Joe Minotaur

I've created a new avatar for the GoComics site and a more detailed version can be seen at the bottom of the page. I call it: Drawing Fire.

I certainly did "Draw Fire" as several disasters occured in the days that followed. First, the power went out while I was online. I don't have a UPS for the computer so the post I was working on was lost and had to be recreated later. After power came back on, two hours later, I tried to water the lawn and a pipe burst leading to the outside faucet. I had to shut off the water to the whole house until I could clean up the mess and locate the leak. I spent the next two nights at a hotel. As I said at Pibgorn, "It wasn't a fleabag hotel, because even the fleas have higher standards." The leak was in the short length of pipe leading to the outside faucet and I was able to shut it off from the rest of the house, so water was partially restored. Water damage seems to have been kept to a minimum, but I will have to take down part of the bathroom ceiling below the ruptured pipe so I can replace it and check for mold.

I was going to start hauling stuff to the trash transfer station, but my car developed a problem with the front suspension. That had to wait for service on Saturday morning. The front Stabilizer bar on the driver's side was replaced and all seems fine now until it needs replacing on the passenger's side. In the last ten years, Ford seems to have designed their cars to wear evenly and things that wear down or break on one side will soon be followed by the other.

It was covered by an extended warranty, so I only had to pay $100.00 deductible. There is a three day weekend coming up(July 4th) and all house repairs are being put off until then.

I would like to thank those who check this blog daily/weekly. I will try to update it more often. Earthlink does have a webhosting service and since I would like to draw more pictures like the avatar and post them, I may start up a professional website. This site will hold all of the contents of this site, plus all of my other stories, jokes and art that I cannot fit here. If you think this is a good idea, please let me know through the comments at Pibgorn(GoComics.com/Pibgorn) or through the email address on the contact me page.

Some people don't know the exact origins of the minotaur/monitor joke, so I was able to find a link to the date in question complete with comments. Don't ask me how.

Skulker said:

To add more fuel for discussion:
Speaking of symbolism in McE’s work (we were weren’t we???), I was struck by these images whilst perusing my archives.
.
[Corrected links]
http://picayune.uclick.com/comics/pib/2008/pib080206.gif
http://picayune.uclick.com/comics/pib/2005/pib051126.gif
.
If the 11-26-05 strip doesn’t symbolize labia minora & labia majora I don’t know what does. How did that get past the censors at comics.com!

My response:

Ranma_one_half said:

Skulker, I think you are sitting too close to the minotaur. Just enjoy the play and don’t mind the naked actors.

Skulker replied:

Skulker said:

Ranma_one_half says: Skulker, I think you are sitting too close to the minotaur. Just enjoy the play and don’t mind the naked actors.
.
Groan! [amid sounds of many glasses being thrown into the fireplace…]

Fearing the worst, I appologized:

Ranma_one_half said:

Sorry, Skulker, I deserved that.
However, pointing out that this strip may be intended for experienced(mature) readers is only asking for someone to stick an age appropriate rating on it.

Skulker then explained:

Skulker said:

Ranma_one_half says: Sorry, Skulker, I deserved that.
.
You’re misinterpreting my comment - it was for the pun, “sitting too close to the minotaur” nothing else. The bigger the groan, the better the pun. I have no issue with raciness or otherwise. I even threw in the reference to throwing glasses into the fireplace in case you were an old time science fiction fan. I think it was Azimov that wrote a bunch of short stories about a tavern that had weekly pun contest nights. The winner was acknowledged by everyone throwing their glasses into the fireplace. Very creative. And very “groany”!

And that, kiddies, is where it all began, 26 Sept. 2008.

The following was in response to a strip near the end of the "Lena The Horrible" story arc in which Lena Egg and Drucilla have a heart to heart talk about what it takes to be a Succubus. Lena stated that her mom wanted her to be a girl scout, but she thought Dru's uniform was better. It was then that Dru told Lena that it was not a uniform, so much as "Plummage". Lena's reply, "You're NAKERS! Where do I sign up?!"

Enjoy. This is the extended version of the first posting.

