Okay, camera's rolling, YouTube, whoever you are, hey gunner.
So today Simon and I thought it would be a great idea to answer some of your questions.
And whatever Simon says you have to do, right?
So Simon says give Pete a question.
You are very unusual for a detective. What's your background?
Well, sort of a noir half-wooded panel feel. I've got my Agatha Christie reference library
of course and a few bits and pieces from my cases over the years.
What do you reckon Simon?
Just stick to the questions.
Simon says just stick to the questions.
Exactly right.
This is your third and last warning before legal proceedings can, I dunno about that.
How did you choose Simon to be your Dr. Watson? What a great question.
Well, to be honest, Simon completely failed my detention trial.
He hit me in the head with the skateboard.
Simon didn't.
He burned all my clothes and gave me these.
You don't have to read that.
He's made my life hell in more ways than one. And I'm trapped in a pack with a devil until
this idiot can solve a case.
I'm sorry, he's just rambling again. My apologies, here's another one.
How are you going, in your efforts, to find the ponytail serial killer?
Well, to be honest, I can't help it, Phil, I'm close.
We apologise for the interruption. Add normal programming will resume in a few moments.
There was a guy born and raised in the west, detective novels where all that he blessed,
ordinary subjects didn't hold his in chest, man that guy stood out from the rest,
when kicked out of home, when kicked out of school,
detective nights made all the rules, the labour to lay about, the rumours were right,
but he wasn't nice, I never got in his stride.
He knew all the long work to do with his life, it wasn't to be simple house, dark and white.
He shanked me a lot, was to be elderly clean, Westpennet falls, he found his dream.
Ooh, he Westpennet falls, he found his dream.
Ooh, he Westpennet falls, he found his dream.
It'll never work out, they all said, I'll run down up, this is a death for a bed.
His name on the door and a light I've had, worked it all out, a hundred times in his hand.
He saw himself a kind of mumbo jumper, a shell of burgundy colombo.
All that one needs is the willingness to try, so a vision in the mind and a gleam in the eye.
The kind of reality for this little lousy guy, his name known as being through private life.
Knock knock, who's there?
Edward de Bono, it's too late, I already got in through the window, get it Simon, lateral
thinking.
What I don't understand is how you come up with all these quiver quips but rest of the
time you're a complete more, more quiet, gentle thinker.
Who is that?
Don't know.
Don't know.
A man you've never met just walks in and hands you a bag of mintos.
Wait Simon, that's really good detective skills, your studies are coming along quite nicely,
well done.
I've always wanted to try this, follow the mint.
That one.
All right, again.
You're not even looking, which one?
That one.
It's got to be that one, I give up, how do you do it?
Get this right, I can smell minties, 1.60394 kilometres off, how crazy is that?
So where were you earlier today?
Oh, I was at the car yard, thought I'd pick you up a car for doing such a great job writing
up all my successful cases.
Wait, one thing's for sure, it's not easy, wait, a free car?
Yeah, well, the sign said, right, it said free auto with any car and then I tried to
explain to them that that means that you use a free car.
Stop, just stop, please.
Anyway, the car salesman, he pointed me down this alleyway, he said I was after a guy with
a funny name, I was intrigued, so I did what he said, I've got a bad feeling about this,
but go on.
Yeah, anyway, his name's the candy man and I'm not going to lie, I was somewhat disappointed
that he wasn't half human, half jelly bean or something like that, but anyway, he gives
me the number of a guy who says he can get me anything.
So you've never heard of the candy man before?
I've heard of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.
I think it'll be best if we just lay low for a while.
Yeah, well, whatever makes you happy, Simon, whatever makes you happy.
Night, Pete.
Good night, Simon, don't let the woodworms bite.
Oh, Grandmaster, teacher of Thai Chuck and other non-violent methods of crippling and
torturing your opponents, how am I worthy of a visit?
You are not my piddling pathetic pupil, I came in for a comfort break and naturally I thought
of your otherwise deplorable dwelling.
A comfort break?
Oh, wise one.
May I do it on the desk?
Sure.
Close your eyes and imagine me floating up, levitating above the table and slowly fluttering
like a feather back down.
Come on!
Come on!
Come on!
Oh, my back!
Just...
Oh!
Up!
Oh!
Thanks.
Wow.
I wish I could have seen that mystical experience instead of just imagining it.
We have not yet reached the highest level of Thai Chuck to achieve that insight, Oat Pal
True Pots.
Thank you for your insightful comments.
First things first, I need a donation to help end poverty and starvation.
Oh, right away.
But, like you, I'm not one for material possessions.
