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.

Today I was called into Tom Reaper’s office. He’s my boss, but I’m not afraid of him.

“Joe,” he says, “the Mayor’s heard about the case you’re working on and wants an update. Go over to City Hall and tell him what you’ve learned.”

“Sure Tom.” I say, “I’m on my way.” No sense arguing. You can’t fight City Hall. The Mayor of the city was William Passer, but he goes by “Bill”. Bill was interested in anything that could get him re-elected or kicked out. He must have thought that the recent publicity of the missing persons’ case was enough to demand his attention. Since I was on official business, I asked Sgt. Hanger to take me there. Cliff was eager to show off his squad car and we were fighting traffic in no time. City Hall was only fifteen blocks away, but it took half an hour to get there. I could have walked faster. We arrived at City Hall and I was dropped off by Cliff. I entered the Mayor’s outer office and was greeted by his secretary, Dorothy Stahl.

“Good Afternoon, Detective.” she said. “The Mayor will be with you shortly.”

“Thank-you, Ms. Stahl.” The wait wasn’t long before the inner door opened.

The Mayor and a Councilman left the room together. “We’ll have to discuss that at the next meeting, Verne. You know what I mean? Ah, Detective Minotaur! Just the man I need to see. I have some people I want you to meet.” The Councilman opens a side door as the Mayor guides me through it. Inside are bright lights, the press, a podium and a dozen microphones. Camera flashes go off as we enter and questions are barked even before we reach the podium. It’s all noise to me, but the Mayor soon has it under control.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, Please! We are not here to take any questions. This is Detective Joe Minotaur of the Narnia Police Department and he is our lead investigator in the missing persons’ case. I’ve been told that his department is following all leads at this time and is hoping to recover those missing safe and sound. Please assure your viewers and readers that the Detective has the full support of the Mayor’s office and anything he needs to close this case will be made available. Thank-you, Ladies and Gentlemen.”

With that said, the Mayor pauses for the press to get their last photos of us together before escorting me back to his outer office. Ms. Stahl closes the door behind us.

“That went well, Joe.” he says. “I do hope you are able to resolve this case soon, Detective. A lot of people are counting on your vote, I mean, success.”

“Yes, Mr. Mayor.” I say. “We’re doing our best.” He shakes my hand.

While standing outside City Hall, I resist the urge to count my fingers…Again.

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

My name…, my name is…, Joe, something… Joe…Minotaur. That’s right. Joe Minotaur, I’m a cop and I work the…, the comic strip beat. For some reason, I just can’t clear my…, clear my head. I hear a voice…, in my ear. It wants me…, wants me to do something… It wants me to…

“Wake up, Joe. It’s time to rinse and spit.”

Slowly the fog lifts. I’m sitting back in a chair. My jaw aches as I try to close it. I open my eyes and shut them again. Dianne moves the light away from my face.

“Is that better, Joe?” she asks.

I open my eyes again and she offers me a small cup of mouthwash. I carefully raise it to my mouth, still numb from the novacaine. My mouth felt like all of my teeth had been pulled, cleaned, then put back in the wrong order. To the side, Jessica was cleaning the nose piece attached to the nitrous oxide line. While Dianne had shoulder length honey colored hair with blonde hightlights, Jessica had auburn hair in a wide flat braid, sometimes called a plait. The tip of the plait had been dipped in a hot green/white marbled wax to keep it from unraveling. It was an unusual hair style, one I’d never seen before. Jessica was also shorter, slimmer, and younger than Dianne.

“I’m over here, Joe.” says Dianne as she pulls my chin over to her. “Don’t forget to spit.”

I stop myself from swallowing by reflex and swish the contents in my mouth. I lean over to the bowl and more drool than spit it out. Dianne raises the napkin to my mouth to wipe it off.

“Good boy, Joe.” she says. “Would you like a treat?” She holds up a lime green sucker, wrapped in cellophane.

As I rub my jaw with my right hand, trying to get the feeling back, I take the candy with my left. “Thanks.” I manage to say. “Thorough as always, Dianne.”

“I wouldn’t have to be so rough if you’d just floss more than once a year.” she says.

“You just like it rough.” I say.

“You know me so well, Joe.” she says and adds, “See you Thursday night.”

