INT. CRIME SCENE - Night
A body lies in a warehouse that stores skeletons, devil masks, broken dolls, Satanic pentagram stencils, dead animals that have been poorly stuffed, out of tune music boxes, and flickering light bulbs.
The corpse has been mangled, its intestines pulled out to spell "Spooky Force" on the ground. A cartoon penis has been carved on its forehead.
DETECTIVE #1 takes a pull from his hip-flask and sadly stares off into the distance while receiving oral sex.
Sometimes I don't know if I'm even me anymore, or if this whole fucked up universe is a churning rapid dragging me along its inexorable current.
DETECTIVE #2 sways in place, clearly drunk.
Body's been dead for at least three hours. Victim was into some kinky shit by the looks of all these photos in his wallet.
The detectives cringe and weep as the photographs flip past the camera, giving viewers brief glimpses of nightmarish scenes.
DETECTIVE #3 stops drinking from a bottle of vodka long enough to glare at DETECTIVE #4.
Hey shithead, this is a crime scene. Get that gun out of your mouth and get looking for clues!
DETECTIVE #4 takes the gun out of his mouth. He looks down and finds a CLUE, a bizarre symbol painted on the ground in blood. Detective #4 spaces out while looking at this blood, thinking of the hot babe he drove away by being too brooding, and all the times he had hot meaningless sex with other hot babes, which made him sadder.
Detective #5 thinks about all of her hot lesbian sex and starts to cry, drinking from an old-timey jug labeled XXX.
This crime scene is a mess. I know messes. My family. What happened to my brother, how they found my fath-
She trails off, walking down the street to start a fight with someone outside a bar. She is very self-destructive.
DETECTIVES #6-21 take turns chugging from an oversized flask. They look straight ahead with despair, their eyes heavy-lidded and devoid of life. We are treated to a close-up shot of DETECTIVE #6 as he stares into the camera silently for nearly half a minute as sad music plays. Then cut to the exact same shot, with DETECTIVE #7, then DETECTIVE #8, and so on.
Detective #22 surveys the crime scene from his mobile hospital bed. Technically he shouldn't be working so soon after being hospitalized for alcohol poisoning, but he bluffed his way past the beat cops guarding the perimeter. Detective #22 thinks about the case before him, and all the political implications. Struggles for power, elections, bribes, corruption. Dealing with religious figures. It all makes Detective #22 so weary that he wishes he had died.
DETECTIVE #23 just arrived from his morning jog. He takes off his sweaty shirt, revealing mysterious scars. From his past. His very mysterious past, which haunts him. He drinks an entire margarita then puts on his true detecting button-up shirt and tie. As he does so his fingers tremble, and we see a flashback of a hot threesome with two mega babes in which DETECTIVE #23 stared off into the distance and weeped.
DETECTIVE #24 makes sure no one is watching, then ducks into a dark corner. Once there she lights up a cigarette. Then she drinks. Then she masturbates. Then she does online gambling. Then she compulsively eats a bunch of candy even though she just had lunch. Then she plays an MMO. Then she does a drug. Then she stares off into the distance sadly.
DETECTIVE #25 sits on his idling ATV in the middle of the crime scene. He takes a long swig from a flask with mysterious elven engraving, then guns the engine and bursts through the crime scene tape. The tattered yellow plastic trails behind him, fluttering against the backdrop of a dark grassy field in slow motion like the tendrils of a jellyfish in an ocean of blue grief. DETECTIVE #25 does a circuit of the entire city, treating us to shots of factories and power plants and urban decay. DETECTIVE #25 sees these things and groans:
DETECTIVE #25 pulls up to the crime scene once again. He folds his arms with an exaggerated movement, then sighs very loudly and frowns, jutting out his lower lip for maximum sulk.
This libtard terminator keeps asking for guns that don't exist and I may have to close early out of frustration.
Editor's Note: Due to a freak power outage, this obituary of Barbara Bush was written without the benefit of research. In order to pay our respects to this great woman in a timely fashion, we have decided to post this piece as-is. We hope you forgive any errors on our part.
My game is funded. Now I know everything.
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