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More Adventures of
Sunblock Hose
and
Doctor Whacko

The world's first and foremost serial
consenting detective and his little
wooden friend by A. Conman Doll
(who is always drinking a big glass
of water while Doctor Wacko is narrating).

"Thank you, driver," Sunblock Hose said as he took the axe from the four-wheeler's self-employed entrepeneur and handed the man some coins. The crows were thick on the steps of the Lice 'See 'Em!' Theatre, probably taking advantage of escaped performers. We had hardly neared the theatre when we were accosted by two identically-featured men sharing a really great greatcoat.

"Are you Miss Marestongue's date?" they asked Hose and I simultaneously.

"The stocky one is," Miss Marestongue replied. "I think the skinny, beak-nosed one is a eunuch. But they came as a set."

"We see," the two men replied. "You will come with us now."

From an alley they retrieved a two-wheeled vehicle that looked much like a miniature hansom cab and indicated that we should get in it. Once we were seated, the pair took what would usually be the horse's place and started running up the street.

"A Siamese rickshaw," Hose observed, then fell into ponderous silence. Miss Marestongue seemed calm, but I insured her good humor by telling story after story of my adventures in an afghan stand that I used to run in Picadilly. I was, however, so flustered by the ominous presence of the axe in Sunblock Hose's hands that my stories were somewhat muddled. To this very day she swears that I told a hilarious story about a bottle of muscatel that brought a double-breasted tighter coat to my stand and told me, "Don't kill me, Hose!!!"

Sunblock Hose seemed unmoved by my pleas, and began to shout out street names: "Chopchop Road! Cleaver Street! Hackwhacko Drive!"

We had reached a dark, forbidding neighborhood surrounded by moor. The little moor-ponies screamed as they fell into the mire and were eaten by bitterns. An escaped convict called to our rickshaw and asked for clothes that didn't smell of baronet.

"Whacko! Whacko!" I heard Hose cry as he slapped my face. "You're having a flashforward! We've arrived at our destination!"

I smiled with delight, seeing that Hose no longer held Miss Marestongue's axe. You can then imagine my utter horror, when, upon turning to the lady herself, I saw that evil blade descending once more and heard the screams of its victims!

OKAY, SO THE AXE MISSED WHACKO, BUT WHO DID IT GET?
WILL THIS TALE DRAG OUT EVEN LONGER THAN THE LAST ONE?

BE HERE NEXT WEEK FOR THE THRILLING ANSWERS! SAME WHACK-TIME! SAME WHACK-WEB-SITE!

(Originally presented on the Baker Street list on July 10, 1998.)