“Right, Thursday night, Dianne.” I say as I leave the chair. I was hoping that she would remember our little tradition. This has been going on for a few years now. If she had to track me down for my semi-annual check-up, I would take her out to dinner. If I only remembered to make and keep the appointment… well…

(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. Most cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet(Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum).

I left the 11^th Precinct and returned to my office. Sergeant Hanger joined me and we caught up on what had happened while I was away.

“There’s a garbage strike that’s still going on, Joe.” Sergeant Hanger says.

“Garbage strike?” I ask. “First I’ve heard of it.”

“Yeah, Joe.” he says. “The trouble started not long after those people disappeared. The trash is being collected, but it never makes it to the barges or the landfill. The incinerator can’t get enough garbage to keep going. They have to have it trucked in from upstate. Somewhere along the line, somebody must be on strike.”

I was just about to bite into a jelly-filled doughnut, when I heard a voice.

“Hello, Joe. Long time, no see.”

I knew that voice. It was a hot and smokey voice, just like a Texas Open-pit Barbeque. I looked up. Standing just inside the door, was Dianne Hunter. Dianne was a dentist with our department’s health plan. One visit with her, and you knew what they meant by, “Oral Hygiene”. I turned to look at Cliff. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights of two cars that were about to collide. Dianne followed my eyes.

“Sergeant. There you are.” she says. She licks her lips as if savoring a tasty morsel. “I was wondering if you had forgotten to make an appointment. You remember Jessica, my assistant. She misses you.”

A man can only take so much, and Cliff had reached his limit. He bolted from the room like a man running from a lynch mob.

“Coward.” I say, half joking. Dianne turned back to me. Even though she’s a dentist, she wore a nurse’s outfit. A tight-fitting, starched, white uniform with a zipper down the front. Way, down the front. She once told me that she never wore a bra. She said they were too confining. From what I could see, that hasn’t changed. “Been a while, Dianne.”

“It’s been six months, Joe.” she says as she closes the gap. “You and I need some, ‘us’ time.”

“Do I need to make an appointment?” I ask.

“No appointment needed, Joe.” she says as her hands reach for my face. “You can come with me…right…now…”

There was nothing more to say. I knew better than to talk with my mouth full.

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

Z-Z-Z-Z-Z-Z-z-z-z-z-z-z-…

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. Normally, I work the comic strip beat. Today, I was visiting Officer Al Krupke at the 11^th Precinct on the west side. He wanted me to talk to some boys who claimed to have seen a giant fly. He leads me to a conference room. Inside are twelve teenagers dressed as if they were in a gang. One of them stands.

“Gee, Officer Krupke.” he says. “How long are you gonna keep us here? We ain’t no delinquents.”

“Cool your Jets, Action.” Al says. “This is Detective Joe Minotaur from our Narnia Police Department. He wants to hear your story about the huge fly.”

“He is?” asks the boy named Action. “Well, lemme tell it to the world!”

One of the gang members speaks up, “We want to tell it to the judge!”

“I’m as close to a judge as you boys want to get.” I say. “Tell me about this fly.”

“Well, Detective…” Action starts, “It was as big as any of the ferries down at the docks.”

One of the gang adds, “And there are some big fairies down at the docks.”

The gang busts out in laughter. Their leader, Action, cuts them off with a gesture. A slash across his throat.

“It so happens I believe you boys.” I say. “I had a run in with this fly over on Hammond street.”

“Hammond Street!?” Action and his gang suddenly tense up. “C’mon boys. We’re leavin’ this joint.” The room clears, but Action is the last to leave. “I’m glad you believe us, Detective Minotaur. Officer Krupke over here… Well… Gee Officer Krupke, Krupe you!”

I turn to Al and ask. “What’s wrong with Hammond Street?”

“There’s a rival gang over there.” he says. “Action and the Jets don’t want to mess with them.”

“What are they called?”

“The Hammond Organ Donors Society.”

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

 

P.S. I need another vacation.

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. I just finished my vacation and was heading back to the city. I spent the last two days at my parents’ house and the Burber Farm. I got to meet Dr. Burber and her husband. I’m not sure what he does for a living. Thorax, as always, was more than willing to explain the universe in terms that only made it seem more puzzling than before you asked your question.

