It was a beautiful Friday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a big statue of cheese and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your KFC bucket of fish.

But I wasn't in a giant image of George Washington in Gouda. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old PIZZA Hut delivery car finally flew off the Golden Gate Bridge. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her bubble gum out from her hair in the parking lot.

So Nana got a yellow bumper sticker and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving an Oscar Meyer Hot Dog Bus instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I ran out of mustard, and turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on methamphetamines.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with crime scene tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good for my cholesterol. Monk had made a lot of fettuccini Alfredo over the years, and I was afraid Bon Jovi and Dale the Whale had finally eaten it all before I got there.

I double-parked behind the ice cream truck serving mozzarella sticks, jumped over the yellow tape like a kangaroo, and kept hopping into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two strip dancers were pole dancing and two uniformed chickens were locked in a hot embrace, their backs to me,..

Sorry, but I really missed the chickens...

It was a beautiful Friday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a big statue of cheese and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your KFC bucket of fish.

But I wasn't in a giant image of George Washington in Gouda. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old PIZZA Hut delivery car finally flew off the Golden Gate Bridge. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her bubble gum out from her hair in the parking lot.

So Nana got a yellow bumper sticker and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving an Oscar Meyer Hot Dog Bus instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I ran out of mustard, and turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on methamphetamines.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with video tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good for my cholesterol. Monk had made a lot of fettuccini Alfredo over the years, and I was afraid Alice cooper had finally stolen monk's wooden chair, like monk says he does.

I double-parked behind the ice cream truck serving mozzarella sticks, jumped over the yellow tape like a kangaroo, and kept hopping into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two strip dancers were pole dancing and two uniformed chickens were locked in a hot embrace, their backs to me,..

Sorry, but I really missed the chickens...

It was a beautiful Friday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a big statue of cheese and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your KFC bucket of fish.

But I wasn't in a giant image of Tom Petty in Gouda. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old PIZZA Hut delivery car finally flew off the Golden Gate Bridge. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's largesse. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her bubble gum out from her hair in the bathtub.

So Nana got a yellow bumper sticker and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving an Oscar Meyer Hot Dog Bus instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I ran out of mustard, and turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on methamphetamines.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with video tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good for my cholesterol. Monk had made a lot of fettuccini Alfredo over the years, and I was afraid Alice cooper had finally stolen monk's wooden chair, like monk says he does.

I double-parked behind the ice cream truck serving mozzarella sticks, jumped over the yellow tape like a kangaroo, and kept hopping into the building. I was terrified of what I would find when I got inside.

The door to his apartment was open and two strip dancers were pole dancing and two uniformed chickens were locked in a hot embrace, their backs to me,..

It was a beautiful Friday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a big statue of cheese and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your KFC bucket of fish.

But I wasn't in a giant image of Tom Petty in Gouda. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old PIZZA Hut delivery car finally flew off the Golden Gate Bridge. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's incontinence. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same car that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her bubble gum out from her hair (or the popcorn from her teeth) in the bathtub.

So Nana got a yellow bumper sticker and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving an Oscar Meyer Hot Dog Bus instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I ran out of mustard, and turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on methamphetamines.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with video tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good for my cholesterol. Monk had made a lot of fettuccini Alfredo over the years, and I was afraid that Bon Jovi and Dale the Whale had finally eaten it all before I got there

I double-parked behind the ice cream truck serving mozzarella sticks, jumped over the yellow tape like a pregnant kangaroo, and kept hopping into the building. I was terrified that when I got inside I'd find that Alice cooper had finally stolen monk's wooden chair, like monk says he does..

The door to his apartment was open and two strip dancers were pole dancing and two uniformed chickens were locked in a hot embrace, their backs to me,..

I also went back and re-added some of the content that other users had added that got deleted or replaced along the way, and moved a couple of things around. You'll thank me later.

It was a beautiful Friday morning, the kind that makes you want to jump onto a big statue of cheese and sing "I AM THE EGG MAN! THEY ARE THE EGGMEN! I AM THE WALRUS! GOO-GOO G'JOOB!" at the top of your KFC bucket of fish.

But I wasn't in a giant image of Tom Petty in Gouda. I was in a Pink Barbie electric jeep that my father bought me when my old PIZZA Hut delivery car finally flew off the Golden Gate Bridge. It was only later that I discovered the real reason for Dad's incontinence. He'd actually bought the Pink Barbie electric jeep for his seventy-seven-year-old mother, who'd turned it down because she didn't want the same bagel that everybody else in her retirement community was driving. Nana was afraid she'd never be able to pick her bubble gum out from her hair (or the popcorn from her teeth) in the bathtub.