I too prefer not wearing a sheet for too many people in your country are non-believer.
Wait!
I'm Simon speaking!
Here!
You will learn by the good this does, burger and fries, ten dollars each bay, a nag of
doubt, and get something for yourself too.
You speak in riddles?
I know.
Where have you travelled from?
I travelled to Switzerland on the back of a cowl.
When we started the journey, it had one large hump.
By the end of the depressing ride, when we buried it, it had two.
What's the best thing about Switzerland?
Well, as they say, the flag is a big plus.
I was drawn there to seek out Dee.
You just met her.
Wow!
Literally, Heidi is the top-selling and best-known work of Swiss literature.
Sad, isn't it?
Oh, lamentable lame brain.
How are you going with the minty wraparterra?
I thought it was twelve.
Well, still nowhere near the length of paper belt glass.
What is troubling you, oh, pudding-headed boon?
Well, something's troubling my colleague.
Do you have any wise words of advice?
Consider the man who puts spot remover on his troublesome dog.
It soon vanishes.
Much like when the invisible man married the invisible woman,
their kids were not much to look at either.
Oh, you are very wise.
They don't call me a wise guide for nothing.
Tweezers?
Is this a demonstration about how to remove a thorn from one's self
in order to understand the pain on others?
No.
It's about removing the splinters from my bum from sitting on this wooden desk.
Oh, you are very wise.
You are very wise.
You are very wise.
You are very wise.
If that is your first rule, mine is to go.
Oh, I'm so sorry to see you leave.
Don't worry about this.
I'll get Simon to wreck the floor when he comes back.
Any parting words?
Oh, light-headed lummox.
You could be a hawk and fly high.
You could have the strength of a lion.
You could be a skunk and repel any attacker.
Your choice is yours.
You certainly should follow that hawk, lion and stinker.
Maybe we should forget those two paintings.
How much did we make on Mag of Doubt?
Hey, yoga boy!
Were you attacked by triphids while I was away?
Wakey-wakey!
I've been spending time clearing my mind, letting my inner being go completely blank.
Who the hell told you to do that?
Don't they realise it's your natural state?
And why are there leaves all over the floor?
I'm sensing angry vibes, Simon.
You'll be sensing a broom over the skull if you don't start answering my questions.
Right.
The Grand Master.
Who?
The Grand Master of Ty Chuck was here in...
Unless he's made of leaves, I don't want to hear any more.
You should try this out, Simon.
Come on, man.
I don't know how you move around in those jeans.
Let them sit cross-legged.
Chill, Simon.
There's a light in every refrigerator.
You need to freeze out the worries from your icebox, man.
And just learn to let it go.
Let it go! Let it go!
Walk out and slam the door.
I don't care.
Well, it is the middle of summer.
And as hot as an oven, but why not hot cross buns?
Exactly what I was thinking.
Where did you even get those from? It's not Easter for months.
The local store was having a sell-out sale of last season's stock.
Wait. Last season cooked?
Mm-hmm.
These are as stale as you last might have thought.
You used the summer sun to heat them up.
Why do you need an oven?
It must be 500 degrees outside.
Perfect weather to be cooking.
Yeah.
Simon, have one.
Oh! Oh! Oh!
What's wrong with you, Simon?
Wrong with me.
Yeah. I caught it perfectly fine in my hand.
You're wearing oven mitts.
Yeah, well, that's because I've been holding this really hot tray.
It's been out in the sun all day.
Why the hell did you do that?
Because I'm trying to teach you a lesson.
You need to toughen up, man.
Quit acting like such a little crybaby all the time.
And you're a toughy one at that.
Whoa! Don't even think about throwing one of those at me.
Wait. Do those have circles on them?
Prototypes. These have been re-cooked.
So they don't need to go outside to be reheated.
And you can play noughts and crosses with them while you eat them.
Wait. If you're eating them, won't you be eating the game pieces?
What do you mean?
Okay. I'm going to put down this butt.
And now I'm hungry.
So I'm going to eat it.
I think I've tripped a tooth.
How stale are they?
They're pre-cooked.
They're stale. They're inedible.
Yeah. They're pretty nice to eat, huh?
No.
And as a bonus, they can't be misplaced.
You see? X marks the spot.
Okay. Thanks. Bye.
No X-files jokes, please.
There's been a murder done at Huffington Hall.
What? I'm needed.
No, but they called us, so we might as well go.
All right. Well, you better take a bon and run, Simon.
Not to take my life-dependent eyes.
That is to say, I think it would kill me if I ate one.
