Let's be a DL murder mystery

😂 😆 😆

I'm Muriel in a blood-soaked caftan.

[quote] I'm Muriel in a blood-soaked caftan.

I'm Muriel's period. I happen twice a month.

I am the vague odor of fish and prunes coming from the kitchen, not-quite-masking the stench of a dead body.

I'm the Tina Turner clock, missing from the wall.

Colonel Mustard killed Cheryl in the study, with a knife

I'm the copious amounts of pot, silly. No one knows if I'm poisonous and nobody cares.

I'm the wall of books in the victims apartment. He thinks it makes him look cultured and sophisticated.

I'm Truman Capote and I've called all the DLers together to my manse.

Hopefully, I'm the victim.

I'm Gore Vidal's murdered corpse. Capote murdered me!!!

I'm the perpetrator's doll and curios collection.

I'm a high heel through the eye.

I’m the dark and stormy night playing hell with everybody’s hair.

I'm this thread, failing horribly.

R15 is the killer.

The thread killer.

I’m Gerg, the cook. More monkey’s brains?

I'm the shattered soup tureen from Mother's china set. I made the most ghastly sound when I hit the wall.

I'm the lead investigator. I'm hair-triggered Butch on the streets, and an insatiable bottom in the sheets.

I'm the soft butch sous chef. I did it

I'm dialing 'M' with a pencil.

R21 wins.

I am rescue chick's pitbull gently dabbing her mouth with a napkin and contemplating her alibi.

I am the emotion underlying the motive for this crime. I am love.

Is it a rescue pit bull?

I am the poisoned nutloaf.

Will it be entitled “Squirrels, Death”?

I'm the cash bar being hastily set up for the funeral.

Let the bitching commence!

I was molested

I'm the terribly-pleased-with-myself poster musing that "something doesn't add up" about the story, in-between inhales of Little Debbie oatmeal cream pies.

I am the person accusing the corpse of being an EST.

I'm the utterly useless clue that an eldergay wearing a caftan was seen fleeing the area, screaming "I look 25!"

Well, no shit, Sherlock. Can you narrow it down a bit.

I am the layers of nacreous permacum congrealing on the bedroom floor.

I have nothing to do with the murder, but I will keep the forensic team busy for months!

I'm Janbot with a pink bedazzled rifle.

I am the mysterious femme fatale played by 70s Islamic supermodel Ypir.

I am the emotional courtroom confession.

I'm the fat whore.

I just wish they'd stop telling me "I am NOT one of your fans!" r36. I really don't care.

Also, I know you're not the perp. Just stop.

I'm the clandestine meeting between partners in crime.

In the second floor men's room in Macy's at 8pm.

I’m dialing from inside the house - with a pencil.

I´m the second victim. A beloved sassy musical star who after performing her signature number is warned by her mousy dresser that there is a murderer in the building.

My last words in life are "Stop acting like a silly school girl! The only murderer here is the Orchestra Leader."

I´ve planted my last tree....

I'm the cryptic note, "Ask for a murdered bussy, get a murdered bussy"

Don't you dare fucking look at me.

That's Darfur Orphan in the kitchen! He's raiding the fridge!

i'm the loaf of bread left in the Refrigerator

I'm Jessica Fletcher, volunteering to help catch the murderer

I'm the sassy maid. I know everyone's secrets and where all the bodies are buried, literally and figuratively.

And I ain't nobody's damn fool.

I'm the DOGE inspector reviewing the gender and ethnicity of the cast for deviations from the 1928 original. If I find one more hint of DEI, your funding is GONE!

I'm the hushed whispers in the courtroom:

Psst**

"Look at the cheekbones on Darfur: surgery or diet and exercise?"

"And those flies flying around his head, gurl needs to change his cologne."

"Bitch is guilty, though."

I am risen, 'cause I know the shit is going to hit the fan any moment now.

The murderer was an illegal!!!

There is no mystery here.

[quote] I was molested

Amazing that you worked that into the victim's eulogy, Lorna.

"I'm Jessica Fletcher, volunteering to help catch the murderer"

This is THE DATALOUNGE. Let me fix this for you:

I'm Jessica Felcher, volunteering to help...

I'm Jan Terri, your singing telegram!

I'm sorry miss OP, but with all due respect, I've got problems of my own!

Jessica, take your old ass back to Cabot Cove. I got this!

I hate to step on anyone's toes, of course, but FUCK YOU, LaToilet.

I'm the Last Will & Testament of the murder victim. At the reading, in the presence of the detective and the suspects, gasps and choked cries were heard at these words: "I hereby do not make any provision for any of my children. For reasons well known to them."