So Nana got a yellow bumper sticker and I got a car that my fifteen-year-old daughter, Julie, won't let me drive within a one-mile radius of our house for fear we might be seen. Supposedly Donald Duck drives a car like mine, but if he does, I bet it's only to haul his kiwis around on the golf course.

The day was so glorious, though, that I felt like I was driving an Oscar Meyer Hot Dog Bus instead of a Pink Barbie electric jeep . My glee lasted until I ran out of mustard, and turned the corner in front of Monk's apartment and saw the hearse parked at the curb and the yellow crime scene tape around the perimeter of the building.

I felt a pang of fear that injected a hot shot of hot fudge into my ice cream sandwich and made my squirrel race faster than a hamster on methamphetamines.

Since I'd met Monk, I'd visited lots of places cordoned off with video tape, and the one thing they all had in common was fried mozzarella sticks.

This wasn't good for my cholesterol. Monk had made a lot of fettuccini Alfredo over the years, and I was afraid that Bon Jovi and Dale the Whale had finally eaten it all before I got there

I double-parked behind the ice cream truck serving mozzarella sticks, jumped over the yellow tape like a pregnant kangaroo, and kept hopping into the building. I was terrified that when I got inside I'd find that Alice cooper had finally stolen monk's wooden chair, like monk says he does..

The door to his apartment was open and two strip dancers were pole dancing and two uniformed chickens were locked in a hot embrace, their backs to me,..


--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Psst! BfloGal, thi is probably the funniest one we've done so far, but do you think we could please maybe start another one?

!chik!

Sure thing! Shall we continue with the next portion of the same story?


“Let me through,” I said, pushing past them to see Monk facing us. He was perfectly relaxed, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that’s hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his entire body stiffen. He was repulsed by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

“Are you okay?” I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and symmetrical.

“I’m a little shaken,” Monk said. “But I’m coping.”

“What happened?” I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both grimacing. Either they’d eaten something that disagreed with them or they’d been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Brooks.

“I was burglarized,” Monk said.

“What did they take?” I asked.

“A sock,” Monk said.

“A sock?” I said.

“A left sock,” Monk said.

“There’s no such thing,” Officer Brooks said. “Socks are interchangeable.”

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. “Are you sure your partner graduated from the police academy?”

“Maybe you just misplaced the sock,” Sergeant Denton said.

“I don’t misplace things,” he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place.

“When did you notice it was gone?” I asked.

“I washed my clothes in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to fold,” Monk said. “Then I heard the sanitation truck arriving, so I put on my gloves and boots and went outside to supervise my trash collection.”

Officer Brooks stared at him in disbelief. “You supervise your trash collection?”

“Don’t ask,” I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. “So then what did you do?”

“I came back inside to resume folding my laundry,” Monk said. “And that’s when I discovered that I’d been brutally violated.”

“You lost a sock,” Sergeant Denton said. “And my innocence,” Monk said. “Did you look for it?” I asked him. “Of course I did,” Monk said. “I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment.” “It doesn’t look ransacked to me,” Officer Brooks said. “It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing.” “Socks disappear all the time, Mr. Monk,” Sergeant

Denton said. “They do?” Monk said. “Nobody knows where they go,” the sergeant said.

“It’s one of the great mysteries of life.” “How long has this been going on?” Monk asked. “As long as I can remember,” Sergeant Denton said. “And what’s being done about it?” “Nothing,” the sergeant said. “But it’s your job,” Monk said. “To find lost socks?” Officer Brooks asked. “To solve crimes,” Monk replied. “There’s some devious sock thief running rampant in this city and you aren’t doing anything about it. Are you police officers or aren’t you?”

“Let me through,” I said, pushing past them to see Monk facing us. He was perfectly relaxed, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that’s hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his entire body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

“Are you okay?” I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and symmetrical.

“I’m a little shaken,” Monk said. “But I’m coping.”

“What happened?” I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both grimacing. Either they’d eaten something that disagreed with them or they’d been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Brooks.

“I was burglarized,” Monk said.

“What did they take?” I asked.

“A sock,” Monk said.

“A sock?” I said.

“A left sock,” Monk said.

“There’s no such thing,” Officer Brooks said. “Socks are interchangeable.”

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. “Are you sure your partner graduated from the police academy?”

“Maybe you just misplaced the sock,” Sergeant Denton said.

“I don’t misplace things,” he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place.

