Kenny’s filthy notebook (with copious amount of badly drawn hooters) legible page #5: Ah! Sleeping is great! Wait a damn minute… I just slept a few hours ago! The Inquest is still going on? Lords, how long will this take?!
After fat Fisher fuc- uh… walked off, this dame with an apron walked in.
Denis, Denis… I knew there was something wrong with you. |
Look at you. Eyeing that GYLF with those beady eyes of yours.
Once again, I Observed the shit out of the hearing.
|Wha…? Oh, you’re done?|
Finally! This beeyotch sure can talk. Let’s organize a little bit of our thoughts so far, shall we? Geraldine Tracey seems to be a bit of a player herself. We could have gotten along famously had she still be alive. The possibility of her being killed in a crime of passion escalates through the roof.
Fisher and Tracey are now Prime Suspects which, in any Agatha Christie novels, automatically become innocent based on her style of writing. And we’re done! I think we’re done. Is that wishful thinking?
|Sigh… yes, it is.|
|Yes, yes. Are we frickin’ done?|
Finally! If this kept going on, I’ll start murdering people. Leaving the courthouse, I went to the East for some fresh air and there’s a café. Might as well go grab a cuppa.
|I smell coffee… and cheap lawyers.|
But who do I spot snuggling together in the corner of the café but Denis and the dame whose ass was eye-raped by him a few minutes ago…
|Oh, Gladys… I love it when you rub your tush against mine.|
Better use the power of my NormalMan to Observe them and capture some screenshots for a granny porn entry.
|Oliver gets the Bribe command in his menu? What about me?|
Like I said, the more the arrow of incrimination is pointed at Fisher and Mr. Tracey, the less suspicion I have of them. My suspicion on Gladys, however, is slowly getting up like a parishioner’s erection during a choir boy serenade. Anyway, better leave them lovebirds in case it escalates into a full-scale lemonparty. Please don’t ask or Google what the hell that is. I’m still trying to get that image out of my head and… I just piqued your curiosity so much that you’re gonna Google it anyway, aren’t you? Fine, it’s your funeral.
Going further east, I was absolutely sure I’m going to come to the boundary of the game’s boundaries. And I did but… just not what I expected.
|More places to go? WTF?|
Seriously, just how big can this game be? By selecting the Travel command, I’m able to take a bus to Jumbles, which is where Geraldine Tracey’s home is located. Like I professed before, amateur killers leave the most clues. All aboard!