attack!

Pickle Inspector seizes the opportunity and draws his KEY.

He takes careful aim, but suddenly becomes distracted by that enchanting lady over there. Her beauty is like nothing he's ever imagined.

He accidentally shoots Ace Dick.

Ace Dick completes a successful AUTO-PARRY!

He takes the bullet directly in the gut.

It is an incredibly painful and debilitating wound!

You fan MK with juicy pages from your ROMANCE NOVEL, dealing moderate damage.

The flourid tales fill MK's bosom with rhapsodic passions! His EMOTIONS level rises.

The rising meter drains his IMAGINATION, PULCHRITUDE, and VIM gauges.

Problem Sleuth reaches level 2.

You are confronted with a nasty pincer formation of thugs, and two frightening beasts!

It appears the supply of malefactors is being persistently replenished from a realm bridged through a SLIDING GLASS DOOR.

The thugs take you to task with an array of BULLY TRUNCHEONS and ROUSTABOUT CLUBS.

You lose a few more VITALITY CARATS.

Agitation in the configuration of your PLUCK RELIQUARY unsettles mysterious forces of communion from afar.

Hysterical Dame's EMPATHY MAGPIE begins to flap harder.

She regains consciousness with an extra spring in her step.

She is a few notches closer to maxing out on her CHARM BREAK! meter.

Your PULCHRITUDE stat surges.

You'll need it to rally your boys. This is all out war.

Ace Dick absorbs the brunt of an outrageous honking, floppy-shoed assault.

Several GUMPTION WAFERS are depleted from your GRIT CIBORIUM.

The other Ace Dicks' RAPPORT PEACOCKS begin to squawk in a more shrill manner.

It's a little overwhelming in there and all the commotion was starting to make you feel a bit disconcerted.

There's a switch over there on the wall. You give it an askance ogle.

You give equal consideration to both sides of the argument.

The thugs drop 16,500 SPONDULICKS, and the beasts drop 2 CURED FIEND MUTTONS.

You pick up the SPONDULICKS and eat the MUTTONS to restore your CARATS.

More thugs approach the SLIDING GLASS DOOR.

You simply close the door and lock it.

The thugs cannot get in!

You chuck some thug corpses into level 3 before making your entrance. Man, that was so cold blooded.

The beasts, thugs, and HIRED MUSCLE are probably thinking twice before fucking with you now.

Against the wall is an elegant pair of FRENCH DOORS.

Looks like the still is percolating nicely. You go upstairs to join your dopple-ally.

You levy his asking fee, 15,000 SPONDULICKS.

He agrees. His brawn is at your disposal.

The thugs regretably discover what it's like being on the wrong side of some good hard muscle.

Your combined VIM is sufficient for the task.

He is impervious to attacks again! Got to raise that BLOOD SUGAR some more.

Mobster Kingpin successfully AUTO-PARRIES!

The CHOCOLATE ricochets off his massive head.

It flies toward a SHIP PORTHOLE.

That idea is so silly, even you can't take it very seriously.

You just flip the switch instead.

The GRENADE breaks through the PORT-SIDE RED PORTHOLE.

The CHOCOLATE finally emerges through the STARBOARD-SIDE RED PORTHOLE.

Mobster Kingpin receives the well-traveled CHOCOLATE in his aghast yap!

Now that his BLOOD SUGAR has been compromised, you deal a fearsome blow with the business end of your WIG.

MK takes minor damage.

AD is down for the count!

The Ace Dicks arrive just a little too late for the rowdy, ruff'n'tumble action they craved.

The Hired Muscle seems to have everything well in hand. He appears to have made use of the FRENCH DOORS for slicing beasts in half.

He is collecting all the spoils as he operates, snatching up the prized SPONDULICKS and MUTTONS as they appear. Problem Sleuth seems irked by this conduct, as it was not part of the implied operating agreement in his view. The Muscle's diplomatic skills could obviously use some polish.

Above the Ace Dicks, the RAPPORT PEACOCKS become even more vociferous.

The capricious machine enters the portal with the DOLL HOUSE on its back.

The infinite number of geometrically down-scaled candy mechas dump the infinite number of DOLL HOUSES on the floor.

The FRACTAL PROSPECTUS opens automatically to warn you that a fractaline matter/energy accretion has occurred.

You appear to be well within the limits of safety at a 4.1% accretion rate. The INFINITE SUMMATION HONEYBEE PROFESSOR seems pleased, and offers a sage Protip on responsible fractal management.

Oh hell, it's another Stiller bust.

You would have to be INCREDIBLY strong to move it out of the way.

Despite his blunt tactics, you think the Muscle could have long term value to the team.

He issues a volley of curmudgeonly epithets. His character does not appear to have any depth or lasting appeal!

Fuck yes, this is one rude hog squad. Foes quake at the rumbling of your steel horses.

You advance to the next level.

The beast chunks were sort of heavy, so you could only throw one in ahead of you. You think it was still pretty cold blooded and intimidating though.

Standing in your path is Argus of the Undead, MORTHOL DRYAX and his BONEGUARD MOUNT. He is flanked by two HIRED MUSCLES.

Against the wall is a beautiful and piously decorated STAINED GLASS WINDOW.

The cycles take out the muscles!

The defeated muscles drop 2 SAVORY BRUTESTEAKS and 31,000 SPONDULICKS.

The Hired Muscle is going for the SPONDULICKS and the BRUTESTEAKS.

Morthol molests his brainstem with a DOLDRUM FLAGELLUM.

The Hired Muscle is now undead! His alignment is now indeterminate.

You levy the fee of 3000 SPONDULICKS and summon a trifecta of mystical warriors, the great masters of brass, Buttermilk Stubbs, Ramblin' Jackson, and Molasses Fatts!

They're all blind as a bat, and full of piss and vinegar.

The trio gets down to business. The horn-based onslaught establishes moderate damage to the foes.