“When did you notice it was gone?” I asked.

“I washed my clothes in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to fold,” Monk said. “Then I heard the sanitation truck arriving, so I put on my gloves and boots and went outside to supervise my trash collection.”

Officer Brooks stared at him in disbelief. “You supervise your trash collection?”

“Don’t ask,” I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. “So then what did you do?”

“I came back inside to resume folding my laundry,” Monk said. “And that’s when I discovered that I’d been brutally violated.”

“You lost a sock,” Sergeant Denton said. “And my innocence,” Monk said. “Did you look for it?” I asked him. “Of course I did,” Monk said. “I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment.” “It doesn’t look ransacked to me,” Officer Brooks said. “It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing.” “Socks disappear all the time, Mr. Monk,” Sergeant

Denton said. “They do?” Monk said. “Nobody knows where they go,” the sergeant said.

“It’s one of the great mysteries of life.” “How long has this been going on?” Monk asked. “As long as I can remember,” Sergeant Denton said. “And what’s being done about it?” “Nothing,” the sergeant said. “But it’s your job,” Monk said. “To find lost socks?” Officer Brooks asked. “To solve crimes,” Monk replied. “There’s some devious sock thief running rampant in this city and you aren’t doing anything about it. Are you police officers or aren’t you?”

Okay, I'm running the risk of getting kicked out of the G-rated section of the Monk bus, but I just couldn't help myself.

"Let me through," I said, pushing past them to see Monk facing us. He was perfectly relaxed, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his entire body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and symmetrical.

"I'm a little shaken," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both grimacing. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Brooks.

"I was burglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A sock," Monk said.

"A sock?" I said.

"A left sock," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Brooks said. "Socks are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the police academy?"

"Maybe you just misplaced the sock," Sergeant Denton said.

"I don't misplace things," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my clothes in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to fold," Monk said. "Then I heard the sanitation truck arriving, so I put on my gloves and boots and went outside to supervise my denture collection."

Officer Brooks stared at him in disbelief. "You supervise your denture collection?"

"Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume folding my laundry," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a sock," Sergeant Denton said. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Brooks said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Socks disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant

Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "Nobody knows where they go," the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "As long as I can remember," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost socks?" Officer Brooks asked. "To solve crimes," Monk replied. "There's some devious sock thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or aren't you?"

"Let me through," I said, pushing past them to see Monk facing us. He was perfectly relaxed, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his entire body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and symmetrical.

"I'm a little shaken," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Brooks.

"I was burglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A sock," Monk said.

"A sock?" I said.

"A left sock," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Brooks said. "Socks are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the police academy?"

"Maybe you just misplaced the sock," Sergeant Denton said.

"I don't misplace things," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my clothes in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to fold," Monk said. "Then I heard the sanitation truck arriving, so I put on my gloves and boots and went outside to supervise my denture collection."

Officer Brooks stared at him in disbelief. "You supervise your denture collection?"

"Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume folding my laundry," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a sock," Sergeant Denton said. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Brooks said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Socks disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant

Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "Nobody knows where they go," the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "As long as I can remember," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost socks?" Officer Brooks asked. "To solve crimes," Monk replied. "There's some devious sock thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or aren't you?"

"Let me through," I said, pushing past them to see Monk facing us. He was perfectly relaxed, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his entire body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and symmetrical.

"I'm a little shaken," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Brooks.

"I was burglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A sock," Monk said.

"A sock?" I said.

"A left sock," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Brooks said. "Socks are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the police academy?"

"Maybe you just misplaced the sock," Sergeant Denton said.

"I don't misplace things," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my clothes in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to fold," Monk said. "Then I heard the sanitation truck arriving, so I put on my gloves and boots and went outside to supervise my denture collection."

Officer Brooks stared at him in disbelief. "You supervise your denture collection?"

"Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume folding my laundry," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a sock," Sergeant Denton said. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Brooks said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Socks disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant

Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "Nobody knows where they go," the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "As long as I can remember," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost socks?" Officer Brooks asked. "To solve crimes," Monk replied. "There's some devious popcorn thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or aren't you?"

My only excuse is that I just became a 'veteran' today, and my corruption is complete, but here ---

"Let me through," I said, pushing past them to see Monk facing us. He was perfectly relaxed, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and symmetrical.

"I'm a little shaken," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Brooks.

"I was burglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Brooks said. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the police academy?"

"Maybe you just misplaced the kiwi," Sergeant Denton said.

