A Very Fine Film Indeed

Dearest reader,

As a detective (of sorts) I often feel the need to detect.
Indeed, there is very little I will not attempt to detect in one manner or another. Maybe you will see me, of an afternoon, swinging a metal detector wildly around a local park, trying to discover which trees have gold in (very few) or if dogs are made of aluminium (they are!). Mayhap I could be spied asking an unusually large builder why his head is so big or asking a doctor of medicine why an eye goes black when one is hit by a builder.
You see, I will detect anything.

One recent and truly top-hole detection I have made is that of a curious film based on the much loved series of books by writer and mentalist Arthur Conan Doyle, "Sherlock Bones The Motion Picture."
The books, as you might have guessed, are about a crime solving dog with a Scottish accent and a penchant for leading fat, ugly children around in the name of detection, a dog after my own heart (as I am a man after a dog's heart!). It concerns smugglers, smuggling and attaching manquins to boats.

The film is an authentic representation of "Bones" in so far as he is a dog with a Scottish accent solving crimes, fat children, men in lycra shorts etc. etc. However, it commits that frequent and most heinous of crimes: transporting the stories to America, home of the brave, land of the fee, house of the Whopper, the big meg, the chilli on cheese, the cheese on toast, where's my beef, helicopter's folly, Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Any realism that the original books may or may not have contained is completely wiped away by this incongruity and after mere minutes of listening to the talk-boxes of some of these yankee doodles one, as always, becomes nauseous.

Another unfathomable detail is the glaringly obvious omission of "Watson", Bones' flying nursemaid with a brain capacity the size of a super-computer and "Moriarty: The Horse With The Force."

Despite these little snafus Sherlock Bones The Motion Picture is quite the rollercoaster ride of emotions. The main one being the need to punch fat, ugly children square in the jaw.
And in that way is it not 100% accurate to the book? I say 'yes'!

Any self respecting or self loathing fan of the mad druid Arthur Conan Doyle should immediately beg borrow or steal this moving photogram on Video Laser Disc or beta-max wax cylinder.

It's fun for all the family (although second-cousins may feel sexually uncomfortable during some scenes).

Watch it and report back to me.

HOMS

Sarlog Homs: InterTIMEnsional Detective

I'm here!
Typing at your blue eyes with this, my keyboard of truth, and these, my fingers of facts.

I've recently been training Kalim Gerald Barkleton Twing to do sit ups. Something no other dog has achieved in the history of mankind. Or so I'm assuming, I haven't actually taken any time to look it up.
He nearly got it today when I held his front paws between my teeth while rooting his hind quarters to the floor with my mitts. There was blood drawn on both sides of course, but it was all in good humour and we were all but there. Another couple of days and I'm sure he'll have cracked it. Maybe I could invent some sort of dog rowing machine, it might improve the correct muscles for sit ups (I'm guessing, I've not looked into it).

One thing I have been looking into is time travel. I was quite the student of time travel, once upon a year, and recently my passion for it has been rekindled. It was through a documentary on television about the loss of the old ways, the iPod generation, death of the druids and so forth and it got me thinking. Why don't I just go back in time and get them back and put them in this time which I am now in.
I made up my mind, there and then, to buy a time machine.
There seem to be no working examples of time machines in England today. All the models I could lay my crumbling hands on were aged relics, the most recent dating from yesteryear, the oldest going all the way back to days of yore. One or two from a bygone age too but nothing really to speak of.
Besides, none of those marvelous men and their time machines were to be bought or sold, even when I offered them in excess of £17, so I took a few notes, one or two photograms and decided to build my own. With my superintelligence and my good looks and my supposed drink problem how hard could it be?
Needless to say I used the generic formulas, "Tigh's Thighs", Kindlemix, "The Constorum Pollantiar Therfour", you know, the basics, nothing too flashy. Besides, my intention was to get this chap up and gyrating betimes. That and the fact that Wells' Bells are particularly difficult to get hold of in these backwards modern times, limiting any time travel made in the obvious way.
It was one week later when the machine was finished.
It didn't look like much admittedly. (picture provided)
It's quite a simple cross section but I believe all the important things have been included.

I immediately took the thing for a test run, deciding to go back in time FOURTEEN MINUTES. With this in mind I typed in the appropriate time and date and in no time at all (literally) I was 'back in time'.
I actually arrived back just in time to see myself feed Kalim Gerald Barkleton Twing.
"Stop!" I cried, and my previous body turned with astonishment towards my being, "That food will make him sick all over the wall!"
But it was too late. As the words came galloping out of my larynx a stream of dog tummy juice frothed against the new paintwork.
"Ah," I said, as the present me, not the old me "if only I'd made it fifteen minutes."
"Don't fret," I said, the old me this time,"when I do a test run I'll make it fifteen minutes!"
Sure enough, fourteen minutes later, the old me stepped into the time machine and typed in FIFTEEN MINUTES. Before he pressed the button, we shared a poignant look. A tear fell from his eye, and by definition mine, although it wasn't actually my body, although really it was.
"What's the future like?" he asked.
"Sorry," I said, "I only got this far."
And with a final sob he activated the machine.
I never saw him again.
All I can assume is that the machine didn't work and the test run failed. He might be seven hundred years in the past by now, or fifty thousand years in the future.
"What's the future like?" he asked.
Such poignance.
Such poingance.

Breathtaking: The gravitational pull of pepsi

Dear Lord Half-and-half,

It seems that rather than ask me to investigate what would make a good new logo for their drinking company, the Pepsi Cola Company seem to have consulted a magic druid from beyond insanity.

This secret document must reach no one but you and the rest of the internet.
Can I trust you with that?
You're too blasted right I can't.
That's why you're not allowed to look at it.
I've changed my mind.
This sort of absolute bleating nonsense is just the sort of thing that could put one off design, drinks and the concept of fizzing.

What is possibly more absurd is that the design alone cost Pepsi around a million dollars. I could have had that money! That's a lifetime of peanut brittle or crispy M&Ms!
It make you wonder what else they're spending their American coins on.

I'm looking at some of these men now through my spying eyes. Pepsi men. You are not looking at them so you must trust that what I relate to you is what is actually going on NO MATTER HOW INVENTED IT MAY SOUND.
They have remote controlled helicopters instead of ties and a selection of meats where one might expect to see a coffee cup. The meats are cold like their cold meaty hearts and their dead chilled meat eyes from the meat counter at Morrisons (Tesco is a bit cheaper but Morrison's is just down the road and they can't be bothered to walk the extra five minutes. LAZY FAT CAT MEN!).
Their office is tiled in what can only be described as tiles. Red tiles...possibly from beyond the stars. I think I saw some similar in B&Q but these may be different. A new technology perhaps where actually it is lino on the walls of the office but the lino looks like convincing tiles that one might find in B&Q. It is a new science invention that the Pepsi men have spent their American dollars discovering.
They are laughing. They are pointing at a picture of a pig and laughing.
Look closer, dear reader.
You are not there though, remember?
I will look closer dear reader.
The pig is dressed...
AS A DRINKER OF PEPSI MIGHT BE DRESSED!!!
Also the pig is saying "Duh..."
It's a visual metaphor!

They think they can hide their delicate tooting from the prying eyes of Johnny Detecterson (I, Sarlog Homs). But I am such a rambatulatory fellow that never will I quit until the full answers are in front of my eye sockets and, by definition, eyes.

I mostly hope this does not give you nightmares.

Yours in "brotherhood"

S. Homs (Det.)