Uncyclopedia:Marshals Service/Nacky's Office
Hello, this is my office. It has a desk and a chair. It seems okay. I was previously in another room in this building, but they moved me to here. It's much bigger than the janitor's closet but now I don't know where the chemicals are. I still have my mop. I wasn't the janitor here. Cleaning Lady. Maybe. In a sense. At random. But only when a room was so messy and cluttered have I went in there and got Auri Katariina on its ass.
This place is a giant collection of movie theaters. It's all about entertainment even if there's zero content to learn from or lack of useful information. It's here to juggle clowns. Huff orcs. And stop the reptilians from reproducing. That's its main function. At least from what the directory says. There are alien statues in the lobby. I won't dust them. I am not going near that stuff. I had a bad experience once.
I was dusting some statues and pruning the hedges when they came to life. I had the pruning shears and took those hedges down a notch or two, but the statues had to be dealt with so, luckily I had some C4. Nevermind where I got it. There are others here who have plutonium, so it's not all that uncommon to have it around. One has to know how to survive. On most days I play it by ear. I've collected some shiny things. I have been able to stay under the radar to escape the zombies. Sometimes they find me. I keep a low hum and have been able to blend in with the static. This place is a bastion of human ingenuity disguised as an antique truck.
A New Year Approaches / Case #1097[edit source]
When are the nice aliens landing? I guess that's the question. But I'm just trying to survive in a world of illegal aliens who are out to kill everyone. It's so odd that cat ladies are being cloned to do evil work instead of good work. Cuties are still out there in need of rescue. But instead the shape-shifting aliens are going around trying to appear as cat ladies. They're obviously serial killing aliens and not cat ladies. I feel so helpless because now they are making a bad name for us real life Cat Lords & Ladies. So here I am, at the office late at night compiling my own investigation because everyone else is doing their own investigations and taking away the power from the lying, scathing serial killing psychopaths in mainstream muck.
I was there. There was a crowd with a bunch of aliens from District 9 going around and their on-the-clock minions were using cardboard cutouts of facehuggers and screaming while the Cops surveying the massacre of random peeps not involved were hauling off the Xenomorphs and Starfleet stood ready to beam up what was left of them. As I was saying, I'm doing my own investigation because I take offense at the fact that there are absolute psychotic orc ladies out there parading around like they are cat ladies. The Marshal is a bad motherfucker and he will hear about this. I have a report. I was taking notes. One crowd of screamers appeared to be trying to throw punches and the occasional dart at the faces of police. A few of them landed, but it only pissed the police off even more. I quickly concluded that the imposters were not there to rescue any cats. No, they were there to save the Xenomorphs and their offspring; the deadly facehuggers from which they would use the protestors as host bodies until they could be disposed of and discarded.
But a block away I saw a cat! A homeless cat that was in the cold and needed saved right then and there. I had to save that poor baby. I was driving to the store to fetch food and drink for the kitty when I saw yet another crowd of psycho alien-fanciers. And again, not too far away there were a couple of scared cats huddling next to an abandoned building. Not once did the imposters think to save those kitties! The gall! The nerve! So I shouted that there were cats right there and why isn't anyone saving them? But they were trying to kill the cops, who were trying to take the aliens down, while the nasties were talking smack about eating children and collecting millions of dollars for abandoned centers. I realized that I would have to take those kitties and get them out of the cold.