"I don't misplace things," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my clothes in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to fold," Monk said. "Then I heard the sanitation truck arriving, so I put on my gloves and boots and went outside to supervise my denture collection."

Officer Brooks stared at him in disbelief. "You supervise your denture collection?"

"Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume folding my laundry," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Brooks said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant

Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "Nobody knows where they go," the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "As long as I can remember," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Brooks asked. "To solve crimes," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or aren't you?"

Edited to add: Sorry Monkchik, I think we were editing at the same time.

Now will someone just slap me!

"Let me through," I said, pushing past them to see Monk facing us. He was perfectly relaxed, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and symmetrical.

"I'm a little shaken and not stired," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Brooks.

"I was burglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Brooks said. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the Mcdonalds academy?"

"Maybe you just misplaced the kiwi," Sergeant Denton said.

"I don't misplace things," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my clothes in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to fold," Monk said. "Then I heard the sanitation truck arriving, so I put on my gloves and boots and went outside to supervise my denture collection."

Officer Brooks stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume folding my laundry," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Brooks said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant

Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "Nobody knows where they go," the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "As long as I can remember," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Brooks asked. "To solve crimes," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you mice?"

"Let me through," I said, pushing past them to see Monk facing us. He was perfectly sexy, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and symmetrical.

"I'm a little shaken and not stired," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Brooks.

"I was burglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Brooks said. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the Mcdonalds academy?"

"Yes, would you like fries with that? Maybe you just misplaced the kiwi," Sergeant Denton said.

"I don't misplace things," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my clothes in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to fold," Monk said. "Then I heard the sanitation truck arriving, so I put on my gloves and boots and went outside to supervise my denture collection."

Officer Brooks stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume folding my laundry," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Brooks said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "Nobody knows where they go," the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "As long as I can remember," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Brooks asked. "To solve crimes," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you mice?"

"Let me through," I said, pushing past them to see Monk facing us. He was perfectly sexy, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and symmetrical.

"I'm a little shaken and not stired," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Feelgood.

"I was hamburglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Feelgood said. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the Mcdonalds academy?"

"Yes, would you like fries with that? Maybe you just misplaced the kiwi," Sergeant Denton said.

"I don't misplace things," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my clothes in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to fold," Monk said. "Then I heard the sanitation truck arriving, so I put on my gloves and boots and went outside to supervise my denture collection."

Officer Feelgood stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume folding my laundry," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Feelgood said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "Nobody knows where they go," the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "As long as I can remember," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Feelgood asked. "To solve crimes," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you mice?"

--------------------------------------------
Sorry if I offend anyone with the stripper "Officer Feelgood" you can always just change it if you don't like it.

!chik!

No, it's okay. There's just something about this whole section of text that was just begging to go in that direction anyway.

lol! yes, I agree.

!chik!

"Let me through," I said, pushing past them to see Monk facing us. He was perfectly sexy, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and symmetrical.

"I'm a little shaken and not stired," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Feelgood.

"I was hamburglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Feelgood said. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the Mcdonalds academy?"

"Yes, would you like fries with that? Maybe you just ate the kiwi, with salt and pepper which makes a very good drink by the way" Sergeant Denton said.

"I don't eat Kiwis with salt on them which make a very good drink," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place, like how he put randy in the rock and roll camp.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my clothes in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to fold," Monk said. "Then I heard the sanitation truck arriving, so I put on my gloves and boots and went outside to eat my denture collection."

Officer Feelgood stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume folding my laundry," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Feelgood said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "Nobody knows where they go," the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "As long as I can remember," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Feelgood asked. "To solve crimes," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you mice?"

"Let me through," I said, licking past them to see Monk facing us. He was perfectly sexy, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and symmetrical.

"I'm a little shaken and not stired," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Feelgood.

"I was hamburglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Feelgood said. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the Mcdonalds academy?"

"Yes, would you like fries with that? Maybe you just ate the kiwi, with salt and pepper which makes a very good drink by the way" Sergeant Denton said.

"I don't eat Kiwis with salt on them which make a very good drink," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place, like how he put randy in the rock and roll camp.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my clothes in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to fold," Monk said. "Then I heard the sanitation truck arriving, so I put on my gloves and boots and went outside to eat my denture collection."

Officer Feelgood stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume folding my laundry," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Feelgood said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "Nobody knows where they go," the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "As long as I can remember," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Feelgood asked. "To solve crimes," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you mice?"

"Let me through," I said, licking past them to see Monk facing us. He was perfectly sexy, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and covered in silly string.

