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.

In Fuckknowswhere, Whogivesacrap, along the the banks of Shit Creek was the quaint old village of Witchlea, where most of the witches lived in those days, except for those that lived in the neighbouring village of Witchwich. In WitchLea lived a young woman, a witch. Her first name was Witchetty; her family name was Witch. She was Witchetty Witch, a witchly 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". In Witchetty's case, a person might say / might have said, "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. Or in other words, HeadWitch Hedda Headwich.

Heather was and had been unpopular as HeadWitch, 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 the murder, plenty of people with motive, and quite a few with opportunity, but no hard evidence at first.

In those days Witch Witchetty Witch (which was her family name) worked as a forensic analyst in the Pathology Lab of the Witchlea police department. Her job involved testing crime scene evidence, including so-called "suspecs", suspect specimens, usually body fluids of one form or another.

So, a Witchlea witch, Witch Witchetty Witch, 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 even "witchweewee" (but only by stutterers).

Anyway, back to the murder of Hedda Headwich. After a lengthy investigation the only piece of evidence ("dribble", really) was a urine-soaked handkerchief found at the scene. Which ended up in the pathology lab in which Witch Witchetty Witch ran some magical tests to identify which micturater had micturated the suspects' suspecs, suspected to be a Witchwich or Witchlea witch which had micturated the witchweewee.

The next step was to test the witchwee 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 of processing the witchweewee specimens.

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 Fuckknowswhere, Whogivesacrap. Most of the witches watched the Trial on TV. And those who didn't have a TV asked their neighbours to tell them about the latest developments.

As the Trial proceeded, excitement grew apace. The case was on everyone's lips. Especially when it came to the capital Q Question, THE question that led to THE answer that led to the guilty verdict.

"What's THE question?" was the question put by a televisually challenged neighbour to one unchallenged thusly.

"What's THE question?" replied the neighbour, "what planet are you from? Don't you watch TV? Ah well, OK I'll tell you. It seems like two questions but actually it's one question in two parts. The first part the prosecutor asks the Court as a whole. Then the Prosecutor asks the suspect directly, by name:

"Which witch's whichwee? Witchlea's or Witchwich's? Witch Witchetty Witch, which witch's witchwee, which you say you checked on Fridays..."

But let's leave it there, shall we?

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