TR: A dark night in a city that knows how to keep its secrets, but one man is still trying to find the answers to life's persistent questions......Guy Noir, Private Eye.

GK: It's hard times in the private eye business, not like the old days. Back then you'd get a call to come to the Hotel Pennsylvania and a plump pop star named Penelope Papoose was pinned to the paneling in the penthouse, her purse with the pearls gone and there was a packet of pumpkin seeds, a platter of peapods, a picture of Pope Pius, and a postcard from Piscacadawadaquoddymoggin and a private eye had to be perspicacious and find the missing pieces. No more. Now a private eye has to scrape up work where he can find it, which brings me to Washington. Information is valuable here. Things that wouldn't matter to most people, like tweeting pictures of yourself in your underwear, can be career breakers in Washington. So there's work for a snoop.

I caught a Congresswoman from Minnesota using campaign funds to purchase frog legs in a restaurant and that was valuable information.

SS (MICHELLE): I deny that I have ever eaten amphibious creatures. The Bible is very clear on the subject of eating frogs. I have nothing to do with eating frogs or escargot. This is a slur spread by the Kenyan socialists in Washington to cover up their failure to combat the invasion of cicadas, an Al Qaeda cicada intifada, and I will not rest until the truth comes out. (BRIDGE)

GK: People in public life are terribly vulnerable. And they know it.

TR (CLINTON): Mr. Noir, it's me. Remember?

GK: I remember you, Mr. President.

TR (CLINTON): Mr. Noir, somebody took a picture of me eating a foot-long hot dog and I've got a funny look on my face because mustard went squirting up in my eye at the same time as a burp was coming up from the root beer I'd drunk and the picture's out there on the Internet and it looks like I lost my marbles. Can you reel that thing back in?

GK: Embarrassing moments happen in everyone life and Presidents are no exception.

TR (BUSH): Mr. Noir? Heh heh heh heh heh. Never thought I'd be making this call, but ----- you see, I've gotten interested in oil painting and also in opera and I've been taking singing lessons and there's a video out there of me singing "Nessun dorma" that frankly I'd rather people didn't see. You know---- (HE SINGS)


Tu pure, o, Principessa,

nella tua fredda stanza,

guardi le stele.

GK: I'll do what I can, Mr. President. The man in the White House today has called me more than once.

TR (OBAMA): I was shooting hoops today and, I don't know, the sun got in my eyes or something, and I'm doing a hook shot, which is not my shot, and I look like the Sugar Plum Fairy and the ball misses the backboard and ---- I just don't want the thing out there. (BRIDGE)

GK: Everywhere I go in Washington, people are asking for my help.

FN (SOUTHERN): Mr. Noir, may I have a word with you?

GK: Yes, Senator.

FN (SOUTHERN): I have a problem.

GK: What is it, sir?

FN (SOUTHERN): A man holding a cellphone has been following me and I believe that he was taking pictures of me walking my wife's dogs.

GK: Your wife's dogs----

FN (SOUTHERN): My wife has three Corgis. Nanette, Mimi, and Monique.

GK: Corgis----

FN (SOUTHERN): I know. Wrong dog for a Senator from Tennessee. I oughta have hunting dogs. Coon dogs. All Corgis hunt for is hors d'oeuvres in the couch cushions. But it's too late. What can I do? (STING)

GK: I told him to up his testosterone intake and the next day he was on TV at a Senate subcommittee hearing, beating up on the IRS.

FN (SOUTHERN): Listen to me, you pointy-headed pantywaist paper-pushers, I am going to get straight answers out of you or else I will leap over this desk and pistol whip you to within an inch of your life. Hear me? What gives the IRS the right to collect taxes from law-abiding Americans? Answer me that, you dingleberry.

GK: I was watching the TV set in a little French restaurant called Quelle la place, and suddenly a woman spoke to me.

SS: Mr. Noir. Come. I have a car waiting.

GK: She was tall and blonde and wore black jeans that she'd poured herself into and a black T-shirt with the Lincoln Memorial on the front. She made it look like it had been hit by an earthquake. I know I was.

SS: Come. There's no time to waste.

GK: Where are we going?

SS: Mr. Big sent me. He wants you. Now. (STING)

GK: So I got in the car, in the back seat, and there she was pointing a Smith & Wesson .257 at me. It appeared to be loaded. With bullets.

SS: We have reason to think you know something about the Al Qaeda Cicada Intifada, Mister. About biological warfare. Terrorists implanting billions of larvae in our soil. Big black bugs with blue black blood and blue black bugs with blue.

GK: Pardon me?

SS: I said big black bugs with blue black blood and blue black bugs with blue.

GK: I didn't hear you.

SS: Big black bugs with blue black blood and blue black bugs with blue. Coming up out of the ground. What's going on? What kind of germs are they carrying? Huh? Tell me.

GK: Maybe they're carrying dumb germs. IQ inhibitors. Maybe they've already spread through Washington.

SS: I'm with National Intelligence and I resemble that remark. And you, sir, are on your way to Guantanamo. (BRIDGE)

GK: But it was the government so the orders got mixed up and they sent me to Guadalajara instead. (TROPICAL BIRDS) Gave me a nice room overlooking the sea. (SURF) I woke up every morning when Consuelo brought me my coffee (SS SPANISH, TABLEWARE) and I read the newspaper, which was in Spanish, thank goodness, which I don't understand, so I felt much better about everything. And then I ran into an old pal from private eye days, Slim Testarone.

TR (SLIM): Hey. How's it going? You remember Louie Louie.

DR: Hey.

GK: You two still in the business?

DR: Nope. We're lobbyists now.

GK: Who are you lobbying for?

DR: Just got a new client today. Organization called DINGDONG. Demanding Immediate Naturalization Granted to Descendants of Nazi Germans.

GK: Sounds like a tough one.

DR: I'm doing my best. Meanwhile they pay very well.

TR (SLIM): Yeah. Nothing's the same as it used to be. You know that.

GK: Some things are . I just got a call from the Hotel Pennsylvania.

TR (SLIM): In Parsippany.

GK: No, in Poughkeepsie. On Penobscot Avenue.

TR (SLIM): Oh. THAT Pennsylvania Hotel.

GK: Right, a hospitality property for pompous preppies and prosperous people who prefer to be pampered, not for the populist crowd.

DR: This involve a plump pop star named Penelope Papoose?

GK: No, this is a Presbyterian parson named Pops Patterson who is on a pilgrimage in a twin-propeller propane-powered airplane with his paramour Patty in her purple pumps and pink pompons and their performing porpoise who does pirouettes on the pulpit while playing the "Pizzicato Polka" on the piccolo.

TR (SLIM): A Presbyterian with a paramour? The impropriety.

GK: A promiscuous polygamous Presbyterian who has prospered from his investments in peepshows, pinball parlors, pipelines, and popcorn poppers, and owns properties in Mississippi, Pensacola, Palo Alto, and the Upper Peninsula.

DR: What's the problem?

GK: That's what I'm going to find out. There's a No. 2 pencil, a pair of pliers, and a post-impressionist painting, there's a patter there. I just have to put the pieces together.

DR: Picasso?

GK: Probably not.


TR: A dark night in a city that keeps its secrets, where one guy is still trying to find the answers to life's persistent questions...Guy Noir, Private Eye. (MUSIC OUT)