The frightened Zombie Muscle flees upstairs.

Morthol Dryax shoots a lot of little skulls out of his skull.

The jazz trifecta is afflicted with an undead curse and banished from the physical plane!

The mount's savage hooves flick at Problem Sleuth's unlucky mug.

PS endures significant CARAT loss!

Hysterical Dame's CHARM BREAK! meter is close to maxing out. She experiences a surge in attack power.

You scribble on the back of MK's head with the CHAINSAW.

Your allies weigh in on the matter.

Morthol is one hardy son of a bitch. It's going to take a hell of an attack to take him down.

Pickle Inspector has wandered back to the control room. There is a new window there which has captured his discerning ogle.

No, not yet!!

Hurricane force winds drag debris indiscriminately into your mighty marine beast-like orifice.

Nothing can withstand the suck of your awesome gut.

MK turns the tables on you and horns in on your racket!

He nullifies BELLY OF THE WHALE and sends that business right back at you.

Ace Dick is pulled into Mobster Kingpin's generous tummy.

In an act of desperation, Ace yanks the pins on his final two CHOCOLATES.

The GRENADES detonate. All of your WAFERS have been depleted.

Ace Dick is slain.

DEATH has been waiting for you. He has poured you some TEA.

The RAPPORT PEACOCKS are flipping out! The OSTENTATION DRIVE! is at capacity!

One of your most brutal attacks is available for a brief window of time!

A tubby customer himself, Morthol is in awe of your synchronized jiggling bravado!

Morthol Dryax has been slain handily.

Ace's sugary martyrdom in MK's gut has spiked his BLOOD SUGAR to a near-critical level! It is an ideal time for dealing major damage.

The recently muted INFINITE SUMMATION HONEYBEE PROFESSOR does not appear pleased with where this is going.

You are so pissed at Death you throw your tea in disgust but you catch a whiff of it and it smells way too good to throw what is that darjeeling god it's delicious.

You throw the saucer instead.

The Professor is irate with your harebrained lack of discretion. You still can't hear his warnings though.

Startled, you drop the window into itself, knocking the bee out.

The window appears to be stuck in itself, knotted into a strange multi-dimensional wreath.

The ACCRETION RATE is at a dangerous level, but the degree of fractaline matter replication is in check due to the self-knotting structure.

If any pressure was applied to the windows, it would likely force a critical reaction. This is to be avoided.

Exhaling in relief, you accidentally hit a button on the CONTROL PANEL.

FLUTHLU has been released from his black realm.

All of Pickle Inspector's SPARK ASH has been depleted from his METTLE SAMOVAR.

Pickle Inspector is slain.

Nervous Broad's AFFINITY CROW is flapping frantically!

Her MURDER FLUX! is fully charged!

Death ogles you. Delicious tea is politely offered.

Sugar is offered with aggressive courtesy! Death stirs the hot beverage with his SCYTHE.

This is incredibly disconcerting!

You throw it down hard cause that's just how Team Sleuth rolls.

Death is intrigued by the offer.

Death clicks his BALL POINT SCYTHE.

Ace Dick slams down his HAT in disgust.

Pickle Inspector rises boldly to the task.

The Weasel King appears briefly in support, and supplies PI with the mighty TECTRIX OF THE ARBITOR to even the score.

You're just curious.

It seems he is busy pollinating the afterlife.

Fluthlu scales the CATHEDRAL OF SYNDETIC ASCENSION.

Repugnant LANGUOR FLAGELLA bust through the STAINED GLASS WINDOWS.

The windows are too small. Fluthlu poses no threat.

You calmly collect the BRUTESTEAK and the 19,000 SPONDULICKS and proceed to the next level.

Your nerves are shot and you can't take it anymore.

You console yourself with your TEDDY BEAR.

You'll console everyone down with you if you have to.

MK takes serious damage.

HD takes moderate collateral damage.

The exertion has activated one of NB's more advanced NERVETECHS, LV. 8 CASE OF THE VAPORS.

MK pushes her out the window.

It's going to be a long fall.

Communal forces cause your CLEMENCY OWL to hoot more emphatically.

Your PARLIAMENT UPROAR! meter creeps up.

Well, ok, level 5 is sort of an odd number but I guess this can be the last level.

A horrific beast and his entourage of lesser beasts blocks the path.

It appears the Zombie Muscle has already kickstarted the melee.

Further into the room is a DEATH STAR WINDOW.

You're just not listening, are you.

...

... NO!

Muscle gets the jump on Dick. Violation ensues!

One of the Aces is now undead. He joins the Muscle in its rapacious picnicking.

This is getting way out of hand. There is far too much discord in the political atmosphere.

It is time levy Mr. Clay's asking fee and invoke the oratory skills of The Great Compromiser himself.

The narrative continues through a delightfully charming KATE BEATON-style comic.

The beasts and the Zombie Muscle have all been slain by the rampaging Kentucky senator.

Fluthlu explodes through the DEATH STAR WINDOW.

An embarrassment of moist, frisky flagella writhe about the room.

You become a torso flailing machine and start whipping monster chum like it's going out of style.

The red meat merely energizes Fluthlu, making his moist flagella all the friskier!

The tickling tendrils probe curiously for every nook and cranny they can find. It is beyond embarrassing.

Shamed, Ace Dick leaves the battlefield and goes back downstairs.

You are feeling flashbacks of fat kid's shame that even your heartiest truffle shuffle wouldn't shake off.

You slide past the gruesome foe, utilizing a maneuver made famous by an early 90s rap star.

Aw hell no.

The wall behind you is infested with ethnic diversity and good cheer.

Fluthlu treats you to a fearsome ogle of necrotizing fury.

It is deflected off your SHARD OF GLASS and hits the mural behind you.

The trecherous mob emerges from the artwork with a spring in their undead shuffle.

You're normally an advocate of diversity and strong sense of community but this is one cultural rainbow you wish would just go fuck off.

