Our meitantei.
“Look, gumshoe, we ain’t got all day. Don’t make me empty this Roscoe in ya, pal.”
There I was again, trapped in a musky, poorly-lit interrogation room. A thunderstorm was raging outside. Across the table, some fat palooka was trying to put the screws on me. His nose flared each time he fired off a question.
“Whaddya wanna know?” I spat back.
“Hotshot huh? Let’s play a little game. If you had a Death Note, who would you stick it to? I bet you’re a real piece o’work. I bet you’d off the mayor of Animetown if ya could!”
I scoffed. “I don’t care about him or his two-bit operation. In fact, I don’t give a damn about the lot of ya.” It was true. Ever since I left the force, I’ve been beating my own path. It has been a lonely journey, but it’s my journey.
The copper rolled his eyes and snorted, “Yeah right. People are talkin’, y’know.” He got up and started pacing the room. His clumsy steps shuffled across the floor as if he was a baby rhinoceros. “People are talkin’ and they say you’re a real fan of the ladies. Got a chippy or two on the side, huh?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Oh yeah? What ’bout a monster chippy?”
I shrugged and rolled my eyes. “You got the wrong guy. Canaries are trouble, my friend. They can’t help but sing.” Again, my interrogator snorted derisively at my answer. How did I even get into this mess, I wondered. It must’ve all started when that blonde walked into my office. That’s how it always begins. I was about to recall the events of that foggy night by the bay when a couple of photos flew at me.
The photos in question.
“You like to take pictures, huh? Maybe a peeping tom, huh? What were you doing down by the tracks? What were you lookin’ for, pal?”
I glanced at the photos. Yep, I took’em, alright. But I wasn’t about to spill the beans to the palooka. I had my secrets. “Just a walk,” I said. “A leisurely walk at the ‘yard. Why? Is there something hidden there?”
“I’m asking the questions, buddy!” He tossed something else at me: a communist manga. The kind you see a lot nowadays. The kind that you might find on an impressionable young fool in college. The palooka bellowed, “We found this in your footlocker. You like to read? You like to stir up trouble?”
“A kid gave it to me. I don’t read. No time.”
“Bullshit. I bet you regularly attend these communist hangouts. Maybe even play a gaycat to some ol’ anarchist. I bet you would love to see this city burn.”
I wasn’t going to dignify his response with an answer. He had nothing on me. “Are we done here?” I asked. “Are you done badgering me with these stupid questions?”
The palooka suddenly got up real close. He wanted to intimidate me — spook me outta my shoes. But all I could feel was smug superiority when I saw the vein throbbing on his forehead.
“You better cooperate,” the man nearly whispered. “Make it easier on yourself, y’know? Accidents happen all the time in Chinatown. We wouldn’t want fine English speaking folks like yourself to lose his way in some dingy alley surrounded by a bunch of savage Chinamen, now would we?” The copper paused for a second to hock a spit to the side. “Now what do you wanna do, gumshoes? We’re both on the same side of the law. Why don’t we work together? Why don’t you scratch my back and maybe I’ll think twice about spitting lead your way the next time I see ya?”
“I’ve got my own way. I’m not here to get my rocks off. And no,” I said as I shook my head. “We’re not on the same side of the tracks. I’ve got the law. I’m not here to pretend I’m doing my job by knocking some skulls together and pocketing the kale. Now, get your dumb mitts off of me. I ain’t got nothing to say and nothing to ask. If we’re done here, let me go.”
The palooka’s face contorted into a snarl, but he had nothing on me. He could do nothing but storm out of the room. Soon enough, I’d be let go. Then the real fun can start. Now, if only I can find that blonde again. There are a few trees I’d like to shake.
- Who killed Elizabeth Short?
- Where’s the zodiac killer?
- What exactly happened to Tammy Zywicki?
- Who was the Somerton Man?
- Why did Manoel Pereira da Cruz and Miguel José Viana kill themselves?
These are the questions swirling around in that head of mine. These are the questions I am going to answer.
Moe Sucks 
Two thumbs up for an enjoyqable subversion on this questions thingamajig.
I don’t even know what the word subversion means.
Basically, you have undermined the creator’s intended purpose of the activity and made a new one for yourself. To overthrow, basically.
Not sure if it’s the correct term to use in this case, but that is what subversion means.
Psst, I actually know what subversion means.
Okaaaaay.
Didn’t think you’d be involved in The Anime Blogger Interrogation, of all things. Also appreciate that it’s an actual, like, interrogation.
Why not?
I’m speaking in terms of other blogger-specific thingermajigs like podcasts and the Aniblogger Tourney and the Anime Power Rankings over at Desu Ex Machina. From what I observe, other than you commenting on other blog posts, you’re not usually involved when it comes to bloggers organizing things on the internet. Correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems that way.
I guess not. I’m probably not a part of the aniblogging circle. Really, if someone has been cordial with me, i.e. they have left a few interesting comments on my posts, I’ll be like “Oh, it’s that guy (or girl). They usually have something interesting to say.” As such, if he or she has a blog, I might check it from time to time. But other than that, I don’t really have the time to peruse blogs. I don’t put myself out there on a personal level. And with me generally being negative about anime, I probably seem unapproachable and standoffish to a lot of people.
Also, I’m not a big fan of the whole metablogging thing. If something gives me a good excuse to be lazy, I’ll take advantage of it, i.e. the blog carnival thing. I didn’t have an update planned out for that day, so I thought I’d answer a few easy questions. So why did I do this post? Because I hadn’t watched the latest Tari Tari episode nor did I really feel like doing so. But since I hadn’t watched it, I can’t do my own weekly power rankings. In the end, it all comes back to my laziness!
But for the most part, I don’t really give a shit what makes a good blog or how one blog stacks up to another blog. “Moe Sucks” is a personal project of mine to keep my writing skills sharp and my mind occupied on some sort of “analysis.” Tied to that is the chance to debate people and see whether or not I can defend my viewpoints. As such, the larger picture of the community has never been my concern.
That’s is an A+ for you. But the next time, you better play the fat guy. Reading this made me feel like that incompetent detective from True Blood. That’s anything but a pleasure.
Nah, I give him a F. He had an A+ all the way (I mean damn was this creative) until he included the site I write for. I could act like a fool since he didn’t specifically designate a blogger, but I’m pretty sure he means me since I comment here all too often.
This won’t end well -_-
Oh what’s so hard about it, all he wants you to do is tell him what really happened during the Dyatlov Pass Incident.
Objection. I say S rank.
Well, now, ‘Suck’ rank is a little extreme.
Forget about it, Justin. It’s Chinatown.
Maybe it’s the “pomo” in me that made me write you as a fat character.
This was wonderful! I wish I had thought of something like this.
The hammy writing? Don’t worry, it’ll come naturally!
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I wish I could write as good as you :(
I second that statement
First world problem: I want to correct your grammar as a joke that ties into your desire to write well, but then it would just be misconstrued as me being a grammar nazi.
… why did I do that mistake. Sorry /)_-
Why did I forgot the question mark? I will never be as good as you.