Written by matwil

Sunday, 20 December 2009

image for Sherlock Holmes and the Robert Downey Junior Mystery Beerstalker hat

Dr. Watson sat reading the day's copy of The Thymes, when his colleague Sherlock Holmes came into the room. 'Ah, Watson', that sleuth said, 'what a beautiful day it is! What's in the news?', and he grabbed Watson's paper and quickly leafed through it, then suddenly stopped in amazement. 'I don't believe it!', he gasped, 'I must sit down, this is dreadful!' 'What's wrong, Holmes, didn't W.G.Grace make a century at Lords yesterday?'

'Remember when that imposter appeared here earlier, Watson? And made feeble attempts at copying these amazingly-well written parodies of our detecting tales?' 'No.' 'Well, never mind that then, the point is that an American moving picture has been released about me! And the star of it ... is some poncified Yankee git! Playing me!' 'Dashed disturbing, Holmes.'

'This is too much! We must hunt down the ginger beer twit, who is called Robert Downey Junior, and make him destroy this monstrous moving picture. Come, Watson, there is no time to lose!', and soon the pair were outside searching for clues.

'But why would there be clues here in Baker Strasse, Holmes?', the doctor asked, but the detective had found what he had noticed earlier, which was a small silver coin with an eagle and the motto 'E Pluribus Zero' on it. 'Aha!', Holmes said, picking up the coin, 'yesterday there was a very feminine-looking man with curled hair examining the house, and he must have dropped this coin. To the Tube!', and they were soon on the Central Line heading towards Oxford Strasse.

'I wish they'd stop naming the streets here in a German fashion', Sherlock Holmes remarked, as their tube train pulled out of von Rathbonius Zentral station, 'now, we must use deduction to solve this mystery.' 'But what is the mystery, Holmes? Surely an annoying American mincer playing you in a movie is no mystery.'

'Watson, you imbecile, do you not see? The mystery is how Americans can take a perfectly believable character like myself, get an actor to camp it all up in a movie, and then get millions of Americans to pay good money to go and watch it! This is an insult, and -' 'No smoking, guv!', a ticket inspector said, pointing at Holmes's pipe, 'and no violin-playing either!'

Pausing merely to pull the communication cord to stop the tube train and run along the tracks to avoid paying the fare, Holmes and Watson made their way to Eaton Square. 'Observe my brilliance, Watson', Sherlock Holmes said, 'for American men are like little children abroad, and can never visit London without calling round to this embassy to have their hands held while they shed a few tears about the naughty British and their habit of permanently making fun of the USA.'

'Let us go into this ridiculous building, Watson, there is -' 'No time to lose?' 'All the time in the world, but we must get this article finished so we can have scrambled eggs on toast for lunch.' 'Very good', and soon the pair were inside the American Embassy.

'Ah, howdy, Mr. Holmes', the desk Marine said, for Sherlock Holmes was well-known even to Americans, as they have never produced anyone famous worth bothering about themselves in over 200 years of non-history, 'what can we do for you, sir?' 'Your mother is a Venezuelo-Russio-Peruvio-Welshio-Swedisho-American', that sleuth deduced, 'and you still speak 1500s English like an inbred English yokel from Devon.' 'Remarkable, Holmes!', Dr. Watson said, though the American shrugged and merely said 'You've just described 213 million Americans, Mr. Holmes, hardly a brilliant deduction.'

'We are here', Holmes continued, 'to demand to see one Robert Downey, who -' 'Robert Downey Junior, Holmes.' 'Ah, yes, I forgot insignificant Americans like to make up childish titles to make themselves appear important. Robert Downey JUNIOR, indeed.'

'For that evil monster has brought out a motion picture about no less than the most brilliant detective of the age, but portrayed him as a ginger beer with curly hair!' 'Monstrous, Holmes! You mean Sergeant Cryer of 'The Bill', of course.' 'No, Watson, I mean me, you fool! So I demand to see this ghastly product of Boys' Town at once!'

