Hercule Poirot twiddled his moustache as he looked over the motley crew of suspects he had gathered in the drawing room. Lady and Lane Avenger, Teenage Boy, Princess Avenger and Monsieur Jones. Lady Avenger looked shifty, Lane despondent, Teenage Boy still asleep and Princess Avenger bored; only Monsieur Jones seemed to be enjoying the situation. Although Belgian by birth, Poirot addressed them in fluent italics.
“You Madame Avenger, you have been behaving suspiciously lately no, disappearing for ze long periods of time and no longer wanting ze rumpy pumpy with your husband. You are having ze affair n’est-ce pas? Did you do ze poopy poopy as you came back from your lover last night?”
“No! I mean yes, I am having an affair - who can blame me with all I have to put up with; but please believe me, I didn’t do the poopy poo – the shit on the kitchen floor”.
“You then, Monsieur Avenger, you knew your wife was having ze affair, did you do the plop plop plop on her kitchen floor to get some revenge?”
“No. I’d never do that, and in any case its me that cleans the kitchen floor.”
“A likely story. Teenage Boy, you were on ze lager, jack daniels, jack flash and vindaloo last night. Was it all too much? Did you shit your load as you opened the fridge to put ze toilet paper in”
“Fuck off weirdo”
“You then Princess, did you forget that you did not have ze nappy on last night?”
“Monsiuer Poirot I am 12 years old.”
“In that case” exclaimed Poirot as he triumphantly reeled around, thrusting his accusing forefinger at the 4 month old Chocolate Labrador – “J’accuse you Monsieur Jones! You did ze poopy poopy!!”