The netherworldly town committee teaches you the hard way that racial harmony is everyone's business.

The gross witch dishes sick civic service with her HAGPALM.

OH THE HUMANITY.

Your CHARM BREAK! meter is maxed.

You prepare for your ultimate attack, KISS OF DEATH.

But you can't pull the trigger yet! Gotta get his BLOOD SUGAR up first.

It's the most hideous thing you've ever seen. A great edifice of stone made manifest the unholy triumvirate itself: Stiller, Wilson, Snoop...

THE DREADED BOWEN STILSON DOGG.

There's no way in hell anyone's going to move that thing.

Zombie Ace Dick successfully AUTO-PARRIES! about a thousand rounds through his soft rotting frame.

Not one for violence, you opt for the diplomatic route and motion for a laying down of arms.

Fluthlu has pried himself from the wall and carries the DEATH STAR WINDOW around on his back sort of like a hermit crab.

The smaller fractal mech army rises to the occasion.

They fly through MK's office window.

Mobster Kingpin goes into DIABETIC SHOCK.

(CONTINUITY GAFFE: what's that dollhouse doing there again? Way to go, champ!)

Mobster Kingpin has been slain.

You do declare you must do something about this case of the vapors.

Death is there to greet you, although he does seem preoccupied at the moment.

Pickle Inspector and Death are embroiled in an epic scrum. They duel in a match of WIZARD'S SUDOKU.

Death charges with his JOUSTING SCYTHE.

This is incredibly silly!

Ace Dick is pinned in a poor strategic position.

Q*Bert razzes you with his FLAGELLUM OF IMPERTINENCE.

Since Death is distracted, you surreptitiously tiptoe out of the afterlife.

His portly body provides a generous frisking canvas. You could be here a while.

A plump hand comes to life and squeezes your neck.

MK's health is restored and his BLOOD SUGAR has been reduced to zero.

You invoke the ruddy, churlish spirit of your great patron spirit, Wilford Brimley. His crippling diabetic dysfunction is barely concealed beneath his fat moustachioed mug.

It looks like someone just shit in his dinner and he's none too pleased.

The BRIMLEYGEIST merges with your aura and you give the bum's rush to the feisty Jane -- put a bruise on that tomato, see?

Hysterical Dame is out cold.

Mobster Kingpin closes the door to his safe.

Your CLEMENCY OWL is hooting up a storm.

Your PARLIAMENT UPROAR! is cranked, briefly unlocking one of your most lethal attacks, TRUSTY KNIVES.

Fluthlu's flagella look like they just got a little moister.

Things are seriously a-rumblin' in the still room.

If you didn't have your TRUSTY KNIVES, you think you'd slit your wrists.

After one of your more inspired SLEUTH ROLLS, you drop your cold blooded line which you spent the last few minutes thinking up.

Hate to cut and run...

Fluthlu has been slain.

PROBLEM SLEUTH GAINED A LEVEL!

IMAGINATION: +103
PULCHRITUDE: +16390
VIM: +2

PROBLEM SLEUTH EXCELLED TO NEW RATING: CANNY GUMSHOE

PROBLEM SLEUTH ACCRUED BATTLE TECHNIQUE: LV. 25 SLEUTH DIPLOMACY
PROBLEM SLEUTH ACCRUED BATTLE TECHNIQUE: LV. 9 UNCONDITIONAL SURRENDER

PROBLEM SLEUTH GAINED A LEVEL!

IMAGINATION: +181
PULCHRITUDE: +20020
VIM: +1

PROBLEM SLEUTH EXCELLED TO NEW RATING: SUITOR TO THE SODAJERK'S CONFIDANTE

PROBLEM SLEUTH ACCRUED COMBAT OPERANDI: ARMISTYX
PROBLEM SLEUTH PERFECTED HIS GAMBIT SCHEMA: CANDY CORN VAMPIRE!

A savvy mug like you is sure to stash his hard earned cabbage in gin mills and rumrunning. You're never without supply.

You imbibe a great volume of SUGAR FREE CANDY LIQUOR.

Your IMAGINATION soars.

You are halted in your tracks by the sight of the repellent BOWEN STILSON DOGG. It looks like this is the end of the road.

The blast travels up the DUMBWAITER SHAFT.

The BOWEN STILSON DOGG has been destroyed.

There is no hope. Sorry, you have to know when to let go.

The FIVE ALARM HOT SAUCE is ready. The juice sure looks like it packs a wallop.

You are a little too late. Mobster Kingpin is safely tucked away in his fort. He is quite obviously impervious to all physical attacks in there. You'll have to find another way to get at him.

Someone has beaten the tar out of this fair dame. You wonder what sort of monster would lay his mitts on such a classy lookin' skirt. Your blood boils.

The path is blocked! You'll need an awful strong fella to bust the obstacle.

You ladle the potent condiment from its basin with your TRUSTY HAT.

It has a funny taste. You can't put your finger on it, but if you had to describe it you would say it has the flavor of INTENSE PAIN.

An incredible transmutation takes place.

Ace Dick becomes FIESTA ACE DICK. Your VIM reaches its full potential.

You cannot descend into the sky because the universe is not upside-down!!!

On his way back up, Fiesta Ace Dick inverts the STAINED GLASS WINDOW to test his awesome strength.

You put your normal hat back on because you think this silly ethnic shit is probably going to get really old really fast.

You lose the poncho too.

You send your bratwurst-fingered fist bust-ward, obliterating it.

It was full of candy, sort of like a piñata. Your Sleuth comrades instinctively dive for the treats.

The ethnic connotation rears its ugly head and makes you a little hot under the collar.

MK continues to desc(asc)end in an upside-down manner.

You're enraged to find a Wilson bust blocking your path this time.

There is a CAPTAIN'S SEXTANT on the floor over there. It appears to be missing its TELESCOPE.