Before I reached the city, I stopped for gas and checked in over the phone. My boss, Capt. Tom Reaper, told me to see an Officer Krupke at the 11^th Precinct on the west side. I knew Officer Krupke. He was a Juvenile Affairs officer. I drove down to the meet with him.

“Good morning, Joe.” he says. “Nice of you to stop by.”

“Good morning, Al.” I say. “What’s the story?”

“Well, Joe, I got these kids.” he says. “If you ask me, I’d say they were deprived, depraved and disturbed.”

“Deprived, depraved and disturbed?” I ask.

“Yeah, that’s right. They’re deprived, depraved and disturbed.” he says. “It’s almost like they got some anti-social disease.”

“Anti-social disease?” I ask.

“Yeah, anti-social disease.” he says. “They say they’ve seen this huge housefly here on the west side. It’s just some story if you ask me.”

“Well Al.” I say. “Maybe I should listen to this West Side Story.”

 

To Be Continued…

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop, but still on vacation.

I had just passed the entrance of what a sign says is now the “Burber Farm”. Near the entrance sat a man at a card table offering “MEMORIES” out of open boxes. Mine were already flooding back to me, so I didn’t stop. One thing that I always remember when driving on country roads past dairy farms, is to take it easy because…

Sure enough. I pull over to the side and slow to a stop. There on the road, arranged in a loose circle, is a small herd of dairy cows. As I open the door, I hear the clinking of the cow bells and “moos” of the milk laden cows. At this time of day, they should be heading to the shed, not gathered on the road. I walk back to open the trunk of my Matador. I get the braided nylon tow rope and walk slowly towards the herd. If I can find the alpha female of this group, I can simply lead her and the rest should follow. I can see that most of the cows are looking at a small calf on the road. It is resting on its legs and seems to be unable to get up. Like the country boy I was, I wrap my arms around the calf and raise it high enough for it to get its feet underneath it. The calf, a young bull, protests and is unsteady. I lead it to the nearest cow so it can suckle.

With that accomplished, I fashion the tow rope into a halter around the bull’s head and start to lead it back to the farm entrance. Like a tall, gangly dog, it follows me with the ten cows behind.

As I pass by the old man in the blue denim coveralls, he says. “You remembered, Joe.”

“Yes, Thorax.” I say as I head towards the milking shed. “I remembered.”

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. Normally, I work the comic strip beat looking for crimes against toons and their creators. Today, I was on vacation.

“Dryadnet.”(Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum)  Darn!  I just can’t get away from that music!

I drove my rusty old car, a Matador, out of the city and upstate to the rural roads where I was born and raised. Suburbs gave way to open fields and farms. These winding and twisty roads followed paths that were once walked by rebels and Red-coats alike. I was looking for one country road in particular. One that would take me home.

There on the right, Chickweed Lane. I turn and pass what used to be the Thorax farm. It’s been years since I’ve seen it. I understand that it has new owners. I hope Thorax is doing well. I called him Mr. Thorax once. He said it was unnecessary. He said his master didn’t believe in titles. When I was young I tried to do all I could to understand Thorax and what his stories meant about being an alien and that his master was a deity named Monty. I would look up at the stars at night and wonder which one he was from. Thorax once pointed and said, “That one right there.” Only trouble was, it was daylight and I couldn’t see the star he was pointing to. I think Thorax is the reason I wanted to become a detective and protect the toons and their creators.

I stopped the car short of my parents place and turned around. As I passed the farm again, I saw an old man in blue denim coveralls, sitting at a card table. There were open boxes arranged around the table and a sign that said, “MEMORIES”

After eight installments, I think Joe needs a vacation. He needs to get back to his roots. Maybe a trip to the country. A little farm…

 

My boss called me into his office today. His name is, T. Reaper. I’m not afraid of him.

“Joe,” he says. “You’ve been working too hard. I think you need a break. Go for a drive in the country. Get your thoughts together. A fresh start. A little time off will do you some good.”

“Thanks, Tom.” I say. “This case has been one for the comic books. Your right. I know what my problem is. Cow bells. I gotta have more Cow Bells. I have a fever, and the only perscription, is more Cow Bells!”

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. I work 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!).

Some detectives get threatening phone calls or other messages when they are working on a tough case. The case I was working on was not only tough, it was hard to chew, let alone swallow. All of my leads had gone dry as a bone. I was hoping to savor something juicy when a big man entered my office and dropped a large package of frozen meat on my desk.