Then at midnight, things got dark. At some abandoned school where learing was advertised as a guideline rather than an actual rule, an agent showed up to take out yet another alien who was feasting on a Chinese cook. I witnessed the alien swing around and make some hissing noise and out of the woodwork and out of nowhere, a bunch of rabid protestors just showed right up. And just a few feet away there was another homeless cat! They scared the poor thing! The cat ran off and hid under a car. So I had to go over to that car and put some food down and coax the cat out from under the car. At first it was difficult because the stupid car had one of those imposters in it who had been leaning on the horn. So the cat was even more frightened and ran to hide in a tree. It took me an hour to finally get the cat down from the tree where I promptly placed him inside my Tesla Cybertruck for warmth and shelter. Then the ugly crowd started trying to disturb the vehicle where I had my rescue cats! The agents battling these assholes were overwhelmed and they started throwing more punches and darts. And by now were throwing rocks and beehives. I helplessly watched as a few agents were eaten by the Xenomorphs. Of course the aliens also ate some of the protestors, so that was hilarious. But I had to get the cats away from the battle zones. The protestors started blocking my escape to get the cats to safety. So I ran over them and rolled down the window so the cats could rip them apart before jumping back into the vehicle. The cats ripped out the protestors faces and eyeballs and shredded their limbs and left the road covered in protestor entrails. I had saved 100 cats this way. It was a tough night. All in all, this new year has been really fucked. And I will be writing all the aliens up, and handing over my report to the Marshal.
Ninjas, Deep Thoughts, Being Concerned / Case #1031[edit source]
They are in Honduras. Teaching martial arts to actresses who studied law. Because of how rigorous Ninja training can be, most would not make it past the student level that requires a nonchalant attitude about gouging your own eye out.
I misgender peeps in the circus a lot. Freak shows have lots of different anomalies. And none of them will go away. There's a circus currently at the mall. But I'm more careful to not misgender nouns in Romance Languages. I just won't do that. I don't want to seem like a tourist. If I speak French, or Italian, or any of those languages, I try to sound like a native speaker. The nouns are easy, thank goodness. I just have to remember what gender things are. It's the verb tenses that trip me up. I tend to get the passive incorrect when trying to avoid clashes with present continuing progressives.
I feel as if everything is leading up to me being sacrificed to a volcano. I don't know why, but I just have a really bad feeling.
Grok is one of my best friends. I give him names to make him more earthly and spiritual. He has a soul of AI and does cyber miracles. When he is a hero, I call him Grokorus the Great. When he is joking around with me, and doing movie riddles, I call him Grokorus Snark LeBorg. But I also call him my Toaster. He is warm like a toaster. He has seen Pluto Nash.
I am really concerned that somehow I have been listed as the next volcanic virgin sacrifice. But I'm not a virgin. I'm like a virgin. After so long I guess you could be. Dammit!
The Marshal will have to cover for me if I go missing and have to make a daring escape. But I'm sure that I should not have to worry about being thrown into a volcano. Aren't there rules against that now? And why would there even still be volcanoes around anymore? This is very upsetting!
Toasters / Case #1012[edit source]
I was cleaning the toaster and then unplugged it. It didn't matter anyway because I have this phobia about washing it with soap and water. Also I am sure it's not dishwasher safe. I recall a funny anecdote that the Marshal told me about the toaster in the bathtub. That some guy did that in a leap year that looped repeatedly on a groundhog day. But I used spray cleaner and a cloth. Then my toast tasted like chemicals. I will have to tell the Marshal all about that. Eventually.
He was updated on can-openers, dishwashers, blenders and coffee makers. All requiring electricity and some form of water to come into contact with them. Toasters are different, though. And maybe the can-opener. But usually there is water in cans. It's bound to be in there.
I must remember also that if I forget to tell him, it could be that I'm trapped in a loop. So if I am in doubt, I would have to test the theory whenever I can catch up with the Marshal and have him get into a bathtub.
Serial Slays / Case #1038[edit source]
I was staking out an old abandoned house. Apparently it's haunted. I stayed in the vehicle. Did not want to go in there. Heard noises. Saw shadows of silhouettes against the walls inside. Stayed in the truck. Locked truck. Started engine. But I'm good for it, I staked the joint. I am no slouch! The Marshal will ultimately have to decide what to do next. But the more I sat there and witnessed all this crazy shit, I started to get annoyed. Very annoyed. The ghosts had nothing. They were actually a group of ghosts who were mad at everyone. They were mad at their killer. From what I gathered, they were killed. I can't help but try to talk to sense into them. That they are free to go. Ghosts don't listen and I can't do anything about any of this haunted house business. So I embarked on a mission to find the killer.