Customer: I wish to register a complaint! I wish to complain about this Succubus that I purchased, not half an hour ago, from this very boutique!

Clerk: Oh, yeah? The Norwegian Succubus? What's wrong with her?

Customer: I'll tell you what's wrong with her. She's nakers. That's what's wrong with her.

Clerk: She's not nakers. She's just wearing her summer colors. Remarkable demon, the Norwegian Succubus, beautiful plummage.

Customer: The plummage don't enter into it. She's stark naked. I took the liberty of examining this Succubus and the only reason she appeared clothed when I bought her, was that she was in disguise.

Clerk: Well... She probably pining for the lava fields of Norway.

Customer: 'Pining for the lava fields of Norway'? What kind of talk is that? And why did she try to bite me on the neck the moment I got her home?

Clerk: The Norwegian Succubus prefers biting people on the neck. Remarkable demon, beautiful plummage!

Customer: It's not 'plummage', she's NAKERS! This Succubus is unclothed. A wardrobe she has not. She is clothing optional. If I hadn't given her my trenchcoat to wear back here, we might well have been arrested. She has gone far beyond the right to bare arms. She is not even clad in the purest shimmering samite that you might find on some, Lady of the Lake, lobbing scimitars. This is a NUDE Succubus!

Clerk: All right! I'll grant you that she is undressed, but please tell me... What exactly is your complaint?

Customer: Ah...! Well... um... Her 'plummage' doesn't go with my decor.

Robert Thimble was a well educated man. The people who knew him always called him the “Prof”. He was also a literalist. He took people at their words. His wife, Clair, did her best to keep him from being confused.

Clair: “I need you to go down to the Green Grocer and buy some fresh herbs and spices. Here’s a list of what I need. It’s a short list, it shouldn’t take you too long to get what we need. Then go to the music store and buy some sheet music for our daughter to practice with. Get something classical, like Brahms, Bach or Beethoven.”

Prof: “Yes, Dear. Do you want me to pick up some bread as well?”

Clair: “No, Bob. I just kneaded some dough.”

Prof: “How much did you need?” Reaches for his wallet.

Clair: “Not money, Bob. Bread dough. After I kneaded it, I have to let it raise again before I bake it. You better get going. It’s getting late, but maybe you can pick up some thyme while you are at the Green Grocer.”

Prof: “Pick up time at the Green Grocer. Yes, Dear.” Kisses his wife’s cheek and goes out the door of their appartment. The Green Grocer is just one block away. Soon, he is waiting for the gorcer to finish with another customer.

Grocer: “Yes, Prof. What will it be today?”

Prof: “Hello, Nick. I have a list from my wife.”

Grocer: “Let’s see. This won’t take long.” Nick gathers the herbs and spices on the list. “Will there be anything else?” He asks.

Prof: “My Wife said something about time.”

Grocer: “I’m sorry Prof, but we’re all out of thyme.”

Prof: “You don’t have any time?”

Grocer: “That’s right. We have no thyme left. We may have some thyme tomorrow.”

Prof: “You have no time today, but you’ll have sometime tomorrow?”

Grocer: “I can almost guarantee that we will have some thyme tomorrow.”

Prof: “ ‘Almost guarantee’? Well, Nick, I need to go to the music store.”

Grocer: “Goodbye Prof. Come back anytime.”

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. I walk the Comic Strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their creators. Most cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet.

(DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM)

This is the city. It could be any city, but it wasn’t. It is the city. You know it, I know it. ‘Nuff said, okay?

The missing persons’ case was closing and the final report has been handed in to Capt. Tom Reaper. An imposing man, but I don’t fear him. Even though the case was wrapped up, Sgt. Cliff Hanger and I were in my office taking stock of the facts to see if there was anything of interest that was missing from the report.

