I Was Born To Be Holmes And Ferret Out Threatening Gnomes

Basil Rathbone is for me a paragon, icon and a god

his ghost whispers to me at night from my stuffed cod,

always speaks so astutely, wise and never slightly odd,

makes me see ever vile deed cloaked behind a façade.

 

I even have spent time talking to the spirit of Dr. Watson

who mutters to me from the broken radio in my old Datsun,

with his help have I solved more than criminal mystery

though denied any credit due to my hallucination history.

 

Hours I've spent studying the many places that evil might lurk

pity those neighbors saw me as some kind of Peeping Tom jerk,

and the cops treated my efforts as some pervert type of quirk

too bad those meds I took too much of made me go a tad berserk.

 

Rest assured that if given the chance to prove my detective's worth

nothing will prevent me from being the best Sherlock on the earth,

as my mind comes alive with sensing every plot about to be given birth

like when I prevented those alien cooties from trying to bloat my girth.

 

For no wrong can ever escape the scrutiny of my watchful stare

even those invisible maniac minds who are always flying in the air,

they might elude when I’m under another bout of therapist’s care,

yet sooner or later I’ll expose when they're try hide in some éclair.

 

So look no more for I am the only one who can truly take this job

totally make sure to end every act of some paper clip stealing mob,

because I alone have my finger on the pulse of wickedness’s throb,

which happens best right after I’ve hit my head on a shiny door knob.