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.

Sarlog Homs and the case of the web log

Hello!
Guten tag!
Konnichiwa!
Rounda-the-flago!
Pork pork!
Just some examples of the many languages I know, there.

Welcome to a web-log written by a man who has the intelligence of a duck.
"A duck?", you might say, "That's not much to boast about."
Well shut your stupid mouth and listen to this more detailed explaination.

Imagine, if you will (and you will), a duck kidnapped by some kind of space alien. Maybe the alien has more than two eyes!!! The duck is subjected to 'mind tests' and 'injections'. The alien technology makes this duck the superior of all it's peers. The most intelligent duck who ever lived! The size of his brain! IT IS LARGE!
Large for a duck, anyway.
It doesn't make him Einstein or anything, but he can certainly hold his own in a pub quiz. Especially if that pub quiz is particularly duck-oriented.
Now you are starting to get a picture of this duck, with his Superintelligence and his human friends. Perhaps he gets a date with a human lady after wooing her with knowledge of nineteenth century industry, but she cancels the day before because she doesn't know if she could ever be comfortable in a relationship with a duck. He becomes dejected and bitter. What kind of life is that for a duck?
He finds living in an apartment difficult. He can't cultivate the algae and pond weeds he needs to keep himself sustained.
"Curse those aliens for making me Superintelligent!" he shouts at no one in particular.
The man below bangs on the floor of the aparment (his ceiling) "I've had enough of you cursing aliens all night!" he shouts, "It's four before breakfast!"
He will jump, he decides, from the window of his apartment into the street below.
What choice does the duck have but to end his own life?

There, you see! Now you feel less inclined to mock someone who claims to have the intelligence of a duck (as long as the claim is qualified with the word 'Superintelligent').

Now since I've started 'web-logging' (little more than a few nano-hours ago) I've had literally one request for an answer to the question, "Who the sh*t is Sarlog Homs?"
Well the easy answer is 'Me'!
I've adopted the mantle of the world's greatest interdimensional (and possibly fictional) detective because I felt that too long had the world been drifting askew without a Sarlog Homs for the ipod generation. Too long has this fantastical bombastical person been a void in the consciousness of the young people.
No more, I say, no more! I say it twice for emphasis and in case people weren't listening the first time. Also the second time is louder.

Here I return and here I shall stay.

Your most humble &c. &c


Det. Sarlog Homs