ProblemSleuthDaily

Hmmm, nah, I don’t plan on doing any other adventures right now, I’ve already done homestuck and problem sleuth

Thanks!

Author commentary: That's the end of Problem Sleuth. A story that pretends to be a game, about keys which pretend to be guns, told by a guy who pretends to know what he's doing. The above panel was the only piece of quality artwork posted in almost 2000 pages of online content. That trend would continue for many thousands of pages to come. How about something involving kids and houses this time?

Author commentary: These prohibition era detectives are not particularly enlightened men. Someone should sit down with them and share some good feminist literature.

You pick up the phone and to no surprise it is some dame yacking about something. It's always the same with dames. Always roped in a fix to some john with busy meat hooks and a spell of bad habits. Makes a man reach for his flask just thinkin' about it. Miss, if you'll just settle down I'll... Toots, listen. I can barely understand a word you're... Sweatheart, I can't make heads or tails of...

Another balmy summer evening. The city rolls these nights like loaded dice. It's tough for a flatfoot to make it in a town like this. Some towns are built loose and a stiff breeze of upset blows through, but these bricks are tight-knit. Built like a damn Chippewa birchbark canoe. Not much daylight seeps through, see? A gumshoe asks questions and questions upset. It's like some shawlless dame frostbit in winter, too proud to take your coat for some damn reason. You know how dames are. The city turns her cold shoulder to a type a fella and that's all there is to it. But a steak dinner don't pay for itself if you catch my drift. The streets won't bang on your office glass and ask for placation. The streets ease themselves, but a type of fella knows better than to just step aside. A man finds space between the city's greased wheels of upkeep and when the time spins along it sees, yeah, it sees there were feet filling shoes on just that slab of rock. A man waits and listens. Every place, a placation. The alleyway spike of a bottle breaking - some tipsy beggar tithes to gravity, razor jewels shimmering on oilslick asphalt. The wail of a baby three floors up - ink is blotted before pact of appeasement sealed, hot formula dabbed on mother's wrist. And the shrill complaint of a phone... Ain't no one can say a man wasn't filling shoes here.

Author commentary: Chicagopolis sure has some tall bridges. It also has that triangle shaped building from NYC. Also pretty sure that's Doc Scratch's building to the left there.

Author commentary: The zoom sequence is as follows. Earth -> Somewhere in Russia I think -> Chicago rotated by 90 degrees. The canon (though unmentioned) name of the city is CHICAGOPOLIS.

Author commentary: GPI: Cue Journey's "Any Way You Want It".

Author commentary: Death has had his ups and downs, but has finally managed to make someone stay dead when it really matters. Mobster Kingpin's brutal reign of bootlegging and bust smuggling has come to an end, thus leaving an opening for Ace Dick's extremely similar, morally lateral aspirations.

Death is nowhere to be seen. You take the opportunity once again to sneak out of Death's door.

Author commentary: And ZAD landed a gig with Busts R US, naturally. You can kind of piece together what happened here. The angels there were messing around with the blotspitter, and fired a shot through the door, taking down another bust guy as usual. But the gun's in typewriter form from when we enter the scene. ZAD clearly struggles with the decision to consume the cadaver's delicious head like a soft melon.