"I'm a little shaken and not stired," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Feelgood.

"I was hamburglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Feelgood said. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the McDonald's Academy?"

"Yes, would you like fries with that? Maybe you just ate the kiwi, with salt and pepper which makes a very good drink by the way" Sergeant Denton said.

"I don't eat Kiwis with salt on them which make a very good drink," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place, like how he put Randy in the rock and roll camp, and paid Julie's way to Switzerland.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my clothes in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to fold," Monk said. "Then I heard the sanitation truck arriving, so I put on my gloves and boots and went outside to eat my denture collection."

Officer Feelgood stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume folding my laundry," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Feelgood said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "Nobody knows where they go," the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "Twenty minutes," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Feelgood asked. "To solve crimes," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you mice?"

"Let me through," I said, licking past them to see Monk facing us. He was perfectly sexy, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and covered in silly string.

"I'm a little shaken and not stired," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Feelgood.

"I was hamburglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Feelgood said. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the McDonald's Academy?"

"Yes, would you like fries with that? Maybe you just ate the kiwi, with salt and pepper which makes a very good drink by the way" Sergeant Denton said.

"I don't eat Kiwis with salt on them which make a very good drink," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place, like how he put Randy in the rock and roll camp, and paid Julie's way to Switzerland.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my dishes in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to sort," Monk said. "Then I heard the sanitation truck arriving, so I put on my gloves and boots and went outside to eat my denture collection."

Officer Feelgood stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume sorting my dishes," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Feelgood said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "Nobody knows where they go," the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "Twenty minutes," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Feelgood asked. "To solve crimes," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you mice?"

"Let me through," I said, licking past them to see Monk facing us. He was perfectly sexy, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and covered in silly string.

"I'm a little shaken and not stired," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Feelgood.

"I was hamburglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Feelgood said. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the McDonald's Academy?"

"Yes, would you like a shake with that? Maybe you just ate the kiwi, with salt and pepper which makes a very good drink by the way" Sergeant Denton said.

"I don't eat Kiwis with salt on them which make a very good drink," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place, like how he put Randy in the rock and roll camp, and paid Julie's way to Switzerland.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my blankets in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to sort," Monk said. "Then I heard the radio truck arriving, so I put on my gloves and boots and went outside to eat my denture collection."

Officer Feelgood stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume sorting my dishes," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Feelgood said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "Nobody knows where they go," the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "Twenty days," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Feelgood asked. "To solve puzzles," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you necromancers?"

"Let me through," I said, licking past them to see Monk facing us. He was perfectly sexy, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and covered in silly string.

"I'm a little shaken and not stired," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Feelgood.

"I was hamburglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Feelgood said. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the McDonald's Academy?"

"Yes, would you like a shake with that? Maybe you just ate the kiwi, with salt and pepper which makes a very good drink by the way" Sergeant Denton said.

"I don't eat Kiwis with salt on them which make a very good drink," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place, like how he put Randy in the rock and roll camp, and paid Julie's way to Switzerland.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my blankets in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to sort," Monk said. "Then I heard the radio truck arriving, so I put on my gloves and boots and went outside to eat my denture collection."

Officer Feelgood stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume sorting my dishes," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Feelgood said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "DIRTY DEEDS DONE DIRT CHEAP!" the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "Twenty days," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Feelgood asked. "To solve puzzles," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you necromancers?"

"Let me through," I said, licking past them to see Monk facing us. He was perfectly sexy, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and covered in silly string.

"I'm a little shaken and not stired," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Feelgood.

"I was hamburglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Feelgood said. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the McDonald's Academy?"

"Yes, would you like a shake with that? Maybe you just ate the kiwi, with salt and pepper which makes a very good drink by the way" Sergeant Denton said.

"I don't eat Kiwis with salt on them which make a very good drink," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place, like how he put Randy in the rock and roll camp, and paid Julie's way to Switzerland.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my blankets in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to make a tent for when we played cowboys and Indians," Monk said. "Then I heard the radio truck arriving, so I put on my gloves and boots and went outside to eat my denture collection."

Officer Feelgood stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume sorting my dishes," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Feelgood said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "DIRTY DEEDS DONE DIRT CHEAP!" the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "Twenty days," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Feelgood asked. "To solve puzzles," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you necromancers?"

"Let me through," I said, licking past them to see Monk eating some KFC. He was perfectly sexy, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and covered in silly string.

