Cramulus Has Gained a Level

[Cain]

Cram, put a point in conjuration.  Use it to summon familiars for half magicka.

[Cramulus]

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Cramulus asked dubiously, strapping himself into the metal contraption.
"Of course it will," LMNO admonished. "I have a phd!"
"But, it's not in--" Cram's protests were cut off as the glass cockpit sealed shut. Panic set in briefly, but he gripped the controls and prepared for the countdown. Deep within the machine, strange engines rumbled to life.
"5...4...3..." the metallic voice echoed across the intercom. LMNO rushed back behind the barricades, where the women watched with equal parts admiration and anxiety. One thing was for sure: if Cram survived this one there would be plenty of pussy to go around. An otherworldly humming permeated the air as the engines worked up to speed, the tone screeching higher and higher.
"2...1..." Something inside the machine started glowing, the brightness increasing with the tone of the maddening whine of titanium and graphine pushed to the limit of physical laws. Cramulus silently cursed any gods that might be paying attention, for good measure. Let's see what you bastards got.
"0." The machine shot up off the concrete floor, spun violently in all directions simultaneously, then turned in a direction that cannot be pointed to, and was gone. All that was left was a crater the size of a school bus.

"Did it work?" Nigel asked, picking herself up off the floor.
"I don't know," LMNO admitted. He shook his head, dislodging concrete dust from his hair and attempting to regain his bearings. "It obviously did something, but he might have just --" A second sonic boom ripped through the hangar, knocking everyone back on their asses.

"Cram?" LMNO peeked above the crumbling barricade.
The machine had reappeared, dented and bloodstained. The cockpit began to open, then shuddered to a halt. A swift kick finished the job, and a slightly older and distinctly better dressed Cramulus climbed out. "I got him!"
Behind Cram, a mustachioed Serbian scientist eased his way out of the machine.

hah! 

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Cramulus woke up in a dumpster.  Again.  Someone was hammering on the side of the damn thing, and yelling "DETECTIVE CRAMULUS, WAKE UP!"  He attempted to move, but had the distinct impression that someone had stolen his legs.

"Get me out of here, and call the police!  Someone's stolen my fucking legs!"

"We ARE the police", the voice said.

"What a coincidence.  So am I."

Two uniforms hauled him out of the dumpster, wincing at the smell of trash, vomit, and nougat that emanated from Cram.  "The Captain wants to see you", the tall one said, "He said we'd find you here, sleeping off the victory party you threw for yourself for cracking that insulin-smuggling ring."

Cram vomited, and passed out again.

He woke up propped up in a chair in the captain's office.  "Are we feeling a little more human?" said captain asked him.

"Um, yes.  I feel great."

"You ought to, we gave you a full blood replacement, and some rookie's kidneys.  Look, great job on that sting last Wednesday, but there's a problem."

"What NOW?"

"Wilford has escaped, Detective Cramulus, and he's sworn revenge on you."

To be continued.

[Cramulus]

that fucking diabetic fuck!! I am going to strangle his bulgy neck until he shits snakes and shit

[Richter]

The warm golden glow slowly ebbed away as Cramulus stood voer the bloody pile that had once been a quill rat.  NEw horrible potential pulsed through every fiber of his being. 
30 levels, millions of minor pixelated bits smashed to get here, but it was finally time.

He opened his skill screen, the point counter straining like a polyuraeic obese man outside a too-small porta-potty, tabbed over to the "Poison and Boner" skill tree and begna to click....

[Eater of Clowns]

The Chief looked up from his desk.  He studied the thing before him as though it were his first time seeing it, and what he found he did not approve of at all.

"Glad you could make it in, Professor," he said the last word like it was as synonym for crotch rot.

"Yeah Chief, I saw the note on my desk."

The Chief nodded.

"It said 'The Chief would kindly like to request your presence in his office at your convenience.'  Seems Cheryl is nice-ing up your messages again.  Lucky I also saw the e-mail you sent about me getting my 'useless mentally deficient dick face' in front of you."

"Look shut the fuck up," The Chief said.  "You're in here because your new partner is waiting for you.  He's standing next to the door you came in through.  You didn't see him because you were expecting a birthday cake or something."  He gestured to the alleged person sitting precisely where he mentioned.  The alleged person hadn't been sitting there a moment ago, but hurriedly moved to that spot in order to prove The Chief retroactively correct.  "That's Eater of Clowns."

The young man was only an alleged person because he also might have been a puppet.  In fact, it might have been the reason Professor Cramulus looked over him entirely when entering.  He might have simply assumed someone had given him another gangly assed puppet for his birthday.

"Now as to your birthday," The Chief said.  "Congratulations, you're one year more of an asshole.  Now both of you get the fuck out of my office."

