forensic bewitchment of a urinous kind

This post is a great example of why you shouldn't blog unless you have something to say, and never just to maintain frequency. Anyway, for better but probably for worse, here's the bizarre tale of the witches of Witchlea and Witchwich.

In Godknowswhere, Whogivesacrap, along the banks of Shit Creek, slouches the quaint old village of Witchlea, where most of the witches lived at one or other time, except for those who lived in the neighbouring village of Witchwich.

In WitchLea lived a young woman named Witchetty; her family name was Witch. She was Witchetty Witch, a witch of Witchlea.

In those days, people referred to other people in terms of their occupation. So a person might say “Lumberjack Jack Jackson cut down the trees”; or in Witchetty’s case, “Witch Witchetty Witch cast her spells”.

Anyway, round about the time they cleared the Witchlea Woods, occurred a dramatic if not traumatic event: the murder of Heather Headwich, Witchlea’s Head Witch.

Heather was not a popular Head Witch, for many reasons including ambivalence about her name. She had made numerous enemies in the course of her political career. So there were plenty of suspects in her murder, many people with motive, and more than a few with opportunity.

In those days Witch Witchetty Witch worked as a forensic analyst in the Pathology Lab of the Witchlea police department. Her job involved testing crime scene evidence, including so-called “sus-pecs”: suspect specimens — usually body fluids of one form or another.

Let me recap. A witchly, Witchlea witch, Witch Witchetty Witch, was a forensic analyst whose job involved testing body fluids such as blood and urine.

(And thereby hangs a urinous tail! What a hoot! In those days, “urine” was colloquially referred to as “witch-wee”, or sometimes, “witch-weewee”!)

But I digress. Let us return to the foul murder of Head Witch Hedda Headwich. After a lengthy investigation the only piece of evidence was a urine-soaked handkerchief found at the scene. The handkerchief ended up in the pathology lab in which Witch Witchetty Witch ran some magical tests to identify which micturater had micturated the suspects’ sus-pecs, suspected to be a Witchlea or a WitchWich witch which had micturated the witchweewee.

The next step was to test the witchly witchweewee of all the suspects from Witchlea and Witchwich. There were so many suspects it took weeks to conclude the testing. In relation to which, Witch Witchetty Witch formed a routine to help boost the speed and accuracy with which she conducted the tests.

On Mondays, Wednesdays and odd-numbered Fridays, she tested the Witchlea witchwee. On Tuesdays, Thursdays, and even-numbered Fridays she tested the Witchwich suspects’ suspecs.

Ultimately, the case went to Court. It was the biggest media event in the history of Godknowswhere, Whogivesacrap. As the Trial proceeded, excitement grew apace. The case was on everyone’s lips. Most of the witches watched the Trial on TV or listened to the audio on radio. And those who didn’t have a TV asked their neighbours to tell them about the latest developments.

Witch Witchetty Witch’s grandmother was in Court when the Chief Prosecutor called Witchetty as an expert witness in relation to the forensic evidence of the case. Addressing the Witness by name and job-title, per the custom, the Chief Prosecutor said:

“Witch Witchetty Witch, which witch’s witchwee, which you say you tested last Friday...”

But let’s leave it there, I think. Don’t you?


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Antares said...

If you and I were strolling along the beach and we bumped into a wanton willing witch in a teeny-weeny yellow polka-dot bikini... we'd have a sandwitch sandwich, wouldn't we?

masterymistery said...

Antares, thanks for your comment. As you can see, at least I've had the decency to back-date this post to the archives. Appreciate your stopping by.