It's full of more candy. Mostly Fun-Sized Snickers and Three Musketeers bars. Also a couple of coveted SALTED MELONS.

These are the stairs to the deck. Fiesta Ace pushes on the trap door.

There is some resistance from above. Something is blocking it. Probably nothing your ripped pair of sauce-roided guns can't handle.

Your brawn sends Captain Snoop sky-ward.

It's Mobster Kingpin's ship, the CHICAGO OVERCOAT, black thorn of the imaginary skies.

You suddenly remember the universe is upside-down!

The Ace Dicks fall into the sky.

Problem Sleuth grabs hold of the STEERING WHEEL.

Oh great, here comes MK descending his ass (asc) off like a motherfucker. You've got to think of a way to right this ship, fast!

With an adept motion, you swoop right(wrong?)-side-up to face the WHEEL.

A strange light emanates from the WHEEL.

The NAVIGATION VIEWFINDER activates.

It does not have the intended effect, but the consequence is roughly the same. Instead of righting the ship, you "capsize" the whole universe.

Zombie and Fiesta Ace fall back to the deck.

(Admiral Sleuth decides to call this the "Ace Deck" because he thinks it sounds clever. He also thinks he should be referred to as "Admiral Sleuth", if only for a little while.)

Captain Snoop falls back down and crushes one of the PROPULSION FANS.

MK is now technically ascending from the carried-over momentum of his previous descent. Demonhood is imminent.

You would nervously land already, but Future Pickle Inspector appears and intercepts you.

You wonder, why, who's this tall brawny fella?

MK's indecent ascension is nearly complete.

It's MK's hideous ultimate form, DEMONHEAD MOBSTER KINGPIN.

The fan islands disperse.

You flip your reversible HAT inside-out to produce the ADMIRAL'S HAT. Your NAUTICAL PROWESS multiplies by a factor of 10.

You make sure to re-stow the precious CANDY CORN inside it.

You briefly pose as a team because shit seriously just got real again. This iron-faced thug has kept you under his thumb long enough. It's time to take him out.

You have a feeling you'll need help from as many allies as you can get for this epic struggle.

You decide to reunite the fair dame with her allies, but suddenly reconsider at the sight of the foul demon.

Sheesh! That is no place at all for a delicate flower like her.

Instead you drop her off at the brothel in the sky. She'll be much safer with the whores on whore island.

You offer words of reassurance to undisconcert her before leaving to take on the monster.

Part of your awareness detatches itself from the imaginary universe and returns to reality.

You are now free to move about in reality while your demonic self remains in the realm of imagination.

You pry the port and starboard-side SHIP PORTHOLES from the walls. It seems their batteries are now fully-charged and they may operate free from their outlets.

You're working on it!

Death chases you though the partially-complete LABYRINTHINE SUDOCUBE DIAMETRIC. He urges you to pull over with his BULLHORN SCYTHE.

This is incredibly serious business.

You head-bump a SUDOCUBE STEM BLOCK.

The Q*Berts are enamored of your rowdy, no-nonsense brand of ruffianism. Your superiority has been clearly established!

Q*HEARST appears to be especially smitten!

You sense your allies are in need.

The bullets are deflected. There's no way you'll be able to inflict damage through that metal mask, let alone through his natural defenses at low BLOOD SUGAR levels.

For that matter, it looks like you won't even be able to feed him candy!

The ricocheted bullets are AUTO-PARRIED! swiftly through Zombie Ace's necrotic tissue.

ZAD matured a new PARRYCRAFT: OVERRIPE PRODUCE!

Your RING OF KEYS is just way too small for that oversized lock.

You're gonna need to find a bigger set of keys!

You've done it.

The beauty of your remarkable accomplishment has caused Death to shed a tear of black liquid sorrow.

Pickle Inspector has finally perfected the LABRYNTHINE SUDOCUBE COMPREHSENSILE!!!

Death has been bested. You are free to leave.

Ace Dick has beaten Q*HEARST to death with a PAWN.

He can go too.

You breathe a sigh of relief.

You were afraid you might have missed something out of the ordinary while you were gone.

Into the bubbling portal they go. All but one.

DMK seizes them telekinetically.

Before you throw the last one in, you pick up the CINDER BLOCKS from the base of your fort and throw them through the final PORTHOLE. You were tired of stubbing your toe on them anyway.

Finally, you toss the last PORTHOLE in the jacuzzi.

There is suddenly a lot of traffic being conducted through those lights.

The three enlarged CINDER BLOCKS cycle through the enlarged PORTHOLES, providing your demonic form with even more defense!

MK ducks back into the safety of his fort.

You fit your mates with appropriately nautical headwear.

Corsair Dick and Skipper Inspector seem quite pleased with the look!

(But seriously, we can keep referring to them all with the standard shorthand, PS, AD and PI, because really, this is going to be confusing if we start getting too literal!)

Two can play at the defense game.

Admiral Sleuth dons the PEPPERMINT MYTHRIL COAT.

Corsair Dick dons the JOLLY RANCHER FULL PLATE.

Skipper Inspector dons the STUDDED FRUIT LEATHER.

Zombie and Fiesta Ace Dick don't get to have cool armor though because they're a couple of weirdos.

Didn't we just do this?

Nonetheless, FPI cajoles a group photo out of the party dressed to the nines in swanky new duds.

While you're all goofing around, DMK turns his defense into offense! PS absorbs the cinder block's brunt entirely!

Your armor's TREACLE AEGIS gauge takes a hit, but you're otherwise undamaged. Looks like the candy coat is doing the trick!

Communal forces cause you to stop being knocked out cold.

The brainless war machine blasts off to adventure.

Or at least its detachable hull segment does, leaving the legs behind.

No you fool!

Don't you realize if you initiate that attack, it will be the last thing you do???

Fiesta smacks some sense into you.

You wonder what that switch does. You give it a curious flip.

It doesn't appear to have done anything.

