LOBO -Predator Press

"Moriarty didn't commit suicide, you moron" Rachel explains.  "Morry is a tortoise.  Tortises live on land."

"Well you're certainly not making me feel any better about this whole fiasco," I says, pushing on Morry's chest rhythmically.  "This is a consequence of God's spurious equivocation when it comes to Creation."

"You're blaming God for drowning Morry?"

"I mean it's not like we see fish walking around downtown," I says, slamming my fist into the inverted carapace.  "I figured this would be a major upgrade for him."

Morry suddenly hacks, and ... starts breathing.

"Whew," I exclaim, wiping my forehead.  "We were really close to you giving him mouth-to-mouth."

"What's with the sunken hamster wheel?"

"It's called a spa, Rachel.  Jesus Christ.  Maybe you should think before you open your mouth sometimes."

"And the underwater radio?"

"Who doesn't like music?"

"And the mozzarella sticks?"

"Stop making me repeat myself.  Can't you see I'm under a lot of stress right now?"

Rachel stares into my eyes.  "Why are your pupils so dilated?  Did you eat those McDonald's Filet-O-Fish sandwiches that sat out unrefrigerated on the counter all night?"

"Maybe," I reply evasively.  "Or maybe Morry was committing suicide.  How else do you explain this suicide note?"

"That's the gas bill," she says.

Suddenly I'm stricken with paranoia.  "Well, we have to clean all this up before the cops get here.  They're going to have a lot of questions."

"How about you just lie down for a bit?"

"I still have half a sandwich left," I explain.  "Do we have any gasoline?"