Can-ed Frink: AKA: Second Cousin (Twice Removed) of Frinkenstein

Rigor mortis had not yet set in, though the flies were taking a definite interest. The horse shook its nostrils in distaste as it stepped off the lemur cadaver during the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Musical Ride. The dance proceeded as planned, every move intricate, every step choreographed, yet at the same time, something appeared amiss. A mystery that the Mounties were incapable of deducing.

"Is it just me, or is the horse in the middle missing?" the Inspector queried of no one in particular.

No One-In-Particular nodded sadly.

"And is that man in the centre running around with coconuts?" He pointed towards the man in the midst of the equine procession who was clapping his nuts together.

"Those are awfully big nuts, eh?" No One asked.

After peering about to see who said that, the Inspector hesitantly made his way down to the field where Constable Clover was waiting for him. She was watching the procession, and wiping bits of lemur that had been kicked up by the horse stepping out of the rut from her already red jacket.

"So, you the one that was sent to help me find a clue, eh?" Clover asked as he approached, stepping in the lemur as he went.

"Sorry, I don't have a clue," the Inspector pointed out.

"I can see that. Would you mind getting out of the rut, eh?"

"I'm sorry, I am always in a rut."

"So, do you have any clues on who stole our equine masterpiece, eh?"

"I'm sorry, I thought you were missing a horse," the Investigator remarked in confusion as he stared at the man with the large nuts.

Drawing his attention back away from the crowd, the Constable took her turn to look at the man clacking his large nuts together. She pondered where on Earth he had managed to get such large pecans. Surely no sparrow could carry them. "Do you have any idea what I'm supposed to say at this point, eh?"

"I'm sorry, I do not have a clue," the Detective said.

"Well, then maybe we should interview some of these dancing Mounties, eh?" the Constable suggested. "I'm particularly interested in the man with the large coconuts. Aren't you, eh?"

"Who's this Eh you keep referring to?"


"Never mind. So, shall we go interview people now?"

No One-In-Particular nodded sadly.

Nearly tripping over a discarded rifle filled with horse tranquillizers, embossed with the Derksen Industries logo on the butt, Clover reached down and picked it up. "Now who left this lying here, eh? It should be in the trash." And so saying, she promptly, properly, disposed of the offending litter in the nearby weapons recycle bin.

After failing to conduct and interview while prancing alongside the dancing Mounties, the Inspector grabbed one of the red coats, and yanked him from his steed. They then proceeded to interview the horse. However, he was the silent type, and was tough to crack.

"He has to have a lot of balls, not to reply like that, eh?"

No One-In-Particular nodded sadly.

"Perhaps you should try talking to the rider, eh?" No One suggested.

Again, they peered about for the mysterious, disembodied voice, only to find No One standing there. Seeing No One, they turned back to the rider and found him more tractable than his horse who was presently trotting over to the next door polo game. He brought his own balls.

"Frasier Benton"

"Ah, so your name tag says that you are Frasier Benton, eh?" Clover deduced after the anomalous speaking label spoke in clear and dulcet tones.

"Yes, and this is my blind Chihuahua, Mulroney," Benton said pointing to the dog that appeared from out of Nowhere. And Nowhere was writhing in pain on top of the lemur in the rut.

Staring at the blood dripping dog, the Inspector asked, "Do you know what happened to the missing horse?"

"No, but I do know that Mulroney here is embezzling the pension funds and taking kickbacks from AirBus."

The Constable looked to the dog, who suddenly exclaimed, "Yo quiero Taco Bell/ Je voudrais Tace Bell, eh!"

Suddenly, Another Voice from Nowhere who seemed to be currently doing an impression of the Exorcist, shouted, "Kill the Taco Rat!"

"No, kill the Canadian Rat," shouted a scratchy voice.

"Not yet!" shouted the stupid foreigner who stuck the word colour in here just for kicks. "I'm still typing the story!"

At that precise moment, the dance switched direction and one of the horses squished Mulroney as flat as a Fajita, and there was much rejoicing from Nowhere whose head was spinning and spewing pea soup.

"Oh, you meant the other rat," noticed the silly foreigner at the keyboard.

The horse slipped in the rut, distracting the flies and knocking its crimson robed rider off and into the arms of the waiting Constable Clover, who immediately dropped him.

"I thought you Mounties always got your man!" exclaimed the CSIS man.

"I've got enough man already," Clover replied, still staring at the pancaked Chihuahua, with a side of eggs, bacon, and coconuts.

"And who are you?" asked No One.

"Dudley, Dudley DoLeft at your service Ma'am."

"I'm not a Ma'am," replied No One, checking for the presence of coconuts.

"Shouldn't it be Dudley DoRight, eh?"

"No, no woman has ever told me I've done it right. That's while I'm still a Mountie and not a Mounter."

"What do you know about the missing horse?" the RSVP man inquired as the Constable chased down billowing Derksen Industry leaflets blowing in the wind and promptly and properly disposing them.

"Who would litter so badly, eh?"

"Oh, " Dudley murmured, "those were left by the DI guy who came here last night with the tranq gun, net, and the large flat bed truck. I helped him out when his truck got stuck in the rut."