“Let’s start with the Fairy, the Succubus, and the church organist.” I say. “They seem to share some kind of bond. They’ve seen highs and lows in their relationships and have been through some tough times of major depression. This has caused them to pull back and re-assess their prospective futures together. The Egg children were caught up in the game and traded their old lives for new roles. Don’t sell them short. Their past is nothing to go by. We can only speculate as to how they will perform. The Incubus, not only was a demon, he was morally bankrupt as well. Spitcock tried to monopolize his victims in a scheme that backfired on account that Drucilla was able to turn things around and recover not only her principals, but Spitcock’s holdings as well. This left him to call in an arbitrator, who, in the end, could not keep him from being swallowed up by a much larger entity. Normally, such a demon could be considered a ‘Toxic Asset’, but he was absorbed with little to show for it. The giant fly, Luciano, downsized to a more manageable level and is looking forward to resuming normal production. The children are back home, but the main characters have split up. At this point, their plans are none of our business. If things come crashing down around us, we may have to become involved again, but unless there is a major eruption, we can consider this case closed.”

(DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM. DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM DAH-H-H)

Ladies and Gents! Thank-you for following the adventures of Detective Joe Minotaur, Sgt. Cliff Hanger, Dianne Hunter, Jessica Darling, and the remaining cast. The current story arc of the Pibgorn online comic has reached the point where it is no longer necessary for Joe to continue his investigation into the mass disappearances of its main characters and the Egg children. The characters I created for these stories will be added to a story I am writing, that I hope to publish some day.

I will continue to post at the Pibgorn comments site and any material that I post may find a home here. I was hoping that, in the course of writing these stories, that the readers would enjoy them and from the responses I got, that wish has been fulfilled.

These stories are free, but are copyrighted. They are not to be published as a collection or individually to any other blog or web site without permission. The attachment of individual stories into emails is allowed, but please include the URL so the person receiving it can explore the blog for themselves.

If you feel compelled to offer a donation or gratuity, please give it to the charity or oganization of your choice.

The opinions expressed within this blog are solely the responsibility of the author and are not meant to portray actual events. Any resemblance to persons living or dead, or undead, or unliving, or uncaring, or unadulterated, or unassuming, or unfortunate enough to be included here has my sympathy but not my house, my car, my motorcycle, or my bank account. Instead, if they want, they can have my bills, my credit card debt, my house payment, medical bills, taxes due and any liens that are assesed against me by a quart of Jack Daniels.

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. Most cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet(Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum). I work the comic strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their creators.

The missing persons’ case I was working on, has been brought to a close. With the passing of the incubus, Digory Spitcock, the missing two children are now home with their parents. Luciano, the giant fly, has shrunk back down to the size of a garden pea and rejoined the human known as Geoff, the Dryad known as Pibgorn and the succubus known as Drucilla. Details are sketchy and the Eggs have not cracked. I’ve gone over easy with them because they were children, but I might have to separate them and see what I can whip up.

I was sitting at the desk in my office, when a man walks in. I knew him well. I wish I hadn’t. He’s a detective too. His name is Khule, Bionde Khule. He says he’s European, a Belgian. I could see why they would want him out of their country. His entire attitude set your teeth on edge. He never looked at you, even though he was talking to, or at, you. It was as if he was looking for some reason to be in the same room as you. His eyes scanned the bookcase to his right.

“Good afternoon, Minotaur.” he says in his slow, annoying, voice. His eyes continue to the calendar on the wall. “Is that, this year’s calendar?” He steps closer to it. It is the same calendar that has been hanging there for years. Every time he has ever entered my office, it’s been there. “2000?” he asks, feigning surprise. His head turns only slightly to the left.

“It was a very good year.” I say. “What do you want, Khule?”

“I understand that your current assignment is almost over.” he says while examining the window curtains. “The missing people have been found and your final report will be presented to the Captain soon.”

“There are a few loose ends, but you’re right.” I say. “Is there something you need?”

He pauses his examination and the shallow smile on his face widens by a few millimeters. “Now, Joe. I didn’t come here to impose on you. I was just wondering if there was anything I could do to help you wrap things up. This little case of yours has caused quite a stir in certain parts of the city. Once this is all over and things have settled down, a lot of people will be very grateful to you for solving this case.”

I could see where this was going. Khule had a habit of showing up just as a case was ending and leaving the impression that he had something to do with its successful conclusion. His eyes shift to my filing cabinets.