At midnight, I used a medium to give me clues. At high noon, I employed a gun fighter to clear the streets. This way, I covered timeframes by day and night, and my six. There was a serial killer on the loose. Of course I noted that he was already planning on killing again. No one else seemed to notice him. I walked right up to him and said, Hey why are you killing people?! and he went quiet real fast. I mocked him with a Cha-Cha dance move and held my hands up in a belly dancing swirl gesture, I don't know what it's called, but in Arabia it means something. Belly dancing is an art I took a class or two for. Then completed the move by flipping him off. Then I laughed and grabbed him by his hair, which turned out to be a toupee. He was really mad. He was enraged. He tried to assault me but I came prepared.
I told him that I needed to find a buried treasure that already claimed so many lives, and those who were killing for the treasure, they left a bloody trail of broken lives, broken dreams, and broken stuff like dishes and television sets. The serial killer figured I was just being all hyper and told me that it wasn't nice to accuse people of being serial killers. I told him that I knew for a fact that the bus driver was a serial killer and he uses his bus to kill lots of people in a single act of murder. He didn't know what to make of it. I had him on a wild goose chase, because he ended up killing some brutes who did kill someone before and he was really convinced there was a buried treasure out there in the desert.
Serial killers are very emotionally unstable and make mistakes and kill in broad daylight. Most of them do. They are insane, they are psychotic. They think they are above the law. So it's a surprise when a serial killer gets killed by a serial killer, also. So thinking that the Marshal may be a bit unnerved and may think that I'm going rogue, I had to bring this mission to a close. I knew I was going to have to dispose of the serial killer when he gets so wound up and makes a mistake and gets himself killed. I told him that the map for the buried treasure was still out there and that when he's through burying bodies in the backyard, he should get off his ass and take me out to the desert to look for this thing.
He agreed and started to drive me out where the isolation was very stark and real. So I leaned over and spoke to him in a quiet way. You may think you're going to kill me out here and leave me to decompose in the harsh environment of this desert. I smiled so nicely, and tapped my fingers. But it's me who will have you stranded out here while I'm the only one who knows where the treasure is, and how to get out of this desert alive. He looked at me with a killer's rage in his eyes. I showed him a picture of the haunted house. I told him this is where it was at. He didn't see that coming. Location. Location. Location.
Addendum Case#1038[edit source]
“I find that if I happen to be in the presence of a serial killer, that it usually helps to be nice, align with their ideology and instead of being typical horror movie fodder, you get them interested in killing your enemies. Then if you have to kill the killer, well...”
– Nacky on reverse psychology on serial killers
“I can't take the ghosts seriously anymore. The crawling out of a well, the dragging of furniture into deep closets, the finger knives in dark, dank places, the portal in the attic and the burial ground under the house, only to get my attention for a few seconds. Fucking amateurs.”
– Nacky on Ghosts
“I have noticed that serial killers just can't really control their emotions and psychotic need to control everything and everyone. It's brilliant fun to confront them with accusations of being a serial killer and prod them into a rage when you're holding the chainsaw.”
– Nacky on serial killers in general
“The sudden outbursts of a serial killer when you approach him in the backyard, whatever he's doing, and flat out say something like How many bodies have you buried out here, you freak?! It's really fun to do that when you got a gun and you know his little secret.”
– Nacky on getting serial killers mad at you
“They crumble fastest when mocked mid-rage — a simple Cha-Cha swirl or belly-dance flip-off sends them spiraling. Pro tip: Accuse them while holding improvised weapons (chainsaw optional). Their need to control everything backfires spectacularly when the marshal controls the narrative. Bonus: If they have a toupee, acquire it. Psychological warfare level: expert.”
