Do you remember the guy who saved that one kingdom? You know, High-rule, or something along those lines? A little dude who ran around yelling at pots like they had just flirted with his girlfriend or something? Yeah, that guy.

How about that plumber? Now, I know you know that guy. That guy was always gettin’ into some kind of trouble: monkeys, lizards, mushrooms, carnivorous plants, the works. If it crawls or spits, this guy – I think he has a brother too – has probably tangled with it at one point or another.

Why do I ask? Well, turns out, that little guy – the one who yells at pots – turned up missing. What a turn of phrase that is. How do you turn up missing exactly? If you’re missing, you’re…well, you get the point.

Yeah, so anyway, like I said, this little guy turns up missing. His landlord called it in I think. I show up at the guy’s house…aaaannnd nothing. Nothing. Not one trace of the guy. How does someone go missing and not leave even the smallest piece of a clue as to where or how they went? How does that even happen with forensics and blood splatter…well, thankfully, there was no blood in his house, but you know what I mean. How does someone, in this age of drones and HD everything, how does someone just up and disappear – especially someone like this little dude. It’s not like he was unknown after saving a whole kingdom, or nothing.

So, you know, we ask around town. We put up some flyers and punch in an APB. A couple a weeks go by and we ain’t heard squat from no one. Not one peep. And then one day this broad walks into the station. Good looking broad too. Long legs and long red hair. She’s wearing this long red dress too, when she comes in, with a slit all the way up one side. All. The way. Up. Yowzah. And gloves, like she was going to the opera or something; red, like her dress. Never seen anyone dressed up like that come into the station before who wasn’t crying or being hauled in. It was a trip. The rest of the boys sure thought so too. Imagine my surprise when she asked to talk to me.

This lady, Jessica was her name, said that she had some information relating to our little missing buddy, the hero. She she said that she knew the who and the what, and that she had some ideas as to the why. I asked her to stick to the facts.

She tells me that our old friend, the plumber (you remember the guy), has some pretty hefty appetites. Italian stallion, if you catch my drift. Turns out, he wasn’t getting enough princess in his diet, and so he went shopping for a new one. Turns out, this new honey of his happened to be the princess-especial of our missing, pot-smashing aficionado.

Jessica tells me, as we are sitting there in the station – me enjoying the generous tailoring of her dress and her pretending not to notice me enjoying – that she and her husband were out at dinner, and she saw these two run into each other in the restaurant’s bar. Apparently, our missing hero was all, “Hyah, Hya, Hyahh!” and then ole plumber boy grabs a mushroom from his plate of pasta, eats it, and proceeds to literally stomp the hero into the ground. The plumber dragged the hero out the door, and that was the last that she saw of him.

Now personally, I think this lady, and her husband, are just plain loony-toons. But, my job as a protector of the peace – and keeping said job – requires that I follow up on these sorts of tips. No matter how far-fetched they sound.