“It’s too bad you don’t use a computer, Minotaur.” he says. “It would make it so much easier to file your reports.” It would also make it easier for him to add his name to it.

“Thanks, Khule,” I say, “but I don’t think I’ll be needing anymore help from you.” As I finish saying this, the Captain walks in.

“Detective Minotaur, oh, and Detective Khule as well.” he says, “I’ll expect the final report on the case you were working on, by tomorrow.”

“Yes Sir, Captain Reaper.” Khule says as he bows. “It will be ready.”

Captain Tom Reaper nods to both of us and leaves.

I relax in my chair and lean back. I raise my feet to rest on the desk.

Bionde Khule pauses at the door. “The report will be ready, right, Minotaur?”

I wrap my hands behind my head. “Just as soon as you type it up, Khule.”

THAT’S ALL FOLKS!!

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. I walk the comic strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their artists. Most cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet (Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum).

The missing persons case that Sgt. Cliff Hanger and I was working on, was building to a climax. Events were transpiring at a pace that made us sweat. The pressure was on to produce results that would bring a smile to the Captain’s face. We needed to gain control over the situation so that no innocent person was caught in the grip of this mystery.

“Sergeant,” I say, “it would appear that the characters involved in this case are once again making their presence known. The Succubus, Drucilla, has blown the lid off the place and recovered the fairy known as, Pibgorn. The two have been spotted out in the mid-Atlantic hovering over an iceberg and not moving a muscle. The Incubus has been consumed by his own power and eliminated by the giant fly, Luciano. The organist, Geoff(pronounced ‘Jeff’), has been spotted wandering the streets, and if found, will be brought in for questioning. Of the two children, only Lena has been accounted for. Roger is the last person that we need to find.”

“I’ve heard about that Incubus, Digory Spitcock.” says Cliff. “I don’t think I could stomach him. He attended some computer symposium recently and upset quite a few experts on Sui Generis Reality. He debased their research and called their visions of computer generated reality nothing more than ‘Hoo Ha’. He seemed to think that he alone could spawn a new form of life within the confines of a computer program. With him out of the picture, no one knows what has happened to his private studies.”

“That leaves Roger Egg.” I say. “He is the last remaining piece of the puzzle. If we can stumble upon him, we may be able to close this case before supper’s ready.

(Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum. Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum DAHH!!)

I'm back and there's a new "Jokes" page with two entries.

I went to the New York Comic Con and also went to see David Letterman. Seeing him live, allowed me to check him off my "Bucket" list(I wanted to see him before 'he' kicked the bucket).

I hooked up with ccdesan on the first day after the taping of the Late Show. We had sandwiches at the Stage Delicatessen near my hotel(Sheraton New York Hotel and Towers). My hotel was only a block away from the Ed Sullivan Theater where the show is taped. No need for a taxi. Other restaurants in the area include Lindy's(famous for cheesecake) and Rosie O'Gradys. Both are excellent restaurants and highly recommended.

Friday and Saturday at the comic con was like trying to make it through the halls of a highschool between classes again, only this time, I felt like a teacher and not a student. Tons of swag from comics that I collected when I was younger to the very new online comics like Girl Genius, Looking for Group, Gunnerkrigg Court and Mouse Guard.

Ccdesan and I did not find Brooke McEldowney on the first day(he and his daughter checked in early and went on errands that Friday). On Saturday, we tracked him down and arranged for the interview on Sunday. You will just have to wait for the finished product sometime in March. ccdesan is on a trip and we need to combine our videos to get a top quality presentation for you.

No spoilers! No sneak peeks! No clues! No hints! You'll just have to wait, sorry!

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. I walk the Comic Strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their creators. Some cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet. (DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM.)

The current missing persons case has left Cliff and I staring at empty plates. We were starved for clues. The menu for today only made us hungry and nothing special was going on. By now, we were hoping to have our pick of prime suspects, but our pot luck was running out. Dianne, our police department’s dentist, was a hot dish, but even she had gone cold. We needed to stop simmering and stir things up. We needed to find a witness to grill. Someone who would spill the beans and blow the lid off this case.

