I got to go paylaking this weekend

I got to go paylaking this weekend

I get to go fishing this weekend.

oh boy. oh boy. oh boy. line sink and bait. oh boy. oh boy oh boy. hook in and waiting. oh boy oh boy oh boy. waiting and waiting. oh boy oh boy. waiting and waiting. oh boy...

Still waiting. Badum ching! Hello? Is anyone there? *crickets chirp* Well, this is awkward. Hmm. *Buzz* *Zip, zap!* "GAH! There's a yellow jacket in my office!"

"And what's the problem with that?" asked the secretary. He peered in through the door frame and, sure enough, the yellow jacket was slung over the chair. "My jacket was orange!"

In the rush to pull the grift before the next mark they'd forgotten Mr. Orange wears an orange jacket not a yellow one like the one hanging on the chair that Mr. Orange referred to

in his suicide note. This led Det. Manatee to believe it was Col. Mustard, not Mr. Orange, that had written the note. Yet Mr. Orange lay peeled and sliced, his juice running down

into a fine mesh strainer held above a juice glass by the scantily clad Ms. Scarlet. Det. Manatee, peering lasciviously at Ms. Scarlet’s red undies, noticed pen and paper stuffed

into Ms. Scarlet's garters. Det. Manatee immediately surmised Ms. Scarlet was really an undercover journalist posing as a floozy to get the goods on Col. Mustard. Who did what to

Dr. Burgundy? At this point, he wasn’t sure if he cared anymore. As Det. Manatee saw Ms. Scarlet leave, he turned away in pity. Let her find out why nobody writes of the Colonel.