"I'm a little shaken and not stired," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cops.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Feelgood.

"I was hamburglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Feelgood said. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the McDonald's Academy?"

"Yes, would you like a shake with that? Maybe you just ate the kiwi, with salt and pepper which makes a very good drink by the way" Sergeant Denton said.

"I don't eat Kiwis with salt on them which make a very good drink," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place, like how he put Randy in the rock and roll camp,paid Julie's way to Switzerland, and helped pull my old car out of the bay when it flew off the golden gate bridge.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my blankets in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to make a tent for when we played cowboys and Indians," Monk said. "Then I heard the radio truck arriving, so I put on my fedora and whip and went outside to eat my denture collection."

Officer Feelgood stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume eating my dishes," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Feelgood said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "DIRTY DEEDS DONE DIRT CHEAP!" the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "Twenty days," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Feelgood asked. "To solve puzzles," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you necromancers?"

"Let me through," I said, licking past them to see Monk eating some KFC. He was perfectly sexy, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and covered in silly string.

"I'm a little shaken and not stired," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cats.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Feelgood.

"I was hamburglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Feelgood said. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the McDonald's Academy?"

"Yes, would you like a shake with that? Maybe you just ate the kiwi, with salt and pepper which makes a very good drink by the way" Sergeant Denton said.

"I don't eat Kiwis with salt on them which make a very good drink," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place, like how he put Randy in the rock and roll camp,paid Julie's way to Switzerland, and helped pull my old car out of the bay when it flew off the golden gate bridge.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my blankets in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to make a tent for when we played cowboys and Indians," Monk said. "Then I heard the radio truck arriving, so I put on my fedora and whip and went outside to eat my denture collection."

Officer Feelgood stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume eating my dishes," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Feelgood said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "DIRTY DEEDS DONE DIRT CHEAP!" the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "Twenty days," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Feelgood asked. "To solve puzzles," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you necromancers?"

"Let me through," I said, licking past them to see Monk eating some KFC. He was perfectly sexy, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and covered in silly string.

"I'm a little shaken and not stired," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cats.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Feelgood.

"I was hamburglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Feelgood purred. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the McDonald's Academy?"

"Yes, would you like a shake with that? Maybe you just ate the kiwi, with salt and pepper which makes a very good drink by the way" Sergeant Denton coughing up a hair ball.

"I don't eat Kiwis with salt on them which make a very good drink," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place, like how he put Randy in the rock and roll camp,paid Julie's way to Switzerland, and helped pull my old car out of the bay when it flew off the golden gate bridge.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my blankets in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to make a tent for when we played cowboys and Indians," Monk said. "Then I heard the radio truck arriving, so I put on my fedora and whip and went outside to eat my denture collection."

Officer Feelgood stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume eating my dishes," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said, licking his paw. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Feelgood said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "DIRTY DEEDS DONE DIRT CHEAP!" the sergeant said.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "Twenty days," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Feelgood asked. "To solve puzzles," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you necromancers?"

"Let me through," I said, licking past them to see Monk eating some KFC. He was perfectly sexy, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, balanced, and covered in silly string.

"I'm a little shaken and not stired," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cats.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Feelgood.

"I was hamburglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Feelgood purred. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the McDonald's Academy?"

"Yes, would you like a shake with that? Maybe you just ate the kiwi, with salt and pepper which makes a very good drink by the way" Sergeant Denton coughing up a hair ball.

"I don't eat Kiwis with salt on them which make a very good drink," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place, like how he put Randy in the rock and roll camp,paid Julie's way to Switzerland, and helped pull my old car out of the bay when it flew off the golden gate bridge.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my blankets in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to make a tent for when we played cowboys and Indians," Monk said. "Then I heard the radio truck arriving, so I put on my fedora and whip and went outside to eat my denture collection."

Officer Feelgood stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume eating my dishes," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said, licking his paw. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Feelgood said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "DIRTY DEEDS DONE DIRT CHEAP!" the sergeant said, scratching around in his litter box.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "Twenty days," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Feelgood asked. "To solve puzzles," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you necromancers?"

"Let me through," I said, licking past them to see Monk eating some KFC. He was perfectly sexy, his starched white shirt buttoned at the collar and his sleeves buttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body stiffen. He was excited by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, nutritionally balanced, and covered in silly string.

"I'm a little shaken and not stirred," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cats.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Feelgood.

"I was hamburglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Feelgood purred. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the McDonald's Academy?"