“Cliff,” I say, “who do we have on the list of usual supplements, I mean suspects.”

Cliff thumbs through his notes, “First, we have Mason Jarr, but he’s in the can. He stewed some tomato and got caught red handed. Rice Steamer is serving time for making a meal out of a beef he had with his main dish. Nacho Chip cheesed off Monterey Jack and was found last week, face down in the Salsa River. Jack melted into the crowd and hasn’t been seen since. Lobster Bisque is in the holding tank for pinching a pearl necklass. Shrimp Scampi is in the hospital with third degree burns. Orange Marmalade was in a real jam over at the Sandwich Board. Seems they were questioning her sense of taste. Spice Rack and his gang have been broken up. Black Pepper was a'salted and has been laying low. The Corn Boys, Seed, Yellow and Sweet, along with their father, Pop, have been arrested for making Moonshine. Boise Idaho has become a hot potato and nobody wants him. Short Order pulled a job at the Frying Pan, then knocked over the Fryer. Sub Marine got torpedoed by some saucy little lady called Speedee. Sweedish Meatball is now slingin’ hash at some diner. Claims he wants to put his pasta behind him.”

“What about Black Angus?” I ask. “Any idea what’s happened to him?”

“I believe he relocated somewhere else.” Cliff says.

“You don’t mean…?”

“Yes, Sir. He pulled up steaks and left town.”

(DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM. DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM DA-AHH!!)

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. I walk the comic strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their creators. Most cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet(Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum).

The case that Sgt. Cliff Hanger and I were working on has left us with many questions that needed answers. Now that the file and Cliff’s Notes were compiled into one little book, it was time to go over them once again.

“This is a missing persons’ case.” I state the obvious. “It invovles the disappearance of three humans and two fey creatures.”

“Three fey creatures.” corrects Cliff.

“Three?” I ask. “Are you talking about that huge fly? He’s not missing. He’s been spotted raiding the landfil again.”

“No, Joe.” Cliff says. “From what I can see here, there is a third fey creature invovled, an incubus named Spitcock.”

“Where did he come in?” I ask. “I don’t remember him.”

“At the beginning.” Cliff says. “An unidentified old man was seen with Roger Egg just before he disappeared. We now know that his name is Digory Spitcock and that he is an incubus.”

“So, we have an incubus and a succubus?” I ponder. “It sounds as if they were made for each other.”

Cliff brings up a point, “I don’t think that two demons, trying to feed off each other to gain power, can really form a meaningful relationship.”

“Do we even know if there is a relationship between them?” I ask. “Where are they now? I know, I know, they’re missing, but have they been seen since then?”

“The only one we’ve been able to keep tabs on is the giant fly, Luciano.” he says.

“Who?” I ask.

“Luciano.” Cliff says. “Someone in the press tried to inverview him, but he only gave his name before he flew away. A lot of people have become interested in this case and the fly, Joe. There’s even a website.”

“The fly, has a website?” I ask.

“Yeah, Joe.” Cliff says. “It’s located on the boilerplate that’s found on page one of the comments: http://home.comcast.net/~ccdesan/Pibgorn/Pibgorn.html

(DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM. DUM-M DA DUM-DUM DAHH!!)

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. I walk the Comic Strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their creators. Some cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet. (DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM.)

It was the time of year that the Narnia Police Department needed all employees to update their personal data. Since he was now assigned to me, it was my responsibility to see that Sgt. Cliff Hanger’s personal data was current. We skipped some of the early data, name, age and sex in the assumption that only his age had changed in the past year.

“Marital Status?” I ask.

“Single.” Cliff answers.

I pause for a moment. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, Cliff. Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

“I have an identical twin brother.” he says.

“There’s a pair of you?” I ask, shocked.
“Yes.” he says. “And two sets of twin sisters. Together, they opened up an art gallery, featuring sculpture and wood carving. They call themselves ‘Too Pare’.”

“What about your brother?” I ask.

“He works for our three identical cousins, all boys.” he says, “They have a travel agency called: ‘Trips’.”