I'm the basic bitch circuit gay and I'm too busy thinking about my outfit for the upcoming White Party to pick up on any of the clues!

I am the murderer. I have a ten-inch dick that will get me off -in more ways than one.

I'm the soft butch sous chef who found the drained pasta in the sink

I’m the blood stained can of powdered floor cleaner in the bathroom that the recently fired Ms. Jenkins said was clean.

Close by are the clothes taken off of wire hangers that they weren’t supposed to be on.

Touch nothing!

I’m a crumpled receipt clearly marked “Once Around the Garden” found in the victim’s pocket.

I am a Dallas A gay heading to the gym at 5 AM.

i'm the can of frosting

I'm the cloth bag (as a child might have) left behind at Ruth's Chris

I'm Jive

I'm the can of Crisco found under the bed. I stymie the poor, straight detective who feels this out-of-place item must be an important clue -but he can't figure out what it means...

I’m a wheeled suitcase found abandoned on the streets of New York

I'm the bloodied Madame Alexander doll in the clutches of the 2nd victim. Several of the suspects are circling the evidence bag, hoping to clean it up and get out.

I’m the crab walk

I'm the crabs. In the bed. Sadly, the victim was such a slut that crabs won't necessarily prove who the murderer is.

I am the suitcase stolen at Minnesota airport containing African designer clothes and two medium sized Manila envelopes.

I'm the homicidal fatty on the lam, and there's a statewide manhunt for me.

I’m Erwin, the Filipino houseboy. My lips are sealed…for now.

I'm the excessive amount of Red Dragon Cheese on the counter, much more than I was entitled to purchase.

I'm probably the motive.

I'm the title of the novel, "The Murders in the Rue McClanahan."

I'm the graxy down the front of the victim's trousers.

I'm the rough trade with an icepick!!!

I'm the who, the how, and the "Ha!"

Wait! There’s something in the victim’s mouth.

Hold on. Just a second . . .

Is that a frozen meatball?

“Ha, I’ll say”

I’m motive: what the victim found in Muriel’s nightstand drawer.

I'm the colander in the sink with pasta in it suggesting motive....

Were Margaret O’Brien and June Allyson in our Depends and wheelchairs, offset still competing as to who can cry most and first as they prepare to film their upcoming cameo in Datalounge Soundstage G!

^ Fcuking “”We’re…”!!!

R77, a Filipino houseboy is not called Erwin. He is called Newton.

I’m the reminder that trans women of color are far more likely to be murdered than whoever got killed here.

I’m the mistaken identity

I’m the title: “The Lethal Load: Dawson’s Deadly Weekend”

I'm the hunky chief inspector who mysteriously knew all the victims....

intimately.

I am an axe, four mutilated rose bushes and the appalling misuse of two dozen wire hangers in the murder garden,

I'm Posey McGlynn.

I’m Parker posey

After a preliminary investigation, I can announce that this murder was LITERAL VIOLENCE!!

Tonight, we finally find out who killed Jani Lane!

Finally!

I am a lithe Turkish muscleboy named Cigarette, gently rubbing my thumb between my lips and beckoning the new Detective Sergeant with a smoky-eyed confession of hoped-for guilt. Neither of us hears the music in the club, or notices that the dancers in the spotlight have disrobed and he is strangling her with his whip.

In two nights I shall be served in a daube at Le Bar de la Marine.

This is my story.

YES!. r87. I sold a bejeweled caftan to Margaret o Brien.

I'm the library where the body was found. A bloodied Tom Ford book, weighing 12 pounds, was found next to the victim's caved-in cranium.

I’m the air-fried potatoes in a small box. It has an odor that wafts across the building and helps with the dead aroma.

I'm Mike, only here to provide the bitchy commentary that moves the story along.

Youre the bitch

[quote]I'm the library where the body was found. A bloodied Tom Ford book, weighing 12 pounds, was found next to the victim's caved-in cranium.

Still, we have no leads.

I'm tracing a set of dark brown footprints left by the suspect, leading backwards through the Bellagio to the ladies' room...

I am the tiny hole drilled into the wall of the victim's bedroom, where a small camera was nearly invisibly mounted. What was it doing there? Who had removed it? And when? The police detective vowed to scour the darkest corners of the internet in search of the footage that might break this case wide open...

JIMMMMMMAAAAYYYYY!!!!

I’LL SAY!

I'm the victim's landlady, a well preserved former actress who wears a lot of hairspray. The victim knew every play and TV show I was ever in, and that's why I never raised his rent.

Basically I'm in the story to provide a role for actresses of a certain age. I also noticed something significant once when I let myself in with the superintendent's key... but that scene may be cut for time.