It smelled like shame and Korean barbecue

It smelled like shame and Korean barbecue in there. Mix that with rotting flesh and you have the recipe for yet another murder mystery. Detective Jason Manatee looked up from his

head of lettuce, for you see, Manatee wasn't just his name. Jason had been hit with powerful cosmic rays while swimming in a manatee tank, and had been imbued with manatee strength

Manatee strength -- the strength to form a mating herd and indiscriminately join other males in the most glorious gang-bang party nature has to offer.

It was a niche market in the flourishing new business of Soul-transfer vacations. Aside from experiencing Manatee gang-bangs, other popular "destinations" included

celebrity underwear, pigeon on Capitol Hill, and the wonderful sounding, ever disappointing, day in Heaven. It seemed okay at first, but then it turned out, nothing ever happened.

That was, until something happened.

What exactly happened is still a mystery. He kept a diary of the entire phenomenon during his four years of incarceration on that island, but much of it is encrypted. The pictures

, and I call them pictures as they were far more elaborate than little symbols, was the basis for his made-up language. This was an incredibly stupid way of hiding his research.

For instance, the code for his top-secret 'gender reassignment' experiment was simply a stick woman with a penis, breasts intact. From his notes it seems that he tried using

a different brand of peanut butter this time, but the results were the same. The science just didn't make sense. He resolved to