“Anyone else?” I ask.

“I have an Aunt and Uncle that had five daughters, one straight after the other.” He says.

By this time, I was feeling a little flushed. I say, “With so many kids it would be easy to have a full house.”

“Ah!.” says the seargent. “I almost forgot the quads! Lucy, Lacy, Lois and Linda. How could I forget them! They really are four of a kind! Not only that, but their mother, Aunt Patricia, is due to give birth again very soon!”

As if on cue, Cliff’s cell phone rings. It’s a good thing he’s sitting down. From the look on his face I can tell it is some amazing news. His hand trembles as he hangs up. His face is white as a sheet.

“What is it, Cliff?” I ask. “Twins, triplets? Boys, girls?”

“All boys.” He says. “Quints. But not identical. My Aunt and the babies are doing fine”

“Whoa.” I say. “A Straight Flush. Cliff, didn’t you say your ancestors are related to England’s Royal family?”

“Ye-yeah, if you go back about six or seven generations.”

“Well, Cliff…” I say, “I think your Aunt should stand Pat, because she is holding the winning hand!”

(DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM. DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM DA-AHH!!)

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. I walk the comic strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their creators. Most cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet. (DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM!)

Sgt. Cliff Hanger and I have been working on a missing persons case involving both humans and fey creatures. Recently, we started getting mysterious notes. We collected these and tried to put them in order.

“What was the first one we received?” I ask. “Do we know what it means?”

“Doe.” Says Sgt. Hanger. He looks up the word in his New Webster’s Dictionary. “A Deer. A female Deer.”

“Next is: Rae; A drop of golden sun.” This is according to my Oxford Old English Dictionary. “What’s next?”

“Me: A name I call myself.” Says Cliff. “You have the next one, Sir”

“Fa’: Short form of “far”. A long, long way to run.” I say.

“Sew: A needle pulling thread.” Cliff says. “What note follows sew?”

“La,” I say, “but I can’t find any definition for it. Then we have…”

“Tea: A drink with jam and bread.” Says Cliff. “And that will bring us back to…”

“Doe.”

“Doe?”

“Doe.”

“Doe?”

(DOE-E, DOE DOE-DOE. DOE-E, DOE DOE-DOE DOE!!)

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. I walk the comic strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their creators. Most cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet. (DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM!)

Sgt. Cliff Hanger and I were going over the file of the most recent missing persons case. Cliff was thumbing through the pages as well as his own notes.

“Looks like we have enough material here for a short story, Detective.” He says.

“Sounds like a novel idea, Sergeant.” I say. “If we publish the details, we may get enough leads that we can paste it on someone.”

“I don’t know, Detective.” Cliff says, “Do you think people would even be marginally interested in a case like this? It’s hardly a page turner.”

“Not to worry, Sergeant.” I say. “If just one person shows up, we can bend their ear for details. They may prove to be a font of information.”

“Well,” Cliff wonders, “I do know of one person who might be interested. She is always reading those dime novels about detectives and crimes.”

“Who is that?” I ask.

“Ariel Sans Serif.” He says. “She’s not my type, but you can find her reading almost any novella.”

“A bookworm?” I ask.

“An editor.” He answers. “She works for a local printshop. They handle small jobs and restorations.”

“Do you think she could solve this whodunnit?” I ask.

“No, but she could proofread it for any mistakes.” He says.

“If we can condense this down to an easier to read format, it might be worth it.” I say, “I hate to say this but we’re in a real bind over this case. The press has been nosing around as if we have something to cover up. Cliff, I want you to take this file and your notes to this printshop and tell them to BOOK IT!”

(DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM. DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM DAHH!!)

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. I walk the Comic Strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their creators. Some cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet. (DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM.)

I’ve been working on a missing persons case with Sgt. Cliff Hanger for some time now and I’ve gottten to know him pretty well. He’s a good man, but ever since his dental checkup, he’s been acting more nervous every time I mention Dianne or Jessica.

“What’s wrong with you, Cliff?” I ask. “Up ‘til now, your performance has been golden. If it gets any worse, you could tarnish your reputation.”