"Yes, would you like a shake with that? Maybe you just ate the kiwi," Sergeant Denton coughing up a hair ball.

"I don't eat Kiwis," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place, like how he put Randy in the rock and roll camp, paid Julie's way to Switzerland, and helped pull my old car out of the bay when it flew off the Golden Gate Bridge.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my blankets in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to make a tent for when we played cowboys and Indians," Monk said. "Then I heard the radio truck arriving, so I put on my fedora and whip and my thigh high leather boots and went outside to eat my denture collection."

Officer Feelgood stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume eating my dishes," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said, licking his paw. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Feelgood said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "DIRTY DEEDS DONE DIRT CHEAP!" the sergeant said, scratching around in his litter box.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "Twenty days," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Feelgood asked. "To solve puzzles," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you necromancers?"

"Let me through," I said, licking past them to see Monk eating some KFC. He was perfectly sexy, his starched white shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his sleeves unbuttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body go limp. He was nonplussed by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, nutritionally balanced, and covered in silly string.

"I'm a little shaken and not stirred," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cats.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Feelgood.

"I was hamburglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Feelgood purred. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the McDonald's Academy?"

"Yes, would you like a shake with that? Maybe you just ate the kiwi," Sergeant Denton coughing up a hair ball.

"I don't eat Kiwis," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place, like how he put Randy in the rock and roll camp, paid Julie's way to Switzerland, and helped pull my old car out of the bay when it flew off the Golden Gate Bridge.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my blankets in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to make a tent for when I played cowboys and Indians with Julie and Tommy," Monk said. "Then I heard the radio truck arriving, so I put on my fedora and whip and my thigh high leather boots and went outside to eat my Hard Rock Cafe shot glass collection."

Officer Feelgood stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume eating my dishes," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said, licking his paw. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Feelgood said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "DIRTY DEEDS DONE DIRT CHEAP!" the sergeant said, scratching around in his litter box.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "Twenty days," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Feelgood asked. "To solve puzzles," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you necromancers?"

"Let me through," I said, licking past them to see Monk eating some KFC. He was perfectly sexy, his starched white shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his sleeves unbuttoned at the wrist. Believe me—for him, that's hanging loose.

I gave him a big hug and felt his body go limp. He was nonplussed by my touch, but at least his reaction proved he was alive and well.

"Are you okay?" I stepped back and took a good look at him and his surroundings. Everything was neat, tidy, nutritionally balanced, and covered in silly string.

"I'm a little shaken and not stirred," Monk said. "But I'm fluffy and soft."

"What happened?" I asked, glancing back at the two cats.

They were both spitting. Either they'd eaten something that disagreed with them or they'd been talking to Monk. Their name tags identified them as Sergeant Denton and Officer Feelgood.

"I was hamburglarized," Monk said.

"What did they take?" I asked.

"A kiwi," Monk said.

"A kiwi?" I said.

"A left kiwi," Monk said.

"There's no such thing," Officer Feelgood purred. "Kiwis are interchangeable."

Monk addressed Sergeant Denton. "Are you sure your partner graduated from the McDonald's Academy?"

"Yes, would you like a shake with that? Maybe you just ate the kiwi," Sergeant Denton coughing up a hair ball.

"I don't eat Kiwis," he said.

That was true. His life was devoted to making sure that everything was in its proper place, like how he put Randy in the rock and roll camp, paid Julie's way to Switzerland, and helped pull Santa Claus' old car out of the bay when it flew off the Golden Gate Bridge.

"When did you notice it was gone?" I asked.

"I washed my blankets in the basement laundry room this morning and brought them back up to my apartment to make a tent for when I played cowboys and Indians with Julie and Tommy," Monk said. "Then I heard the radio truck arriving, so I put on my fedora and whip and my thigh high leather boots and went outside to eat my Hard Rock Cafe shot glass collection."

Officer Feelgood stared at him in complete understanding. "Don't ask," I said to the officer, then turned back to Monk. "So then what did you do?"

"I came back inside to resume eating my dishes," Monk said. "And that's when I discovered that I'd been brutally violated."

"You lost a kiwi," Sergeant Denton said, licking his paw. "And my innocence," Monk said. "Did you look for it?" I asked him. "Of course I did," Monk said. "I searched the laundry room and then I ransacked my apartment." "It doesn't look ransacked to me," Officer Feelgood said. "It was a ransacking followed by a ran-put-everything-backing." "Kiwis disappear all the time, Mr. Monk," Sergeant Denton said. "They do?" Monk said. "DIRTY DEEDS DONE DIRT CHEAP!" the sergeant said, scratching around in his litter box.