The power in the room is cut off. The jacuzzi stops bubbling.

The large portal closes.

It's time to quit the harebrained antics and rally your troops around an actual battle plan.

You ask all of them to hand over their weapons.

You tell FAD to hang on to his MACHINE GUN since you really just need the one. You ask the idiot zombie to pony up his, though.

You order PI to take the KEY, the RING OF KEYS, and the HAIRPIN down to the jacuzzi and jump in with them.

In the meantime, you and the Aces will keep DMK at bay.

Skipper Inspector politely accepts the mission.

Along the way, you drop the GUN, the TOMMY GUN, and the MACHINE GUN because you suddenly remember your VIM is not nearly high enough to carry them.

This appears to be a snag in the plan.

HD is standing there looking puzzled. She wonders what's with the fruity getup.

Thinking on the fly, you come up with an imaginitive alternative: to get this strapping dame to do a man's work for him.

It's no wonder Admiral Sleuth entrusted you with this critical operation. His bold leadership causes your heart to palpitate with admiration.

Hysterical Dame brings the weapons to the jacuzzi.

You come out of the manhole.

This appears to be another snag in the plan.

Thank goodness that's taken care of.

You space out for a moment.

Hey, what the heck does this switch do? You completely forget.

Mysterious divine forces along with a profound sense of addled curiosity cause you to flip it.

The big portal is active again, rendering the manhole useless.

HD is now trapped on the street.

The mysterious divine forces continue to inform your addled impulses. There's something you feel a strong urge to go get.

Considering there's not much traffic, the lights above seem awfully busy.

The magnetism you feel towards your trusty fan is as powerful as it is inexplicable.

More divine forces compel you to bring the fan somewhere else.

You're not sure why you're doing this, but it feels important.

You offer a few fond parting words to your breezing device and drop it in the bubbling vat.

MK is sort of weirding you out from in there.

On the way back up, you spot a lovely SOMBRERO. Some careless fellow has left it here on the floor. You imagine the chap must be heartbroken about it. What a shame.

You put it in your inventory.

In this room you spy a CAPTAIN'S SEXTANT, sans TELESCOPE. You ogle the curious navigation apparatus for a moment.

It is drifting far out of reach.

I'm sorry. You have to know when it is time to say goodbye.

Waiting for a gap in the cinder block cycles, you start with the HANDGUN, lobbing it into the PORT SIDE RED LIGHT.

The KEY emerges from the STARBOARD SIDE GREEN PORTHOLE, unlocking one of the locks.

You lob the TOMMY GUN into the STARBOARD SIDE YELLOW LIGHT.

It emerges from the PORT SIDE RED PORTHOLE.

Finally, you lob the MACHINE GUN through the PORT SIDE GREEN LIGHT.

The HAIRPIN emerges from the STARBOARD SIDE YELLOW PORTHOLE, unlocking the final lock.

You pick up the SNIPER RIFLE. It is a powerful weapon capable of transforming anyone with a keen ogle into a deathbringer from afar.

Unfortunately, it is practically useless without its TELESCOPE.

Below, the candy mecha's legs scramble around like a chicken whose head decapitated itself and flew into the sky to fight a demonic mob boss.

You make your swiss cheese-brained self useful and turn your ordinary lead-footed zombie shuffle into a zombie truffle shuffle.

Or is it that you turn your ordinary truffle shuffle into a zombie truffle shuffle?

Either way, this attack proves to be absolutely pointless.

The stubborn monster shuts his various traps! You'll have to catch him off guard if you want to get that BLOOD SUGAR up.

Alright, well you missed with the candy thus making him still impervious to attacks, but I guess you didn't notice that.

You strike your poses, readying yourselves for the ultimate coup-de-blubber trifecta.

But wait...

It looks like you can't execute your ultimate attack yet anyway.

You will need to collect enough PANG NECTAR to process into the amount of JOCOSE HONEY needed to fill your SUCKLE FLAGON before you can max out your COMB RAVE meter.

God it's almost like you've never played this game before.

Fiesta Ace slams down his HAT in frustration.

Pickle Inspector politely suggests a REPLACEMENT HAT.

Targeting Corsair Dick, DMK's spiky barbs molest every pocket of his portly carriage in a humiliating manner.

You wish all your friends weren't around to see this.

Your TREACLE AEGIS takes a hit.

A vulgar GLUMSPINE FLAGELLUM unfurls itself rudely and has a gander at PI. The leer of the prickly vegetable disquiets you.

Zombie Ace salivates at the savory-looking tendril. You wonder what sorts of nectars it harbors.

In a flailing panic, the mecha's legs blast off.

It accidentally drops the fan down to whore island. All the whores scatter for cover.

You'd probably better get out of the way too!

Ok, now what the hell do you do?

While you mull it over, a CHEESE TRUCK passes by.

You see something peculiar inside its rear cabin, illuminated by a strange light. You wonder where the truck is going.

You whistle down a cabby and flip him a spondulick. You tell him there's more where that came from if he keeps the heat on that cheese truck.

The truck passes through the city's "SQUARE SHOULDER TOLLS" where a stiff DAIRY TAX is levied on local distributors.

You cannot pass through the booth because your vehicle is improperly shaped.

You catch a glimpse into the illuminated rear cabin opening. There appears to be a mustachioed man sitting there patiently. You wonder what the heck is going on here!

The toll booth operator hands you a MAP OF THE DOWNTOWN DISTRICTS.

A part of the map has been circled.

You avoid the enormous fan in the nick of time.

You enter the SLEAZY BROTHEL.

The decor seems unusual. Lavish and seductive, yet festooned with gorgeous cultural wall paintings.

Is this a bordello matron's lair, or that of a sort of artisan? This is kind of confusing.

You wonder where the Madame is.

The FAN PLUG crashes through the ceiling.

Wow, what a fucking waste of...

Actually, this is a lot of fun.

