Blousey McTanktop | A Weird Detective Story by Daniel Norrish

Officer Cape investigates millions in apparel theft and the death of Miss Columbian Necktie in this funny and strange short for the SHIRT STORY contest. Slim G-String and Big Daddy Fourvests are the names of just two of the supporting characters in this weird detective story by Daniel Norrish.

 

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BLOUSEY McTANKTOP

A Weird Detective Story

by Daniel Norrish

For the SHIRT STORY Contest 

 

 

Blousey McTanktop leapt out of bed. She loved the mornings. That special time of day when all she thought about was the possibilities of the next twenty four hours. Anything could happen. She could buy a new shirt, she could even buy two new shirts! Maybe she’d find a shirt and add it to her collection. It was growing every day. Blousey just couldn’t get enough.

Time for work! Blousey McTanktop threw on a bright orange shirt, and nothing else.

The young woman stepped out of her house and strolled casually down the street. The fresh, early morning air chilled the dimpled skin of her buttocks as her bare feet slapped over the concrete.

“Good morning Blousey!” Mr Threesocks said. He wore nothing but three socks. One for each foot and a spare he kept on his person, without having to carry it.

“Morning!” BLousey called back. She waved and continued on down the footpath.

“Off to work Blousey? That’s a lovely shirt.” Miss Hat said. She was a big, older woman with two nipple rings. She was ridding a bike and the rings swung back in forth in time with her knees as she peddled.

“Yep, off to work! You should come in for a coffee, I’ll throw in a free cookie.” Blousey replied with an enormous grin.

“How about a free shirt?”

Blousey scoffed at the ridiculous suggestion and walked on.

Blousey arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes before her shift started, as always. She clipped on the little nametag and started her shift.
The day was going well. The customers were in good spirits and other than the fact that Big Daddy Fourvests hadn’t had time to shower that morning, the staff were all cheerful too.

Then the cops showed up.

Blousey was carrying a milkshake to table six when the officers walked up to her.

“A table for lunch?” She asked.

“Not today Blousey, can we have a word out back? It’s serious.”

“Of course.” Blousey said. She told the other workers she’d be back in a minute and lead Officer Cape, with Officer Sunglasses, to the staff room.

Blousey sat next to the lunch table and the officers stood above her. She stared up at them as they pressed in close, hands on hips, taking that last little bit of personal space away.
“I’m sorry, is something wrong?” Blousey asked.

Officer Cape glimpsed around the room to make sure they were alone. Blousey couldn’t tell where Officer Sunglasses was looking.

“We’re investigating a string of violent robberies.” Officer Cape said.

“Oh no. Did you say violent? That sounds terrible.” Blousey clutched her palms to her face as she spoke.

“Yes, the most recent home invasion ended in a savage murder, one of the worst we’ve ever seen.”

“Oh my god! Who was killed?”

“Miss Columbian Necktie was hanged in her own living room. It was awful.”

“My lord, how sad. What do you need me for?”

“That’s the thing Blousey, we have a suspect. We’ve noticed something. It seems that the same items were stolen in each case, shirts.”
“Really?”

“Yes, millions of dollars of shirts are missing. Would you know anything about that?”

“No, why would I?”

Now Officer sunglasses spoke up, “Well, there is the obvious thing.”

“What might that be?”

“Are you really going to pretend not to know anything?”

“I’m not pretending.”

“Alright, is that the way you want this to go?”

Blousey shrugged. She leant back and crossed her arms.

“Can’t help you,” she said.

Then Officer Cape slammed his hand down on the table and began to shout, “Your mate, Slim G-String, was seen driving around town in a brand new Mercedes last week. Where did he get that kind of cash?”

“No comment.” Blousey replied.

“Come on, we know. We know he did it. No one has seen him outdoors during winter in years, and now he’s gagging for attention in the coldest months? No way, he’s up to something.”

“No comment.”

“You can’t protect him.”

“No comment.”

“Fine. Have it your way. We weren’t going to mention this last thing, but it seems you’ve forced us to.”

“Go on.”

Officer cape took a deep breath and produced a photograph. He handed it to Blousey.

“NO!” Blousey shrieked as she looked at it.

“Yes, I’m afraid so.”

The image showed Slim G-String walking down the street with a single bright red strip of spandex between his legs, and a white shirt over his chest.

“Sure you don’t know anything? You’ve got no idea what he’s been up to?”

Blousey said nothing.

“We’ll leave you to think about it then.”

As soon as the police had left, Blousey checked the messages on her phone. She only had one, from Slim G-String. It read: “Thanks again for the shirt.”

END

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