Sherlock Holmes and the Temple of Doom
Sherlock whipped out his glasses, thy were dirty.
“Dammit,”he swore,“Watson! Get over here!”
Watson waddled to Mr. Holmes. Watson was small, about 5’2", asian, no older than 13.
“DOCTA HOLMES, DOCTA HOLMES!!!” he shrieked in our hero’s ear.
“Jesus Christ, Watson, you sound like your being molested, what is it you want?”
“Docta Holmes! We have turty seconds!!!!”
“TILL DA BIG BOMB!!” Watson made a large circle with his arms, “NO TIME FOR EXCAVATION DOCTA!!”
“Dammit, Watson. I’m not a doctor, I’m a private investigator!”
Watson tugged on Holmes’ arm. Holmes was too busy investigating the prize to even notice Watson’s presence.
The prize was a monocle. A Golden Monocle.
Holmes reached as far as he could, knowing a single mistake could trigger the poison darts aimed at his face. He grabbed the watch.
That’s when the henchman came.
They wore tribal paint and grass skirts.
They dragged Holmes and Watson to the lair of The Great Humdeedlebub.
The Great Humdeedlebub turned.
“Throw them to the sharks.”