I think it would kill you, too. Hey, so I'll be...
All right. I'm going to stuff one of these down my jeans for later.
I'm not going to ask or even think about it.
No, Simon.
I want to search the room of a young lady
who's skinned harmless animals, seemingly, for no reason.
I mean, that was until I found her wallet was made of cat fur
that I figured must have been her purpose.
And trust me, Simon.
Never trust anyone who says trust me.
She didn't know anything about the murder either, unsurprisingly.
Don't you think we should ask people from at least the same suburb where it happened?
Leave no stone unturned, Simon.
Two streets ago, there were people throwing stones at us for annoying them.
Yeah, I guess we probably should have waited for the church service to finish.
To be fair, however, it is an activity that can be found in their manuals.
I think you'll find those manuals are called bibles.
Forgive us for our trespasses, Simon.
All those who heard him lay their hands on his head.
Then let the congregation stone him.
I think they were justified.
Forgive them, Simon, for they know not what they do.
Thank you.
Welcome, Mr Jones, to the post office to put in a slot.
It's a threatening letter signed in blood.
What? I've never had one of these before.
Must be a life resort to persons here.
And again, can imagine someone wanting to slit their wrists if they had to write you.
Interesting.
Careful, fingerprints.
What? Of course.
Here.
Well, my initial thoughts about the writing in blood
are that he or she must have been running low on pan ink.
Here, let me allow the little grey cells to do their work.
I told you this room might be closed.
Keep your voice down at all times, just in case.
Oh, my God!
Is something wrong, Simon?
No. Why would anything be wrong?
You just dragged me out of the office with no explanation.
You know what? You're right.
I should have gotten one of my doppelgangers to take over for me.
I wonder what Feevin could be up to.
You know what? I don't think anyone would be concerned if you're not there.
Quite the opposite, actually.
But I am there. We're on a train.
Going...
Exactly. You know, I'm glad I'm on the same page.
What was in that envelope?
A letter.
It's like pulling teeth.
Oh, well, you want the carriage. The next one over.
The Pullman carriage.
What was on the letter?
Simon, letters are a personal thing.
It was from the record shop. How personal could it be?
You don't even own any music.
Yeah, well, I still take an interest.
Don't tell me. Your high school band, Pete and the Peter Adderis.
The only band who's aimless to be second best in Australia.
You remember?
Yeah, you played me your only single. Remember?
TBA.
Calls me back because you couldn't think of a name.
Won't you hear it? You can never forget.
Thanks, Simon.
You know that's not necessarily a compliment.
TBA.
Well?
Yeah, I am. How about yourself?
This isn't going to be some crazed reunion, is it?
Because the pittiest I'm just going to get off now.
Ooh, what else do you remember?
That Pete and the Peter Adderis.
Immediately forgettable.
Except, of course, it was a failed attempt of being a supporting act
for the moving stills when they toured Australia.
Uh-huh.
So you're not performing Pete and the Peter Adderis.
Sadly, no.
Can't be too sad about it.
The rest of the world will thank you.
Well, you know, I have factual information that Dan Lee's single
is going to get assassinated.
Pull it right between them asses.
But where's this going to take place?
Right about here.
So you're probably thinking that the result from the day-long train trip
was pointless.
The fact that I mistook the rock star Tom Mahler
from this book of fiction written over 30 years ago
with the rock star Tom Mahler from the moving stills
was a simple technical mistake that anybody could make.
On the positive side, however, let me treat you
to a night of fine entertainment
accompanied by good food
where you can purge your mind
over the fact that really nothing happened here today.
Where this is going?
Chill, Simon. Let go of all things that remind you of work.
A relaxing night now.
I've got a couple of hot cross buns tucked down my jeans.
Bands on.
She's shabby now.
She's just not me.
Nobody's here.
You tell me how it's wrong.
Why don't you write the next song?
You tell me how it's wrong.
Why don't you write the next song?
Where have you gone?
Where have you gone?
To something new
that's not ours.
And we'll eat it back
or if you want to study
let it pass.
You tell me how it's wrong.
Why don't you write the next song?
You tell me how it's wrong.
Why don't you write the next song?
Go think about
the shit you've done to us
the crying you've caused
and the death I've lost.
If I was you
I wouldn't knock around.
I'd do what I got to do
but I didn't have someone
You tell me how it's wrong.
Why don't you write the next song?
You tell me how it's wrong.
Why don't you write the next song?
You tell me how it's wrong.
Why don't you write the next song?
You tell me how it's wrong.
Why don't you write the next song?
You tell me how it's wrong.
Why don't you write the next song?
