COLUMBO: The Yeard is Deceitful Above All Things
Written, Directed, and Produced by Zap Rowsdower
Peter Falk as Lt. Columbo
Terry Goodkind as Richard Rahl
The night was cloaked in blackness- it was not just coffee black, nor was it the blackness of spilled ink; rather, the night could be said to be as black (or blacker) than the dark heart of a two-bit whore craving her next hit of cocaine as she eyes your filled-to-bursting-wallet with an evil glint in her eyes, and clutches a heavy waffle iron behind her back, just itching to bring it down on your head.
And it was in this blackness that crime! flourished. This thought pleased Richard Rahl. It pleased him mightily. So pleased was Richard with the thought that his luxurious yeard began to bristle in every direction. A fierce grin, almost a rictus, enslaved Richard’s face as he crept through the darkness’s black shadows. Thoughts of goats and walrus danced like sugar plumbs in his head.
Richard crept across the silent lawn, pale green under the brilliant moonlight, towards the sprawling mansion. Richard’s legs walked past the white picket fence, and Richard’s arm had to resist a masculine urge to tear off a tree branch and clack-clack-clack it along the wooden posts while his mouth cried Callooh! Callay!
After a period of time, Richard managed to creep stealthily up to a window, which he pried open using his trusty Sword of Truth. Richard scampered into the open window and found himself inside a child’s room. Toys and stuffed animals lay scattered willy nilly across the floor. Richard thought this was likely the result of a debased Collectivist upbringing.
Richard’s entry had not gone undetected. There was a bed in the corner. The bed was long, like some vile centipede. On the bed, a small form stirred and rubbed its eyes. The little girl stared, Sindy Lue Who-like at the gangly, yearded man who had broken into her room.
Recognition ignited like lighter fluid in a firestorm. “You shouldn’t be here!” the little girl stated, in what Richard found to be an ear gratingly un-Moral voice. “Daddy said if you ever dragged your stinking yeard across our property, he’d sue your ass back to the stone age.
Litigious little bitch, thought Richard, as he advanced on the bed. In terror, the little girl drew her blankets to her chin. Richard’s breathing increased and his heart pounded in his ears while his eyes danced the Light Fandango and his tongue did a nosedive into the back of his throat. Richard was excited. The time had come.
The little girl opened her mouth to scream for help. Richard brought his boot upward and connected it with the jaw in one swift motion. The jaw shattered like fine china. Her own teeth had severed her tongue and the sudden gush of blood drowned all of her subsequent screams.
Richard watched in satisfaction as the rapid loss of blood brought the girl’s struggles to an end. The body twitched once more and then lay completely still. Richard took a moment to savor his triumph before he took the steps necessary to complete his crime. Once finished, Richard slipped out the window and disappeared into the night.
Sirens wailed like a banshee with a stubbed toe and broke the silence of the morning like a one armed juggler would break a cabinet full of fine china. A dozen or more police cars and an ambulance had pulled into the driveway of the mansion. Policemen ducked in and out of the front door while a pair of paramedics wheeled out a stretcher. The form on the stretcher was quite small and concealed entirely by a bed sheet. From inside the home came the inconsolably cry of a bereaved mother.
Richard Rahl observed all this from the balcony of his palatial estate, situated adjacent to the scene of the crime. Excitement beat against Richard’s breast as he stroked his yeard. All was going according to plan. No doubt the police, dullards though they were, would be able to piece together the clues Richard had so considerately sprinkled throughout the scene of the crime. But Richard was not one to let events shape themselves; great men shape events and Richard was a great man. Of this he was certain.
Richard wasted no time and soon found himself striding up the driveway of his neighbor. He was intercepted by a young policeman who tried to bar his way. Richard’s eyes glared a glare of hate and the young officer visibly wilted.
“I’m sorry, Sir,” stammered the officer. “I can’t let anyone through the cordon. There’s an investigation underway.”
Grinding his teeth in rage, Richard affixed the officer with a raptor like gaze. The man paled. “Get out of my way,” grated Richard, between clenched teeth. Finally, the officer acknowledged Richard’s masculine superiority and stepped aside. Richard was not at all surprised. Richard possessed a naturally imposing stature which was enhanced by his outfit. Before Richard had left his home, he had carefully selected him most threatening war wizard outfit.
Draped from head to foot in form hugging black leather, Richard Rahl looked like a shiny black shadow. Zippers, buckles and metal studs adorned the outfit and glittered with a metallic sheen. In addition to the outfit itself, Richard wore a black leather mask that engulfed his entire head. Only the eye slits and the zippered mouth opening allowed Richard to see and speak. The general effect of the outfit was devastating. Men and women alike could not help but gape in hopeless awe as Richard strode past them, his skin rubbing against the leather and producing a sound eerily similar to that of flatulence.
