Missed Classic 4: The Scoop - How's it hanging Cliff?

Written by Kenny McCormick

Kenny’s filthy notebook (with plans to patent for of an obviously functionally unsound X-Ray Goggle design) legible page #7: Gross! Murders, I can handle but… incest? This is London, not Bradford, for God’s sakes.

Carrying on my westward sojourn, I came to (what we call ‘filler screen’) an area named “Grass and Trees”.

Pardon me for the time jump as I forgot to take a screenshot of this place earlier… which has nothing. And I want you entertained but can’t do that if there’s nothing.

But seriously, this is an adventure game which is based on Agatha Christie’s novel. There are going to be plenty of red herrings but I definitely do not believe that there will be any wasted spaces like these. It’d be the equivalent of getting circumcision for no reason other than that you can.

As much as that space left a lot of intrigue, I just couldn’t find what I could do with it at this point of time. So I continued my way to the next screen on the west.

Ah… Ye Olde Personale Peepshowe?

At the end of the western path, I come to this building called the “Hargot Hovel”. Within the house lives the Hargots. Terribly original, I know. Anyway, there’s a chubby housewife with a couple of cute kids clinging to her apron strings like the goddamn mama’s boys that they’ll grow up to be.

You can see Geraldine’s window from here? Be glad the boys aren’t in their teens yet. (Also, this screenshot is again taken after my first visit. Uh… ARE YOU NOT ENT- *smack* “Stop screaming in the house!”, says Mrs. McCormick)

From our discussion, she knows about Fisher and Tracey but is quite dismissive of Geraldine (for her promiscuous ways) and Gladys (for her acid tongue). Other than some slight confirmation that what Fisher and Gladys had said during the inquest was true, there was nothing else to ask. The only strange thing was that Tracey would come visit Geraldine regularly ‘like clockwork’, based on Mrs. Hargot.

If that is true, where is he now? Does he even know Geraldine is dead? Or is he the killer and now in hiding? Or is he, himself, already dead?

With nothing else to do in Jumbles, I took the bus back to Brighton Street and selected the Travel option. Holy fuuuu~chsia sandwich. Not only can I take the train here, I can hail a cab to go to a few more different areas that I can’t get to when I was at Victoria Station! The more clues I got and more people I questioned, the game gets larger as well.

In order not to get overwhelmed, I opted to go back to Victoria station to find Amethyst the Hottie in Piccadilly Palace first. I had a short interview with her and she seemed also into some serious hanky panky. I guess birds of a feather do fuc- er… flock together. When I showed her Pott’s Letter (that incestuous son-of-a-gun), she is either too ditzy or too smart to acknowledge that sexual undertone and instead espouses how much sibling love both have for each other. Seriously, woman? Are you that stupid or think that I’m that stupid?  

Pick-a-diddly Palace? Count me in!

Oh, another thing about showing stuff to people. Be careful who you show your shit to. You don’t show Oliver’s Journal to Oliver or Redman’s Scrapbook to Redman. They can and will grab their shit back. Inspector Smart is the worst of the lot as he will grab ANY evidence that you might need to win the game (I presume) and say that it’s meant to be kept within Scotland Yard as Criminal Exhibits, so f*ck you. This is another gameplay mechanic not included in any other game. I’m wondering; if I give him enough stuff that I stole, will he solve the mystery and win the game for me? Psshh… yeah, right. My large spotted dick can sing too.

Being the wuss that I am, I opted not to travel too far out in this new area and followed my trail back to my good ol’ neighbor, Mr. Denis Oliver. Where would he be? The Morning Star, maybe? It’s pretty late and I think he should be needing to submit his findings of the day to the editor for next day’s article.

How I long to join in the ranks of these top dogs under the esteemed tutelage of Ernest Hemingway. F*ck Wrightley, his pathetic tabloid paper and every blistering idiot willing to work for him. Er… that didn’t sound right

And so starts my raid on the rival newspaper house. You just can’t keep a reporter, who’s hungry for success and punani, down.

I can’t believe I’d actually steal something as shitty as a log.

Right at the reception area, I grabbed a phone logbook detailing all the calls made to & fro The Morning Star. It might help stop a bullet or a knife. Who knows. One great thing about this game, the Search command will let you find all the things available to take in the area. No goddamn pixel-hunting which plagues almost every adventure game in that era. How bloody cool is that, huh, Trix? Look at how much fun I’m having while you end up playing Psycho and Emmanuelle!

With my mission accomplished (stealing shit) here, I went to the east because west is still pretty 80s to me.

They have a printing press. THEY HAVE A PRINTING PRESS! F*CK YOU, WRIGHTLEY!

It’s a pretty sad day when a news journalist had to read the news written by another news publisher instead of writing one himself. And that day is Tuesday. I stole the newspaper from the press and, in my own mind; I’m secretly imagining Oliver doing the same to the Daily Courier. After which, I spoke to the night foreman who looks like a responsible fellow.

And his name is Printer. Foreman Printer.

Agatha sure is being creative in her naming convention. I’ll bet Foreman Printer and London Bobby were really popular in High School. Or Grade School. Or Secondary School. Whatever you Brits call the congregating place of kids who just started growing their first set of pubes and hate to be there.

With my mission accomplished (stealing shit) here, I tried going to the east because west is still pretty 80s to me. But the only way is to the west. Going back to the Reception area where I came from and walking past it, I find myself in the Reporter’s Lounge. The descriptions of the areas are pretty whimsical. Like myself, but classier.

Just like a spinster’s titti- er… titillating hairdo.

Traversing further inwards, I came to the Throne Room of The Morning Star. Both Hemingway and Redman are not here, strangely, Anyway, I found the Hemingway’s note here so… you know how it goes.

YOINK!

 Finally, passing through the grated door beside the editor’s work desk, I’m faced with an extremely apt end-game scenery of a late 60’s/early 70’s mystery drama show – a scaffolding.

♬I believe I can fly♪… NOT!

Hmm… could one of The Morning Star’s Editors be the killer? And this is where he will plunge to his death, face first into a huge pile of cliché (probably not in the 60’s)? It would be pretty badass if it was. Anyway, knowing Agatha Christie, they are also not very possible suspects. I am starting to think that a woman did it because there are too many incriminating evidence against almost every man in the game (except Smart, me, my boss, London Bobby and Foreman Printer).

Only time will tell if I’m right. Let’s stop here for the cliffhanger. Or scaffolding hanger.

Admin's note: This marks the end of The Scoop -marathon - next week we will return to our regular schedule with Elvira-post coming up 7th of January. But when will Kenny's Scoop -odyssey continue and has anyone nerves to bear the excitement? Who is the mysterious killer and what sleazy bar is he hanging in? What will be the final rating of The Scoop and have we finally found a contender for Monkey Island? Can Kenny become a reporter of the year or will he have to find new job from McDonalds? Will he ever get to experience true love or at least a reasonable facsimile? Is he truly the Prince of Darkness and why I am suddenly feeling a stack of oven-hot coals piling on me? Only time will tell...