Cramulus hesitated before leaving.  He wasn't sure if this Eater of Clowns might need an arm up the ass in order to move about properly.  Ultimately deciding against it given his previous mistake in precisely this kind of situation, he shook the alleged person's hand and walked back to his desk.  Eater of Clowns stood in a not entirely un-puppet like manner and followed.

"So, you've been assigned to help me catch the Greyface Killer, eh," Cramulus said as they arrived at his desk, "well what makes you think you're...person...enough to do the job?  I've been through some great partners in the last few months, all of them full of these high ideals trying to uncover Greyface.  Then they blather on like a bunch of ninnies about following the message in the fnords and trying to find significance in the number five.  So what makes you different eh, rookie?  Not that I'm unwilling to take your help, I just want to know if you're here to help or if you're here to shout 23 skidoo at me every time we make a break.  Tell me about yourself, Eater of Clowns."

"Actually, uh," the alleged person began, "I was here to deliver some cupcakes."  He gulped.  "A woman named Cheryl ordered them, Professor."  He paused.  "Happy Birthday."

"Oh," Cramulus said, embarassed.  "Thank you."  As Eater of Clowns turned to go he said, "Wait!"  The possible puppet stopped.  "Why did you stay around so long?"

Eater of Clowns shrugged.  "I was coming to put the cupcakes on your desk and that chief yelled for me to get my 'deranged puking scum neck' into his office.  He's uh, he's a rather terrifying man."

Cramulus nodded knowingly.  "Well, since you're here, I could use your help.  I've got a lead on the Greyface and I'm going to follow it."

"I don't think you're getting it.  I don't know how 'Cupcake Delivery Man' is a difficult concept to get in this office, but I think you and the chief and that man who confessed to a bunch of boring murders are managing to miss the point.  I deliver cupcakes," he pointed in exasperation to the white box on the Professor's desk.  "Cupcakes delivered.  Goodbye."

"Wait, what!?  Confessed to a bunch of boring murders!?  When did this happen, what did he look like, where did he go!?"

"Yes I thought that was strange.  I wasn't even at the station yet, I'd just been walking down Center St. and he stopped me."

"Five twenty-three center street," Cramulus asked him.

"That sounds about right, wh-" but Eater of Clowns could not finish as Cramulus grabbed his arm and dragged him out the door.  "What?  What are we doing?  I'm a cupcake delivery man!"

"You're right," Cramulus stopped and turned.  He picked up the white box on his desk and thrust them into his new partner's hands.  "And you're going to deliver these to the Greyface Killer.  And first we're going to find him."

[Q. G. Pennyworth]

This thread is the best thing ever. Better than the other best thread ever. Also pie.

[EK WAFFLR]

When Cramulus woke up that morning, someone in Longyearbyen, Svalbard slipped on a banana pee as a result.

[Rumckle]

Rumckle gagged as he entered the room, the smell of blood and decaying bodies was thick in the air. The sight of the freshly killed bodies arranged in compromising poses with bodies that had been dead for months turned his stomach.

"Having problems there, rook?" asked Cramulus as he strolled into the room.

"It's a bit unsettling, I guess you're used to it though?"

"Heh, after you've seen the aftermath of a diabetic in a blood sugar rage nothing gets to you anymore," Cramulus replied, "Anyway, you better get yourself sorted out, I need you to get fingerprints off those bodies."

"I don't think you can easily get fingerprints off bone and skin, but I gue-"

"Hey, who is the Professor here?" Cram interjected.

"Uh, you are," Rumckle replied sheepishly, he'd heard about the Professor's legendary rage, and did not want to be subjected to one of his feared WOMPs.

"That's right, and don't you forget it," Cramulus seemed to have calmed down, "Oh, and I'll need a semen sample."

"How do you know there'll be semen here?"

Cram looked puzzled, "I wasn't talking about the crime scene, I get a semen sample from every new recruit."

[Cramulus]

the "Poison and Boner" skill tree and begna to click....

:spits coffee:

THOSE ARE THE EXACT SKILLZ THAT PAY THE BILLZ

"I don't think you're getting it.  I don't know how 'Cupcake Delivery Man' is a difficult concept to get in this office, but I think you and the chief and that man who confessed to a bunch of boring murders are managing to miss the point.  I deliver cupcakes," he pointed in exasperation to the white box on the Professor's desk.  "Cupcakes delivered.  Goodbye."

that whole story was hilarious, and is making me want to open a detective agency....

you write good dialog, you know that?

When Cramulus woke up that morning, someone in Longyearbyen, Svalbard slipped on a banana pee as a result.

grosssss

.. ....    _____ __ ___

that was my attempt at emoting "banana pee", but you might not be able to see the yellow. So be careful, don't slip!

"That's right, and don't you forget it," Cramulus seemed to have calmed down, "Oh, and I'll need a semen sample."