“What’s this?” I ask. I recognized the man. His name was Angus, Black Angus.

“Eight pounds of beef, Detective.” he says. “That’s what you’re going to be if you solve this case. The people I represent, don’t want them to be found.”

“You’re not a thug, or a butcher, Angus.” I say as I stand. “You’re an agent. Who do you represent?”

“You are a rare man, Joe.” he says. “You figure it out.”

“That’s easy.” I say. “You are a talent agent. Some of the missing are performers and have appeared at the Café Moulin Noir. Your clients are probably hoofing it up at the Café right now and don’t want to see hide nor hair of them. Angus, this is a side of you I never expected to see.”

“Well done, Joe.” he says as he eases back to the door. “But there’s one thing you better not forget.”

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Those steaks.” he says. “Never thaw them at room temperature and always marinade them before you cook them to 160 deg. F internal temperature.” He closes the door behind him.

That guy really broils me.

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

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

My current missing persons’ case has left Sergeant Cliff Hanger and I all tied up. Currently, we are batting .000. We may have too much on our plate. I think it’s time we took a step back to think outside the box. We needed to clear the Cobb webs. The only thing we got from our informant, was a foul tip. I was almost tagged out by the mother of all pop flies. The blind alley was way off base. I think it is safe to say that we need a changeup. Cliff was pitching ideas, but they were being batted down. We already had two strikes against us. I balled my fists, but even I was beginning to choke.

Sergeant Hanger looks up from his notes. “Detective, I’ve just been wondering about this series of disapperances. To most detectives, this case is peanuts, but to a cracker-jack investigator like yourself, it isn’t. You are trying to root out all of the clues and get these people home safe. I mean, I may be out in left field about this, but what if it’s all a game?”

“Do you think that they have teamed up and faked their disappearances?” I ask.

“Maybe they’re just away for a few days before returning home?” he asks.

“Possibly.” I say. “But maybe, just maybe they’re benched somewhere that we don’t know about.”

“Sun Devil Stadium?”

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

 

P.S. I had to think about that one.

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. You know the rest.

I was working with Sergeant Cliff Hanger trying to put together the clues of this mass disappearance. Cliff was taking notes while I was ticking them off.

“There have been reports of a giant housefly clinging to the outside of buildings.”

“Fly on the wall…”

“All of these events seem to be centered around number Five Hammond Street.”

“Hammond Five…”

“We held onto Theodore Mayo while I went to check out his story.”

“Hold the Mayo…”

“Let us not forget that two children are missing, Roger Egg and his sister Lena.”

“Lettuce, two eggs…”

“An experienced detective like me cannot allow this case to go on forever.”

“Hard boiled…”

“I had our artist sketch the missing five people.”

“Draw five pitchers…”

“This case should be a day in the park.”

“Picnic…”

I take the notes from his hand. “What is this? I can’t read it.”

“Java Script.”

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

 

P.S. I really need to start carrying a gun.

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). One of these days I’ll find out where that music is coming from.

I left the hospital after my brush with death yesterday. I returned to the Narnia Police Department and headed down to see the sketch artist that has been working on drawings of the missing people. Inside his office, several sketches were hung on the wall as if in a gallery. There was Roger Egg, his sister, Lena, a fairy named Pibgorn, a succubus named Drucilla and a human named Geoffrey. These five people have been missing for some time now and it was my job to find them.

“Hello, Joe.” says Robert Rebob, our artist. “What’s new?”

“Hey, Bob.” I say. “Are these sketches ready? I need to post copies of them on Hammond Street.”

“Sure, Joe.” he says. “I have copies of them right here.”

“You keep the originals?” I ask.

“Yeah, Joe. A lot of people like my work.” he says, “Officer Arthur Blake in our talking animals division is always asking for me to do commisions.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever met officer Blake.”

“Well, Detective…” he says. “You may not know Art, but I know what he likes.”

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

 

P.S. Now I remember why I don’t carry a gun.

Voices in my head seem to be calling out to me.

“Can you tell us your name, Sir?”

“Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. Where am I?”

“You’re in a hospital, Sir. Sergeant? We can let you see him for five minutes.”

“Thank-you, Doctor. Detective Minotaur? It’s me, Sergeant Hanger.”