You dine on the sumptuous creeper with gluttonous abandon, releasing a steady flow of thick PANG NECTAR.

FPI's suggestion for a nice wine to complement the meal goes boorishly disregarded.

DMK smarts from the voracious nibbling, leaving his mouths vulnerable to a sugar salvo.

The candy mecha seizes the opportunity.

The GLUMSPINE FLAGELLUM retreats into its thorny bramble. DMK's BLOOD SUGAR elevates.

The PANG NECTAR is collected by energetic worker bees.

They busily set to work building an IMPETUS COMB to transmute the bitter nectar into sweet JOCOSE HONEY. Recently collected nectar is stored between the walls of the newly erected SIERPINSKI CELLS.

They labor under the instruction of their CHIEF ARCHITECT.

You're not sure if there's an enormous outlet around here, and anyway, you can't even lift the enormous plug.

It's too heavy for a delicate flower like you, toots!

You don the ASPECT CORSET. You feel so womanly now, you can hardly breath.

On an unrelated note, the thing sure is tight.

Also, your feet suddenly feel wet for reasons completely unfathomable to you. It appears to harbor inscrutable mystical properties.

You equip the STRIPPER.

In this room, three curtained doors of varying shapes await.

This is where the "performers" enter, whatever the heck that means!

The CHEESE TRUCK has eluded you, but you follow the map to the GUTTERPIPE PROJECTS which was just a few blocks away.

Curiosity gets the best of you as you decide you must sleuth this contraption.

You poke your fair features into the pipe. It is dark and damp. There is the distant sound of a whirring mechanical device.

You slip and fall in.

That doesn't sound like a good idea to you. Since you are improperly shaped, it's probably impossible. Or at least highly inappropriate.

You consider stripping before you enter, but there are no murals around to apply the STRIPPER to!

You decide to forget it and just enter the TALL PRIVATE BOOTH.

There is a TALL WINDOW in the booth. On the other side is your spectator, a MANNERLY HIGHBROW. He seems to have been waiting here patiently for a while.

There does not appear to be any glass in the window. On the other side, a coin-operated meter ticks down. The Highbrow has likely supplied it with a spondulick or two for his viewing pleasure.

There is a lovely mural on the wall beside you.

The gutterpipe projects you through the MOTION PICTURE PROJECTOR, which is currently showing a BURLESQUE FLAPPER ACT in an empty theater.

However, the lens is focused such that the image projects very small on the screen. It needs to be adjusted if the patrons want to get an eye-full of all those smooth alabaster gams.

It looks like DMK's BLOOD SUGAR is gradually decreasing through some sort of diabolical regenerative ability.

Son of a bitch!

You clearly have no time to lose! You order Team Sleuth to stop mincing around with bees and wine and shit and get busy aggressing his thorny ass!

Except you realize you don't actually have any weapons. You used them all to unlock his armor. And all PI has is that stupid useless SEXTANT.

This is sort of embarrassing.

DMK is not wasting anymore time either. He's powering up for a major assault.

Fiesta Ace loses a couple of beans from his FRIJOLE AEGIS. He's got about a million more, making him practically indestructible. Nevertheless, he prefers to distance himself from the needlessly ethnic defensive modality.

Zombie Ace simply AUTO-PARRIES the attack, maturing a new PARRYCRAFT: BRUISED FRUIT - HALF PRICE!

The candy mecha has been destroyed.

Before you have a chance to do anything, DMK uncorks another doozy of an attack. Shameless flagella wiggle about, molesting everything in sight.

Your TREACLE AEGISSES have already been depleted to a near-critical level.

Who'd have thought the final boss would be such a pain in the ass!

The man has levied good money to watch you strip, and you're not one to disappoint.

It's getting a little steamy in here. The Highbrow's MONOGLE fogs up.

The Highbrow is quite pleased.

This seems like the only feasible exit, all dimensional parameters considered.

You prepare to douse the entire wall with the STRIPPER.

You incinerate the painting with the FLAME THROWER.

The coin operated timer runs out. The peep show is over, the Mannerly Highbrow having received his money's worth.

The TALL WINDOW switches to a different view.

You enter the studio of MADAME MUREL, the brothel's matron/artisan.

Above is an outlet, which might be useful for plugging something into, as long as the plug is the right size, and the outlet is supplied with power.

The Madame doesn't seem to have noticed you, so you climb the ladder.

You don the SCALE BODICE. You've never felt so shapely.

The whores complement you on your glamorous new look.

DMK is powering up for yet another devastating attack, ostensibly his finishing move.

Thinking fast, you commune with the four kingdoms from afar.

In the meantime, you order Skipper Inspector to put some of that NAUTICAL PROWESS to work with some evasive maneuvers.

The kingdoms assemble four of their mightiest heroes to come to your aid, the WEASEL WARRIOR, the ELF MAGE, the HOG CLERIC, and the CLOWN BARD.

Together, they prepare the harrowing climb up their side of the CATHEDRAL OF SYNDETIC ASCENSION.

The Skipper puts a mean spin on the ship's WHEEL.

The others grab on to the ship's NETTING for stability.

DMK's attack is interrupted. He's going to be sick!

DMK pukes a deluge of PIE FILLING. The deck is a gooey mess. It's disgusting.

DMK goes ahead and deals an attack anyway.

The volatile PIE FILLING has been ignited.

Your TREACLE AEGISSES have been reduced to zero. Your CANDY ARMOR disintegrates.

You exit the rear cabin of the BREAD TRUCK.

The distortion forces of the oddly shaped portal squeeze your dimensions to be even taller and narrower.

This simply won't do. You're already self-conscious about your gangly frame.

You slacken the strings on the ASPECT CORSET, which was way too tight anyway.

Your aspect ratio shortens and widens back to normalcy.

You reenter the TALL WINDOW. Your aspect has been altered again, this time in reverse.

It seems the whores have fled in fright.

Madame Murel flicks you through the SCALE BODICE.