"How do you know there'll be semen here?"

Cram looked puzzled, "I wasn't talking about the crime scene, I get a semen sample from every new recruit."

it's for my "collection"

[Rumckle]

Next week on Cram Scene Investigation:

Rumckle: It looks like someone has replaced this guys insulin with ticks.

Cramulus: I guess he must be a diabeTICK

[Triple Zero]

PREVIOUSLY, ON CROUCHING CRAMULUS, HIDDEN ZERO:

Processor Cramulus flipped his disintegrator gun back to its safety setting, labeled MEDIUM RARE, and put it back into his holster.

He took a few steps forward until he stood in de middle of the smouldering crater. The ground felt pleasantly warming to his feet. As opposed to the rest of the--wherever he was. What in the bloody cunting hyperfuck was up with the sky, anyway?

"The sky. Yes, sorry about that. It's this, you see ..."

Triple Zero held up a dark-grey box. A remote control?

"Battery's dead. Now it got stuck on a dead channel, but it looks kind of funky don't you think?"

Cramulus turned towards the figure, who seemed to be dressed in orange. Seemed. He seemed to be dressed in orange so much, it really hurt his eyes, in some sense. But he wasn't wearing any orange, he was just seeming it, seeming it real hard.

Processor Cramulus blinked. It didn't help.

"ANYWAY, with that taken care of ... maybe you can tell me what in the name of anti-gorilla pancake mutilation I'm doing here?"

Cramulus frowned. He was known for his colourful language use, priding himself on the fact that nobody ever heard him use the same curse twice. But this one was really out there, even for his standards.

Triple Zero appeared to be making a note. No, he actually was taking a note. Processor Cramulus blinked again, just to make sure. Didn't help one bit.

Triple Zero looked up from his clipboard.

"Yes, about your business here ... could you please hand me your duck for a moment?"

"But you already have a duck!", Cramulus protested. It was true, Triple Zero was cradling a black duck, with the word TIME written in white lettering on one of its wings.

"Correct, but I need to have a pair."

Cramulus looked at his own duck. It was white, with the word SPACE written on one of its wings in black lettering.

"Well okay... But I don't understand, what use could anyone possibly have for a TIME and SPACE pair of ducks?"

As Processor Cramulus handed over his duck, Processor Cramulus appeared behind Processor Cramulus and raised his disintegrator gun.

"WELL DONE, Processor Cramulus!", said Triple Zero.

"Umm thanks?", said Processor Cramulus.

"Sure thing.", said Processor Cramulus, adjusted his disintegrator gun and pulled the trigger.

Processor Cramulus flipped his disintegrator gun back to its safety setting, labeled MEDIUM RARE, and put it back into his holster.

He took a few steps forward until he stood in de middle of the smouldering crater. The ground felt pleasantly warming to his feet. As opposed to the rest of the--wherever he was. What in the onion-blazing turdsquiggles was up with the sky, anyway?

"The sky. Yes, sorry about that. It's this, you see ..."

Triple Zero held up a dark-grey box. A remote control?

"Battery's dead. Now it got stuck on a dead channel, but it looks kind of funky don't you think?"

Cramulus turned towards the figure, who seemed to be dressed in orange. Seemed. He seemed to be dressed in orange so much, it really hurt his eyes, in some sense. But he wasn't wearing any orange, he was just seeming it, seeming it real hard.

Processor Cramulus blinked. It didn't help.

"ANYWAY, with that taken care of ... maybe you can tell me what in the name of electronic leek genocide I'm doing here?"

Cramulus frowned. He was known for his colourful language use, priding himself on the fact that nobody ever heard him use the same curse twice. But this one was really out there, even for his standards.

Triple Zero appeared to be making a note. No, he actually was taking a note. Processor Cramulus blinked again, just to make sure. Didn't help one bit.

Triple Zero looked up from his clipboard.

"Yes, about your business here ... could you please hand me your duck for a moment?"

"But you already have a duck!", Cramulus protested. It was true, Triple Zero was cradling a black duck, with the word TIME written in white lettering on one of its wings.

"Correct, but I need to have a pair."

Cramulus looked at his own duck. It was white, with the word SPACE written on one of its wings in black lettering.

"Well okay... But I don't understand, what use could anyone possibly have for a TIME and SPACE pair of ducks?"

As Processor Cramulus handed over his duck, Processor Cramulus appeared behind Processor Cramulus and raised his disintegrator gun.

"WELL DONE, Processor Cramulus!", said Triple Zero.

"Umm thanks?", said Processor Cramulus.

"Sure thing.", said Processor Cramulus, adjusted his disintegrator gun and pulled the trigger.

TO BE CONTINUED

[Cramulus]

  that was extremely creative. I thought I was going crazy for a second!