“Cliff? What happened? Why am I here?”

“Relax, Sir. You were almost crushed by the foot of a giant housefly, but you were saved at the last minute.”

“Saved? How? Who?”

“You were saved by the Spanish Minotaur.”

“I didn’t expect the Spanish Minotaur to save me.”

“NOBODY EXPECTS THE SPANISH MINOTAUR!!! My chief weapon is cowpies, cowpies and ears. Two! My TWO weapons are cowpies and ears and an almost fanatical devotion… I’ll come in again.”

“Sergeant?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“If he comes in again…”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Shoot him.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I remember a sound. It was an odd sound. If I wasn’t flattened by the fly’s foot then, what went ‘Squish’?”

“I don’t think you really want to know, Sir.”

“My TWO, yes, TWO weapons are cowpies and…”  *BOOM*   *thunk*

“Thank-you, Sergeant. That’s a big gun. What is it?”

“It’s a .44 Theseus/Pastis Special with a J. Thompson compensator.”

“Works for me.”

(Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum. Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum DAH-H-H!)

 

Check out Mythtickle for 1 Oct, 2008.

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. Some cops carry a gun, I carry a net, a Dryadnet(Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum!). I was walking the comic strip near number Five Hammond Street looking for clues to a missing persons case.

*thud*

I’ve noticed that the people around me are acting strangely. As if they expect something horrible to happen.

*Thud*

There is a palpable sense of panic in the air. There is also music. Like the opening strains of a March. It reminds me of a British comedy’s theme song.

*THUD*   (da dada da, da da da da-da-da, da dada da da da da da da-a,)

People are running now. Car alarms are going off. The music is getting louder.

*THUD*   (Da Da Da Da Dah, Da Da DA-DA-DA, DAH DAH)

The sky is dark now. Why is a shadow of a fly’s foot forming around me? OH, SH-

(DAH DAH)    *SQUISH*

*

The story you just heard is not true. The names have not been changed to protect anybody. I don’t know why I’m stuck doing this voice over. I’m not even being paid! Get a life people! You’ll be hearing from my agent!

 

An Apology;

 

I would like to apologize for the comments of the voice over artist(if you can call him that), from my last post. He is no longer associated with Dryadnet and will not be back for a fourth season.

My name is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. My partner’s name is… Okay, so I don’t have a partner. Sue me. I’m a cop working the comic strip beat. Most cops carry a gun. I carry a net, a dryadnet(Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum!). I’ve been assigned to a case involving two, possibly more fey creatures. They have been missing for over a year along with at least one human. In hopes of locating these missing persons, I am interviewing a man who claims to have seen one of the fey creatures.

“Your name, Sir?”

“Theodore Mayo. My friends call me ‘The’. I’m a SA man.”

“ ‘The’? Not Theo?”

“No, just ‘The’.”

“Can you describe the fey creature?”

“It was a huge housefly. It must have weighed about 37 pounds. It asked me for my clothes.”

“This housefly sounds familiar. Where did you see this housefly?”

“I was in front of number Five, Hammond Street. I gave it my clothes and it flew down a nearby alley.”

“Mr. Mayo, I want you to stay here while I check this out. Sergeant!”

“Yes, Detective Minotaur?”

“I’m going to Hammond Five, hold The Mayo.”

(Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum. Dum-m, Da Dum-Dum DAH-H!!)

My name, is Minotaur, Joe Minotaur. I’m a cop. I monitor the comic strip beat for crimes. I’ve been working on a missing persons’ case for over a year now. Several people have disappeared; Roger Egg and his sister, Lena, a demon named Drucilla, a dryad named Pibgorn and a human named Geoffry. In their place, a giant fly now lurks among the skyscrapers of the city, but that’s not my problem. Let the guys in sanitation handle that one.

Pibgorn was the first to be reported. She disappeared during a digital storm and hasn’t been seen since. Roger and Lena were reported shortly afterward by their frantic parents. They were quoted as saying, “I told Roger to leave that computer alone and get some fresh air!” Drucilla searched for any sign or signal, as she put it, of her friend until she too vanished. Geoffry was last seen(or not seen) wearing nothing but a 37 pound housefly and walking the streets being totally ignored(but that’s normal).

If you, or any of your friends have seen these people, please contact me at the Narnia Police Department, Hoo Haa Division.