You are flushed out of the SCALE VALVE with new dimensions.

You counter the flammable PIE FILLING with your own blend of soothing, flame-retardant CAKE FROSTING.

The flames have been extinguished.

You're happy you're not on fire and all, but you wonder why the hell Future Pickle Inspector is suddenly blue.

Future Pickle Inspector is wondering the same thing.

It seems at some point in the future, FPI (the red one) used COMBAT OPERANDI -> TEMPORAL REPLICSIMILE, again dividing him in two.

One of them went into the past to become Past-Future Pickle Inspector, PFPI (the blue one). That past moment is apparently now.

The other one went even further into the future to become Future-Future Pickle Inspector (a color yet to present itself).

FPI thanks PFPI for clarifying and asks him politely to go sit over there for the remainder of the battle to avoid confusion.

Death slides out a chair, inviting you to a friendly game of TROUBLE.

You're not sure but you think those might be sugar cubes in the POPOMATIC BUBBLE.

DMK depresses your POPOMATIC HATS, stripping you of your seafaring status before you can wield anymore of that devastating NAUTICAL PROWESS.

Your NAUTICAL PROWESS plummets by a factor of ten.

You're through letting the ornery mob boss have his way with you.

It's time to bring out the heavy fire power.

The flow amplifies.

The SCALE BODICE loosens its fit.

You tighten the aperture.

The BURLESQUE MOTION PICTURE magnifies.

Not content messing around with this gizmo just yet, you make one more adjustment.

You set the lever to ASPECT VALVE.

Though you're a little stouter, you're still not strong enough to lift it.

You become more horizontally generous. You're not totally sure how you feel about being so busty all of a sudden.

You lift the plug easily.

The gloves are off. It's finally time to call on His Majesty's services.

You expend the required ELF TEARS and WEASEL SNOT.

The feisty monarch flips the fuck out in DMK's face. DMK takes heavy damage.

The weasel king flips the fuck out back into his realm.

But it looks like DMK has gradual health-regenerative capabilities too.

You throw down your HAT in disgust.

You are going to need to dump as many powerful attacks into him as you can very quickly, as well as keep finding ways to raise his BLOOD SUGAR!!!

Sorry, the power of the CORSETS only applies to sexy female figures! You'll have to get the plug to the pipe another way. Nice try though.

Given your proportions, it now seems appropriate to go through the short, wide door.

A CHURLISH TOFF is waiting patiently for his performance. It seems he is quite particular regarding the type of performer he has come to expect in his peeping habits.

The Toff is irked by the class of talent his spondulicks have paid for. He's a little perplexed by the giant plug too, and can't imagine what kind of sordid spectacle the accesory will facilitate.

He punches the COIN RETURN button beneath the slot.

The WIDE WINDOW switches to another view.

You exit the rear cabin of the HAM TRUCK, squashing your proportions even more. The look strikes you as unbecoming.

Furthermore, the plug's proportions have been squashed too. Even if you did manage to shrink it down somehow, there would be no way it could fit into a normal outlet!

Weird puzzle shit can be really frustrating sometimes.

You head back to the familiar comfort of the TALL WINDOW.

You become elongated by a notch. You are no longer quite as strong. Your noodly arms begin to buckle beneath the big plug, which has also predictably elongated.

You give the crank a good hard whirl, elongating the valve.

The ASPECT CORSET tightens, seemingly by itself! This is quite alarming!

In this state you are not even close to being strong enough to support the plug. It pushes you through your CORSET.

You are flushed out the ASPECT VALVE.

Surveying what you have in your inventory to put to use, you remember one of the Aces has the SMALL WINDOW and you have the SKYLIGHT with the BATTERY PACK.

The windows become knotted in each other to the extent your strength will allow.

You will need to find a way to apply a lot more pressure to achieve the (un)desirable reaction!

You wrap a hard candy shell around the windows to create the JAWBREAKER SKYLIGHT BOMB.

Only the most powerful jaws will penetrate the shell.

Fiesta Ace stomps tender flagella while you hurl the potent orb.

Stunned, DMK chomps down hard.

DMK's BLOOD SUGAR skyrockets while taking insane damage all in one shot!

You are splashed by a ridiculous quantity of PANG NECTAR. Worker bees soon arrive to carry it away.

Both of you are easily small/narrow enough to fit into the small aperture.

You are projected into the room at normal scale.

These are the customer entrances for the private booths. All of these doors are locked, occupied by various distinguished gentlemen.

There are switches on the ceiling. Only someone with an extraordinary TALLNESS attribute can operate them.

There is something odd about this switch. It is the only one of the three switched to REAR instead of FRONT.

Meanwhile in the middle booth, a DAPPER SWAIN enjoys the view from his window. The road rushes away from him, producing the very convincing illusion that he is riding in the back of some sort of vehicle. He is having the time of his life!

You flip it to FRONT.

The Swain's view is switched to a small, dark interior filled with crates of what appears to be CHEESE.

At the end of the cabin is a small door marked DRIVER'S HATCH.

The Swain finds this development most unwelcome!

Growing impatient, the Swain levies a few copper spondulicks to pay for a better show.

The view in the window switches. He sits back and waits for his entertainment to begin.

Your work in there is clearly done, so you leave.

You put on your ASPECT CORSET, and nudge your proportions back down to normal.

The Madame is enraged to see you have returned.

She thinks as long as you're so intent on being here, she might as well put you to work.

She equips you with the SCALE BODICE, shoves you through the lobby door, and locks it behind you.

It's high time you get some mileage out of those gams and earn your keep around here, dollface!

Spooky GAMBIT AETHERS envelope you. You feel a powerful transformation taking place.

But wait...

It seems you have not carved a SCHEMA PUMPKIN, and thus cannot employ your GAMBIT SCHEMAS.

In fact, you don't think you have a SCHEMA PUMPKIN. You are quite sure there are no SCHEMA PUMPKINS lying around, and probably never will be.