“I’m sorry, Detective Minotaur.” he says. “I just wish I could put my finger on it.”

“Dianne says that Jessica is a good listener.” I suggest. “You should give her a ring.”

“A what?” he asks.

“Call her.” I say. “You know, to set a date?”

“Set a date!?” Shocked, he stumbles back to the wall of my office.

“Yes.” I say. “For you next appointment. That will give you an excuse to pop the question.”

“P-pop the qu-question!?” He shrieks in full panic. His eyes are wide and his face has turned pale.

“Calm down, Sergeant!” I demand. “Be civil! Ceremony…”

“CIVIL CEREMONY!!”

“Sergeant! Snap out of it!” I shout. “And here I thought you were the best man…”

“BEST MAN!!!”

“Cliff! You are a policeman! Act like one!” By this time I was losing my temper. “Cliff, you could make detective some day! In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve been groom…”

“GROOM!!!” With wild eyed hysteria, Cliff bolts from the room.

I pick up the phone and make a call. “Jessica? This is Joe Minotaur. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it looks like you’ll have to postpone. For some reason, Cliff is a bundle of nerves. He’s got the jitters real bad. You may have to call it off, for now.”

“Okay, Joe.” says Jessica, “How’s next Thursday at 1:30?”

“Sounds good.” I say. “Don’t worry Jessica. I’ll get him there on time.”

(DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM. DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM DA-AHH!!)

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. I walk the Comic Strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their creators. Some cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet. (DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM.)

I’ve been working on a missing persons case for some time now and I’ve run out of ideas. I needed someone to talk to. Someone who could take another look at the facts and see what I’ve been missing. It had to be someone smart. The smartest person I know. Only one person fit that description, Dr. Donna Lee Quixote. This woman had more degrees than the boiling point of water. Her IQ is measured in four digits. She writes the questions for the MENSA tests. In other words, she was pretty clever. Dr. Quixote could have worked anywhere, but chose to spend her time here at the Narnia Police Department’s crime lab. The crime lab has very tight security. Getting in to see her would not be easy. I ring the bell at the door.

“Name?” a computer voice asks.

“Minotaur, Detective Joe Minotaur.” I answer.

“Identification, please.” it says and a blinking arrow points to a slot in the door.

I slip my police identity card into the ATM like slot. The card soon returns and the door opens. I put the card back in my wallet and notice that I’m running low on cash. I’ll have to stop at the bank on the way home. Inside the door is one of the doctor’s assistants. As brilliant as Dr. Quixote was, her assistant, Sancho Rocinante was not. The man was more or less manual labor for the doctor. A functioning idiot savant, he could barely speak. His only field of expertise was in the use of numbers. You could give him a random number in the billions and he would give you the nearest prime number. Solving complex equations was like breathing to this man.

“This-s w-way.” he mumbled and guided me in to see the doctor. The lab also served as storage for evidence that needed to be preserved for future testing. These side storage rooms had heavy doors and keypads. Computers and testing equipment filled the main lab. At a table, monitoring a test of some kind, was the doctor. With an unsteady hand, Sancho asked me to wait. We both paused until the doctor set down her notepad. Sancho spoke up, “Dr. L-lee.” The doctor turned to us.

“Detective Minotaur.” she said and took off her plastic safety glasses. “Nice to see you again.” Her raven black hair was tightly controlled by a hair net. Not a single strand was out of place. Tall and slender, she was in stark contrast to short and squat Sancho. She looked at her assistant as if she was about to give a strict order, but she spoke in a normal, steady voice, “Sancho, go to your seat and sit down. I will call you when I need you.”

“Y-yes, Doc-tor.” The man walked over to a well-worn wooden chair and sat down.

“Dr. Quixote,” I say, “I hope you can give me a little insight in a case that I’m working on.”

“You don’t have to be so formal, Joe.” she says and adds, “You can call me, Lee and leave off the ‘Doctor’.”

“Sure, but, why ‘Lee’, Quixote?” I ask.

