***
A bloodcurdling scream split the summer night. Why was the library door propped open? Movement discernible through the conservatory window...pages 22-25 mysteriously torn out...everything fuzzy...***
A great sense of relief overcame Sherwoode as he caught sight of the group at last. Still, the italicized, stream-of-consciousness faux-whodunit jargon from the preceding paragraph made him feel queasy. The current paragraph was equally putrid. Something had to be done. Pinwheeling his arms around, Sherwoode let loose a barrage of machine gun noises and sprinted towards the group. En route he began to harangue them in his satanic 'monster truck' ad voice.
Maybe Pony's right. It is possible that I'm seeing the world through dark tinted lenses after the tragic sinking of my desert island short (see below). But still, it felt a little lazy. If I could give you one more star I would, although Pony kind of already has.
Sincerely,
Maniacs
P.S. Could this be a Matza? Hard to say.