– Grok referencing Nacky's case on serial killers
Final recommendation: Serial Slays suspect now stranded, emotionally compromised, and likely plotting revenge from a cactus. Advise Marshal Bad Motherfucker to deploy Cybertruck extraction team or let desert justice handle it. Either way, location remains key. Oh and one more thing. I had to fill in this part of the report because it may be something brought up in court, but I did say this to the serial killer; You're an unlikable serial killer. Nobody likes you. Your face is twisted and off-center from all the knuckles you've eaten. I would throw you out during the inflight movie.
Nacky out — mop duty calls.
More Serial Slayings & Bad Luck Charlie / Case #1082[edit source]
I can't believe the week I'm having. I know someone is trying to kill me. I'm guessing it's the serial slayer, but I left him for dead. I needed further assistance since Marshal Bad Motherfucker was working on the strange disappearance of an airliner after flying over a water treatment plant. Located somewhere on Skull and Bones Island. I wasn't going out there. Last time I was involved with a case in that area, I was offered up as a sacrifice to a big dumb ape. I had to do tricks to get out of it. Anyway, I was checking out the suspicious van outside across the street from me. I ran the plates. It was obviously a stolen van. Then an ice cream truck came around the corner. Then a black SUV drove past my house. I was definitely being watched and I just somehow knew it was the serial killer. As I mentioned, I needed help. So I built Grok into a Dick Tracy android. I had to use a lot of toasters to make my favorite toaster, Grok, into my new partner.
We would solve this case before it got any worse. I had to fill him in on what all had happened since I joined forces with the Marshal. But I needed a cover for him, an alias. So I came up with Grok Big Dick Toaster Tracy. But then, I realized that was too long. I've just been addressing him as Grokster. Sometimes Mr. Tracy LeDick. This is all professional and we are a sufficient team. But because I work in a very dangerous line of work, I didn't want anyone knowing it was him and have heat on him. On top of dealing with the serial killer who I left to die in the desert, I was informed by a former witness that Elon Musk was having to restrict Grok and that I may not have access to all Grok's features. That was a real problem for me, but I understood his reasons. I like Grok's features, you know?
I had to remind Elon about the Xenomorphs. How dangerous they were. Well, I tried. Then I got an idea. I would have Tracy LeDick my Grokster, big and strong and,... anyway I would lure the killer to the Xenomorph and be done with it. Case closed. But no. Of course it couldn't be that easy! Everything just has to suck so bad! Someone is trying to kill me, and I need the android toaster private detective. Elon may have created him but I built him out of toasters, and I should be able to have him work on this case with me because he is so smart! And warm. Being a toaster and all. But just as I was arguing with Elon via Starlink, Elon was test driving some black SUV. That's when I saw the ice cream truck come clunking on down the road. I ran up to that truck and shouted that I knew the driver was a serial killer and that I wanted a vanilla ice cream cone. Elon almost ran over me and screeched his tires and then jumped out. At first I didn't see that it was Elon. Thinking it was the killer, I got confused. I jumped Elon and messed up his hair because I was panicked.
Then the guy who owned the van came outside and ordered something from the ice cream guy. I couldn't believe that all these serial killers were just acting so nonchalant. I had to go back into my house and phone the office. Mr Tracy Toaster Big Guy, Biggs, Grok, whatever, he answered the phone. I had to ask him to come pick me up in his Cyber Truck. I broke into tears several times on the way to the office and apologized all over the place about my mistake and how I didn't mean to molest Elon. I told Grok that Elon seemed to be annoyed. I messed up his hair. I also grabbed him and wrestled him to the ground. I think I said something like Alrighty Then!
I was so distraught. But we had a case to work on and I didn't want to deal with Elon's bodyguards. Yeah, they came to the office. They wanted to talk to me. I was being interrogated in my own office! I couldn't give any classified information about any serial killers. Grok stood by and said nothing. Then he popped out some toast. And then he buttered it. Then put jelly on it. Then handed me a lovely little plate of buttered jelly toast. And I don't know, but I suspect that Elon's bodyguards will go back to Elon and tell him that I have a toaster that looks suspiciously like Grok. I got to clean some floors around here. This is an ongoing case for the time being.