For some reason, she tenses up before answering, “I’ll let that one pass, Joe Monitor. Ever hear of ‘Don Quixote’? If I go by ‘Donna’, people might confuse me with some fictional character. Although being confused with some cartoon character is even worse.”

“Cartoon character?” I ask.

“You just said it, Joe.” she points out. “ ‘Why ‘Lee’, Quixote?’, ‘Wile E. Coyote’?”

Embarrassed beyond all rational thought, I say, “Just forget I was here.”

(DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM. DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM DA-AHH!!)

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur, I'm a cop. I walk the comic strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their artists. Most cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet(DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM).

The Dentist for our Narnia Police Department, Dianne Hunter, called me and wanted me to stop by her office. She said it was important and to bring Sgt. Hanger. Cliff was always nervous around Dianne and found any excuse for not making an appointment with her. This time, however, was business and he drove me over in his squad car. We arrived at Dianne's office and Cliff cautiously looked inside. The front desk was empty and Dianne was not in sight. With a sigh of relief, Cliff and I walked in. A light, young voice called out behind us.

"You're just in time, Detective Minotaur, Sgt. Hanger." Jessica, Dianne's assistant and receptionist, says as she blocks any escape. "We've had a cancellation and you, Sgt. Hanger are overdue for yours." She steps forward and takes him by the arm. In shock, Cliff is unable to resist.

"B-B-but Miss...?" is all he can say.

"Just call me, Jessica." she says, as she guides him to the next room.

"Good work, Joe." says Dianne as she joins me.

"Poor Cliff." I say. "He won't call her Jessica. He's a stickler about calling people by their last name, if he doesn't know them all that well."

"That could work out even better." says Dianne. "You don't know her full name, do you, Joe?"

"Now that you mention it, I don't." I say and ask, "What is it?"

"Her name is, Jessica Darling."

(DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM. DUM-M, DA DUM-DUM DAH!!)

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. I walk the comic strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their artists. Most cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet (Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum).

It was approaching noon, Sgt. Hanger and I needed to find something to eat besides the cafeteria food at the Narnia Police station.

“There’s a little theme café opening up a few blocks over, Joe.” Cliff says. “I noticed it this morning on my way in.”

“Well, anything’s gotta be better than the meatloaf they serve downstairs.” I say. “Let’s roll.”

We got in Cliff’s squad car. It was a late model MacGuffin with the Police Intercepter package. I hate budget cutbacks. We headed out and soon found ourselves(19 minutes later) parked near(a block and a half from) the café. The café was small and some of the people inside were strangely dressed. Like Cliff said, it was a theme café. We sat down and prepared to order. The waitress soon appeared and told us of the lunch specials.

“Welcome, Gents.” she says. “I must appologize, but we’ve just opened up and we only have a limited menu. Our cook, my husband, is really good and he can do a lot with what we do have.”

“Well, what have you got?” Cliff asks.

She says, “Spam.”

“Spam?” I ask.

“Yeah, Spam.” she says. “But don’t worry! We can slice it really thin and call it Canadian Spam Bacon. We can slice it thick and call it a Spam steak. We can put it in a bun with a slice of pineapple. That’s very popular in Hawaii. We can grind it up, add mayonaise and call it Spam salad, even add red pepper and call it Deviled Spam. We can put it in the shredded potatoes and call ‘em, Spam Hash Browns.”

“But, I don’t like Spam.” says Cliff.

“You don’t like Spam!” she says. She stands there shaking her pencil at him. “We’ve been setting this café up for three days and all that time, I’ve eaten nothing but Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, baked beans, Spam, Spam, Spam and Spam!”

The other patrons join in with the chant of, “Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam, Spam…”

The waitress turns and threatens them with her pencil, “SHADDUP!! I’ve had enough of you lot!” She turns back to us, “Bloody Vikings! Are you going to order or not.”

I shake my head and say, “No, because I can’t think of a single food I would hate more than Spam.” Sgt. Hanger and I both stand in agreement. We head for the door.

One of the Vikings at a nearby table turns to me and says, “A wise choice, Sir. Perhaps next time, you should order the Lutefisk.”

(Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum. Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum DAHH!!)