"Yes, but what does that have to do with the missing horse?" the CBC guy asked.

"I don't know, but perhaps we should ask this DI guy, eh?" Clover suggested.

"Where did he go?" the Honourable Independent member from Kicking Horse Pass asked.

"I think I remember him saying something about having to go to a DI Meat Packing plant," Dudley added.

No One-In-Particular nodded sadly.

"Then let us go pay them a visit," shouted No One.

They jumped on horseback, and followed the tire treads to the DI meat packing Plant. The Musical Ride followed after, with the horseless rider clapping his coconuts at the rear.

After weaving by several igloos, and dodging flying hockey pucks, they arrived at the Meat Plant/Quebec Separatist Headquarters/FLQ Armory and Chandalier Shop. They were greeted by a shaggy haired individual with a red ball cap and a slight stoop.

"Hi, I am Mike... from Canmore!" exclaimed the man staring at the large quantity of horses approaching. "Oh, you brought more? Look, Norm, wow!" Then, turning to the stuffed dog in the guard-shack. "Sit! Good dog."

"Have you seen a horse, come in here?" asked the Inspector.


"Can you tell us where this horse is now, eh?" Clover inquired
Mike stood there with a glazed expression on his face for quite some time. After the snows melted, and he wiped off the chocolate glaze from his nose, he said, "I am Mike... from Canmore."

"Should we add a reference to Canadian Tire, now, eh?" asked the crazy Canucks.

"No, they=re riding horses," replied the typist.

Walking by the Mike and the five, local Tim Horton's, plus the new one currently under construction along with the next ten kilometres of highway, the Mounties entered the Derksen Industry's building.

They were about to ask the receptionist about the horse, but realising that she was a Newfie, they moved on to somebody that they could understand. They found a curly blonde man with glasses wandering the halls looking confused.

"Excuse me sir, have you seen a horse, eh?"

"No, I'm too busy refooooooooorming my poutine."

Moving on, they entered the main meat processing area. "So where should we go from here?" the Inspector asked, shouting over the constant oui-ing and stomping of hooves.

"Aren't they supposed to be nay-ing, eh?" pondered the Constable.

"This is the Separatist Section, we don't like Nay," N'aimportre Qui (DI Fracofrinkotraslator: No One) said.

"I see we now have the obligatory frink in there," observed the Inspector. "I thought he was still in the rut?"


No One-In-Particular nodded sadly.

And then they walked past the loud obnoxious man with the peg leg who was busy dumping horse meat into a grinder and muttering something about needing to separate it. Passing the List of Those That Shall be Spared, and the crates containing the plans for world Domination, all clearly marked for easy reference, they made their way into the heart of the Derksen Industry's Compound.

Accidentally stepping on a large, six-foot tall cockroach, who muttered several curses as he knocked over a stack of McCain's Frozen Horse Meat Pockets and a can of Iced FrinkJ [50 plus 1 proof Frink].

The Inspector picked up one of the boxes and declared in a rush, "The horse is a course!"

"Of course, a course!" said Gratuitous Transformation, munching on a DI Horse Meat Pocket.

AOh my God!@ shouted a little boy in a orange coat and green hat. AYou killed Thomas! You bastards!@

"So what are we going to do about my horse?" asked the horseless rider. "My coconuts are cracking."

Suddenly Gratuitous Transformation nay-ed. Angry at such a blasphemous utterance, Bouchard stormed in, and spontaneously turned him into a horse.

"There's your horse, of course, eh!" Clover announced. "And this must be our culprit, eh?"

"Tabernouche, qu'est-ce que tu dit!?" exclaimed Bouchard. "Ce n'etait pas moi! C'etait Bryan Derksen! Il est coupabe. Il est le Fuhrer! (DI Francofrinktranslator: fvck, what are you saying!? It wasn't me, it was Bryan Derksen. He's guilty! He's the Fuhrer.)

"Oh sure, eh," said Dudley DoLeft. "Next you'll say it was Moose and Squirrel."

On queue, Rocky and Bullwinkle appeared at the scene. "Hey Rocky, watch me pull a rabbit out of my hat!"

"Again? That trick never works."

"Abracazamcamcaexpialaciousnyarlathotepshubniggaruthkazaamkazzoieandabunchofothermeaninglesssyllables, eh!" intoned Bullwinkle as he reached into his hat and drew forth a white rabbit with blue eyes and a large assortment of small firearms, all with proper registration.

Constable Clover, suddenly inflamed, tackled the rabbit, and standing astride him, declared, "That while rabbits love to eat clover, I always get my man, eh!"

The Inspector nodded in relief, and rode off on his dog sled.

The End, eh!

Those responsible for this Canadian atrocity against all that is decent, wholesome, and sane, are in no particular order of blame:

Charles "MattRat" Matthias (typist and stupid foreigner)
Jason Lehrer (official DI frankofrinktranslator)
Chris Hoekstra (Deranged Kitsune, and bringer of Coconuts, please do not ask)
Terry Spafford (Jetfire, on whose computer this violation of natural law was co

Next frink

Last Updated: Sat Mar 6 2004 22:13:49