Richard gained the door and did not even pause. Simultaneous to his entry, Richard began barking orders. Richard met every questioning look with a raptor like gaze that cowed all opposition. With grand hand gestures Richard directed the police operation like he was directing the symphony of the universe. Richard strode through the crowd in his leather bedecked majesty.
The only problem Richard had was when he encountered the bereaved parents. The man and woman stood in a large study where they were questioned by a tactful police lieutenant. The woman, racked with sobs, was held tightly in her husband’s arms.
As Richard strode into the room, the man looked up in shock and dismay.
“Rahl, what the Hell are you doing in my house? I thought I told you I’d fill your yeard full of buckshot if you ever set foot on my property again.”
Richard ground his teeth. “Don’t piss me off. I’m here to help.”
Suspicion and confusion waged a brutal battle across the man’s face against the forces of gratitude and curiosity. Suspicion and confusion leapt from the trenches and made a made a mad dash toward the enemy lines. Both gratitude and curiosity had been stunned by the initial artillery barrage but had quickly snapped into action as soon as the deafening explosions came to an end. Peering over the top of the trenches they took aim and picked off the attackers one by one. The withering hail of gunfire tore into the enemy like an avowed carnivore tore into a double decker ham sandwich dripping with mustard and relish after spending a month long vacation in Vegetarian Hell. Whoops and cheers erupted from the trenches as suspicion and confusion was slowed, halted, and then routed. As they fled back toward the safety of their lines the defenders mounted their own counteroffensive. Crawling out of their trenches and foxholes, gratitude and curiosity pursued the foe not only on foot but on great land ironclads. Belching smoke and gunfire, the metal behemoths trundled across the battlefield, ripping through barbwire with relentless ease. The ragged remnants of suspicion and confusion reached the safety of their own lines only moments before the cataclysm. Too late to take up defensive positions, suspicion and confusion were slaughtered like so many prize pigs. Crushed, shot, and bayoneted, there were few survivors. Those who did survive were captured, and marched hands clasped behind their head to the nearest POW camp. The Powers that Be were pleased and medals and promotions were handed out with two fisted abandon. It was their finest hour. Period. Paragraph.
“Help? What do you mean?” asked the husband whose name happened to be Jagang “Lovechild” Zabladowski. A former hippy turned yuppie Jagang, had made and lost several fortunes within his own lifetime. As the 60s drug induced haze had faded, he had joined the Peace Corp and toured the world singing folksongs to various ethnic children with the help of his trusty tambourine. He had quaffed vegemite with the Aborigines of Australia, chewed the raw and bloody heart of a great boar brought down by blood brother tribesmen of sub-Saharan Africa, and slain a giant squid hellbent on sinking a North Sea oil rig in the teeth of a hurricane. Wanderlust sated, Jagang returned to the States and sought his fortune within the steaming jungles of Florida. Within the swampland he dug a mighty mine in the face of a mountain. He struck gold. With a gunnysack full of precious metals clutched between his teeth, he dived in the fetid swamp and began the long journey back to civilization. Kill or be killed. Fight or flee. Fang and claw. The law of the jungle. He found a hidden civilization deep within the swamps of Florida populated solely by the descendants of runaway slaves who had tried to flee North on the underground railroad only to have their efforts foiled by their abysmal sense of direction. He saved a voodoo princess from being sacrificed to ancient and forgotten gods. She was a wild and lusty wench and he carried her out of the swamps in his arms, his gunny sack of gold still clutched between his teeth. Free of the jungle, they collapsed on white sands of the beach. They made love under the tropical sun while the surf crashed against their writhing forms. They married and moved to Nevada, where it was warm in the winter, cool in the summer and the skies were always smiling. He lost his multimillions in the dot com bust of the late ‘90s. With a single penny, he rebuilt his riches by investing heavily in the false moustache industry. A sudden surge in stock prices solidified his finances. A few corporate takeovers later, Jangang found himself the leading rubber yak and animatronic narwhale tycoon in America. In all his travels and trials, no disaster had ever wounded him as deeply as the loss of his daughter. And that was why he was willing to accept help from an asshat like Richard Rahl.
“I intend to use the power of my staggering intellect to solve this crime!” declared Richard and smugly hooked his thumbs into his belt. Silence rang throughout the room. With a furious yell, deep from the bottom of his feet, Richard charged out of the study and towards the little girl’s room.
Jagang and his wife exchanged puzzled glances before they scrambled after the leather clad dynamo. The police lieutenant watched them leave. He took a moment to tap the ash from his cigar before he followed at a more sedate pace.
- Zap Rowsdower