It looks like the bees have collected enough PANG NECTAR to complete an IMPETUS COMB rich with dripping JOCOSE HONEY!!!

In fact, they collected so much nectar from the previous attack, they've managed to complete the next two combs as well!

WOW!!!

The combs are fitted in the appropriate slots and the honey begins to flow.

You spin the LAZY SUSAN OF ENDOWMENT to fill the SUCKLE FLAGON.

AD's COMB RAVE meter maxes out.

You fill the SUCKLE CRUET.

FAD's COMB RAVE meter maxes out.

You fill the SUCKLE DECANTER.

ZAD's COMB RAVE meter maxes out.

The three of you combined may now execute a rare and devastating TRIPLE COMB RAVE!

You will have to think long and hard about which attack you would like to use. The decision will occupy a big Chunk of the battle while you chew the fat.

Take your time.

You pick up the PAINT ROLLER and the PAINT BUCKET.

On the other side of the SQUARE WINDOW, the Dapper Swain waits for his show.

On the wall is an exquisite mural, the perfect backdrop for various burlesque indecencies.

You cover up a bit, being the saucy little tease you are.

The Swain is piqued by the steamy display.

His busy fingers start a small MOUSTACHE FIRE.

Meanwhile, the Mannerly Highbrow is somewhat disconcerted by the view through his expired window.

It is a narrow cabin stocked with BREAD.

You climb into the driver's seat of the BREAD TRUCK.

The Highbrow bobs his head politely and asks, where to, miss?

It looks delicious, but it is completely non-functional. Despite your most concentrated ogle, you can't see through it at all.

What a useless piece of shit!

You toss it overboard.

It bounces off a random truck driving by and into a TRAFFIC LIGHT.

The huge candy-scope takes DMK by surprise, directly in the mouth.

His BLOOD SUGAR reaches a critical limit. It is time to strike while the iron is diabetic!

Fiesta Ace begins by sending ominous lard-wobbling tremors throughout the cosmos.

You issue a hard boiled line before dealing the attack: "Suckle on this receptacle!"

The blubbery onslaught has easily wiped out the remainder of DMK's health meter.

The critically wounded boss descends.

DMK's NETHER-REGIONAL VULNERABULB blooms, briefly exposing his WEAK SPOT.

A thousand voices from afar seem to ring in your mind. They chime in unison the name of your ultimate attack.

Yes. YES! Now seems like the perfect time for...

Nope, you're still jumping the gun.

In spite of your penchant for self-destruction, you still just don't have the offensive gravitas for that attack. You will need a LEVEL 8 IMPETUS COMB filled before you can rain that awful shitstorm down on everyone.

Didn't I mention? I'm almost positive I did.

You just don't have the right angle on the VULNERABULB from the deck!

Besides, the meager bullets from the SNIPER RIFLE probably wouldn't do much damage to such a hardy foe. The key to making the weapon useful must be the TELESCOPE. You just don't see any alternative!

This idea is just utterly ridiculous on its face.

Nevertheless, while everyone else is distracted with doing things that actually make sense, Ace Dick seizes the opportunity.

All he can really manage to do is climb on top of the stunned DMK's HAT and look foolish.

With your awesome Latin VIM, you hoist the enormous CRATE easily.

You take aim at the VULNERABULB, but again, you have a tricky angle on it. You throw it anyway.

The CRATE sails past the WEAK SPOT, missing completely.

With a steady hand gained from MINUTES of experience as the ship's courageous skipper, you flip the universe.

The rest of the Sleuth crew grabs hold of the NETTING.

Ace Dick takes up secure purchase of DMK's HAT.

The CRATE comes back down and clocks the WEAK SPOT for massive damage.

The blow has depleted DMK's supply of SALUBRITY FRANKINCENSE.

His supplies of SPUNK MYRRH and PEP GOLD each remain.

The VULNERABULB begins to close back up.

The bulb closes and DMK re-ascends/descends, depending on whether you've flipped the universe right-side-up yet, which I guess you have.

DMK rotates his head to exhibit a fresh face, complete with not one, but TWO fully replenished health meters.

You consider his rejuvenation to be highly predictable since, let's face it, there are just so many cool attacks you haven't gotten around to using yet.

You roll 1000 LOADED SUGAR CUBE DICE to improve your fortune. They all come up in your favor. The fix is in, see?

Jetstreams of DEXTROSE enter your mouth, treating your critical HYPOGLYCEMIA.

DMK is now completely cured of his DIABETES!!! You will have to find another way of lowering his defenses.

You'll have to worry about your own defenses too, for that matter. He is gearing up for another round of attacks!

He is about to comply but you tell him not to bother, considering one is available for a brief window of time at the strike of midnight on Halloween (10/31/08), and also considering that a SCHEMA PUMPKIN has clearly been in plain view this whole time, and always has been.

Stupid.

Meanwhile, on level 794 of the TOWER OF SYNDETIC ASCENSION...

The four warriors valiantly melee their way through repulsive foes and onward to the top of the tower.

They only have several thousand more levels to conquer!

Using one of your TRUSTY KNIVES, you carve your favorite SPOOK SCHEMATIC into your pumpkin.

Terrifying GAMBIT AETHERS flow from the supernatural gourd and permeate your ARTIFICE AMBIENT. You undergo an incredible transformation.

The SPOOK SCHEMATIC for the CANDY CORN VAMPIRE is complete.

On another part of the same pumpkin, you carve the SPOOK SCHEMATIC for the TOOTSIE ROLL FRANKENSTEIN.

The Highbrow takes you to the FROMAGÈRE DISTRICT through BEANPOLE ALLEY.

Unfortunately, your vehicle cannot possibly fit through the SQUARE SHOULDER TOLLS and on to the BOUCHÈRE DISTRICT.

You will need another form of transport. You seem to have no choice but to wait around for one.