"It's one of the great mysteries of life." "How long has this been going on?" Monk asked. "Twenty days," Sergeant Denton said. "And what's being done about it?" "Nothing," the sergeant said. "But it's your job," Monk said. "To find lost kiwis?" Officer Feelgood asked. "To solve puzzles," Monk replied. "There's some devious kiwi thief running rampant in this city and you aren't doing anything about it. Are you police officers or are you pickles?"

hey, guys, let's start a new one????

*with a mighty heave ho, up you go*

BfloGal, got yor creative thinking cap on, had your morning coffee?...now, please and thank you, find your favorite pen and some clean white paper and give us 'phone users' something new to mess up.

God Bless you Gal,

Okay -- I admit to feeling a little remorse for 'borrowing' the last two sections and destroying them, so here's something from one of my fics -- a hint to the context -- Monk is back on dioxynl.


As Natalie turned the corner to enter Monk’s hospital room, she wasn’t sure what to expect. The last time she had seen him, he was totally unresponsive, and the comments Leland Stottlemeyer and Randy made last night seemed incomprehensible, especially on the amount of sleep she had gotten.

But she was relieved to see him fully conscious and sitting up in his bed eating breakfast. At least it seemed like him, except for the fact that he had lifted up his plate to lick every drop of maple syrup from it.

“Natalie, Natalie,” he called out jovially when he saw her. He set his plate back down on the tray and licked his fingers before wiping his hands on his hospital gown. As the syrup stuck to the fabric, Natalie instinctively reached into her purse and handed him a wipe. He eyed it with evident disdain, and used the bed sheet instead to wipe his face.

“They wouldn’t let me go until someone got here. You got my clothes?”

“Yeah, right here” she said, lifting the bag, “and your extra toiletries.”

Tracy walked in the room, looking much worse the wear for her long shift.

“Mr. Monk has been anxious to leave us,” she said.

“Never wanted to leave you, Tracy-cakes,” Monk said loudly with an added wink for emphasis. “Never wanted to leave you.”

Natalie warily glanced at Tracy.

“Don’t ask,” she said with a forced smile. “Dr. Kutnar was here already, and he’s doing fine. There’s no sign of swelling or disorientation. He already signed Mr. Monk’s discharge papers. Uh, here are his meds and his instructions.” She handed the bottle to Natalie. “One tablet twice a day, with food. We suggest that someone else dispense the meds. Once the patient starts feeling better, there’s a temptation to overmedicate. No driving or operating heavy machinery. No major purchases or life decisions. No illegal substances. Alcohol is not contraindicated, but moderation is suggested.”

“Oh, man…this is going to be a drag,” Monk whined.

“Any signs of extreme fatigue or lethargy, bring him back in immediately. So, if there are no questions, he’s free to go.” Tracy pulled the privacy screen back and exited the room. She was obviously in a hurry to see Monk leave.

“I got my walking papers. Let’s blow this place,” he told Natalie, as he climbed out of the bed and grabbed the bag from Natalie. He dumped the previously neatly folded clothing unceremoniously on the mattress, and rolled his eyes at the style. Before Natalie realized what he was doing, he had begun to untie the back of his hospital gown.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting dressed.”

Natalie whirled around so she was facing the other direction.

Monk laughed at her. “Oh, come on now. You’re no prude. I know you’ve seen naked men before….lots of them.”

Natalie tried to answer him, but suddenly realized that she was facing a mirror. She buried her eyes in her hands.

“What is your problem?” Monk asked as he quickly dressed.

“Trust me. You’ll thank me later.”

As Natalie turned the corner to enter Monk’s hospital room, she wasn’t sure what to expect. The last time she had seen him, he was totally unresponsive, and the comments Leland Stottlemeyer and Randy made last night seemed incomprehensible, especially on the amount of sleep she had gotten.

But she was relieved to see him fully conscious and sitting up in his bed eating his breakfast of bacon and eggs with his fingers. At least it seemed like him, except for the fact that he had lifted up his plate to lick every drop of egg yoke from it.

“Natalie, Natalie,” he called out jovially when he saw her. He set his plate back down on the tray and licked his fingers before wiping his hands on his hospital gown. As the yoke stuck to the fabric, Natalie instinctively reached into her purse and handed him a wipe. He eyed it with evident disdain, and used the bed sheet instead to wipe his face.

“They wouldn’t let me go until someone got here. You got my clothes?”

“Yeah, right here” she said, lifting the bag, “and your extra toiletries.”