'Now just a minute', the Marine said, parking his chewing gum under his desk, 'what makes you Limeys think you can stroll in here and tell a citizen of the United States of America, the mightiest -' 'Oh, belt up about America!', Holmes rasped, 'just get this Downey character out of the all-day bar here you call an Embassy at once!', and the Marine sulkily did as he was told. 'Well done, Holmes, can't let these inbred colonials get above themselves, what!' 'Of course not, Watson. Robert Downey Junior indeed. Junior forsooth!'

'Ah, here is that actor, Holmes', and it was, and he was smelling of women's perfume and had some makeup on his face. 'Sir!', said Sherlock Holmes, 'how dare you portray me as a cross between Kenneth Williams and Dame Edna Everidge, 'tis scandalous! And with a corny Yankee accent, trying to sound English but failing miserably!' 'Well -' 'I now call you out, sir!'

'Call what?' 'He means he's challenging you to a duel', Dr. Watson explained to the actor. 'Er, OK. But I might get hurt!' 'That's the whole point, you varmint!', yelled Holmes angrily, 'outside, now!', and the detective strode out of the building, followed by Watson.

Ten minutes later there was still no sign of Downey, and Sherlock Holmes took out his anger by attacking some flowers with his epee he had had hidden under his coat, muttering about 'Yankee cowards!' and 'Yellow-bellied colonials!' to himself.

After another few minutes of destroying the pansies that are the traditional emblem of the USA, planted next to the Embassy, Holmes and Watson finally gave up waiting and hailed a Hansom cab and returned to Baker Strasse. As they went into the house, they were met by their housekeeper, Mrs. Boyle-Gumm.

'Ah, sirs, these flowers were delivered while you were out. They're addressed to you, Mr. Holmes', and the sleuth peered at the card that was attached to the bunch, which said 'I hope you can forgive me for my rather effeminate portrayal of yourself, the gweatest detective in history. Bob Downey Junior the Fourth Part 2', and Sherlock Holmes lost his temper and threw the flowers into the fire.

'Disgusting!', he roared, 'sending flowers to a man! There should be a law against such effete men!', and he strode out of the living room and soon there came the sound of a violin being murdered, and Dr. Watson and Mrs.Boyle-Gumm knew that the detective was once more at the cocaine bottle.

'Scrambled eggs for one?, the housekeeper asked the doctor, and 'Yes please', came the reply. 'But make sure you undercook them the way the English like 'em, none of your overcooked American garbage for me! And can I have a pot of tea you can stand a spoon up in, it's so strong, and eight slices of cheap white bread and butter?', and soon the doctor was enjoying a traditional English meal that probably took about a year off of his life, wearing ear plugs.

Sherlock Holmes meanwhile broke the world record for the longest out-of-tune violin solo in history, which happened when Paganini destroyed Vivaldi's 'Four Seasons' after drinking 8 bottles of Chianti and eating 9 margherita pizzas in Sienna. Mrs. Boyle-Gumm locked herself back in the broom cupboard, where she stayed in between Sherlock Holmes stories, and Dr. Watson was sitting eating pickled eggs and chips, and drinking warm brown ale that smelled of rotten eggs.

Robert Downey Junior sneaked back to America, where he continued to make camp moving pictures to annoy the British, in revenge for their sneering at him and the USA. Next year will see him starring as Robert Maxwell, in 'Oo er, Bob!' Or as Adolf Hitler in 'Adolf and Eva: The Early Years, With Lots Of Silly Uniforms'. Hollywood will close down after that, as it no longer makes anything but ludicrous historically inaccurate tripe that is unintentionally funny. Who says Americans have no sense of humour?

'I do', muttered Dr. Watson to himself, 'if 9/11 had happened in Britain the air would have been thick with black jokes about it here within a few hours, as when those Fenian dynamiters let off those bombs in Manchester. Oh well, Americans give the British an endless source of satire and humour, so they must exist for that reason. Nobody knows why else the USA exists.'

A passing alcoholic chimpanzee drug addict nodded in agreement with the doctor's words, saying 'Hey, if Americans can elect an alcohomolic chimplezee as President, they must have a sense of humerus.'

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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