🎥 The World’s Greatest Murder Mystery – Episode 2: ABV Is Watching
Satire Disclaimer
This episode parodies the true-crime industrial complex, the frenzy of armchair detectives, and the irresistible urge to call every coffee spill a clue.
If you’ve ever watched three seasons of a murder mystery with zero resolution and still demanded a Season 4, welcome home.
No one here is a detective.
They just really want to trend like one.
“No Body. No Crime. No Shame About Monetization.”
POLLY (into camera, hushed): Day Two.
The silence around Larry “Gidget” Moondoggie is louder than the espresso machine we don’t maintain.
SANDY (deadpan, holding a dented thermos): Or—and stay with me—it’s not a murder mystery, it’s a calendar error and a man on PTO.
POLLY: Not possible. The algorithm is vibrating.
My eyelid is twitching. Classic murder mystery aura.
CORNELIUS (entering with a clipboard): New intel. Larry was on assignment for ABV—the American Board of Vibes.
He was a vibe auditor embedded in our breakroom, measuring morale troughs between 2:10 and 2:37 PM. He monitored “vibe density” in smiles per cubic meter and “moral depth” in emotional fathoms.
SANDY: A vibe auditor? In a murder mystery, that’s called a “red herring with a Spotify subscription.”
POLLY: Read the room, Sandy. It’s giving… murder mystery.
CORNELIUS (checking his phone): Heads up—Central Command’s sending in an “expert.” Apparently, he’s solved dozens of “high-profile” cases and eats nothing but French onion soup.
SANDY: Please tell me his name is ridiculous.
CORNELIUS: Oh, it’s better than ridiculous. Everyone, brace yourselves. Here comes Butt Rubbin.
POLLY: What?
CORNELIUS: Spelled B-u-t-t-e R-u-b-i-n. It could be Byoot. But to me? Butt Rubbin, 100 percent.
SANDY: That poor man’s business cards must be a cry for help.
(The door swings open. Central Command’s “consultant” strides in: trench coat, legal pad, unshakable confidence.)
BUTTE RUBIN: It’s pronounced Byoot Rubin—like the mountain and the sandwich. I’ve solved more murder mysteries than there are soup specials.
First, I’ll need the suspect list, the LaCroix can, and any sandwiches discontinued under suspicious circumstances.
SANDY (under her breath): Butt Rubbin’ is serious. He brought a notepad.
BUTTE (ignoring): In the world’s greatest murder mystery, the killer often reveals themselves by over-stirring a condiment. Observe your mustards.
POLLY (thrilled): Finally—expert confirmation. This has gravity.
(The studio door bursts open. In march HOPE, LANA, CHAZ, and THEO—wearing matching “DO YOU NOT SEE IT?” varsity jackets.)
HOPE (beaming like she just found out cupcakes are tax deductible): We came as soon as we heard—this is so exciting! A real-life murder mystery!
Think of all the people this could inspire to… you know… not be murdered.
LANA (already pulling out her phone): I’m starting a merch list. “No Body, No Crime, No Problem” hoodies, enamel pins shaped like question marks, maybe an NFT of the crime scene. And Butt Rubbin bobbleheads are a natural!
BUTTE (offended): It’s pronounced Roo-Bin and the bobblehead will nod in agreement with everything I say.
CHAZ: We’ll livestream the investigation, sell ad spots between clues, and boom—instant revenue stream. This murder mystery will be first class evergreen content.
LANA: What do you think of “Morale Trough Survival Kits”? We could just throw some snacks in a bag with motivational Post-its.
THEO (ignoring them, focused on Polly): I believe you.
SANDY (staring at him, horrified): You what?
THEO: Polly’s right—this is a murder mystery. And I’ll tell you why.
(He gestures toward the table with the theatrical flourish of a man unveiling the final round of a game show.)
THEO: The half-full can of LaCroix.
CORNELIUS: Oh for heaven’s sake—
THEO: No, listen. Nobody—and I mean nobody—walks away from a LaCroix without finishing it.
Unless they’re interrupted. Badly interrupted.
That’s when I knew something was off.
And now? Butt Rubbin is here.
You don’t get one of the world’s greatest detectives showing up unless there’s something worth detecting. So this has to be the world’s greatest murder mystery.
HOPE (clapping her hands): See? Even Theo’s on board! This is huge!
CORNELIUS (checking his phone with exaggerated slowness): OK, I’ve just confirmed that my Amazon order of Jessica Fletcher’s Guide to Crime Solving has shipped.
And it says it should arrive sometime before the investigation concludes—so we’ve got that working for us too.
SANDY (rolling her eyes): Corny, not you too.
THEO: Every great murder mystery needs an amateur sleuth who just read the manual.
BUTTE (snapping his notepad shut): This concludes Phase One of my investigation. Phase Two? Watching you all pretend it isn’t one.
SANDY (to camera): And so the murder mystery rolls on—because apparently, nothing boosts morale like the faint smell of fake danger.
BUTTE RUBIN (squinting at something on the floor): Case in point—this.
POLLY (mesmerized): What is it?
BUTTE RUBIN (He holds up a single, slightly crumpled tortilla chip in an evidence bag.): Left here on purpose.
Perfectly placed at a 37-degree angle. The work of a criminal mind—or someone who can’t finish their nachos.
HOPE: …So, both?
SANDY (dry): Welcome to the only murder mystery where the chips are evidence and the merch drops before the arrest.
Mike worked in the radio industry for 35 years which means sarcastic, tongue-in-cheek, satirical, trash talking characters to remind you laughter is good for the soul! Let’s have some fun with entertainment, movies and TV, sports, budget food and games, lifestyle and we’ll get ridiculous.
