Leroy Brown wasn't like your average fifth grader. As a result of a childhood spent reading and absorbing knowledge, he had a substantial amount of information at his disposal and a knack for cracking mysteries. That's why only his parents and teachers called him "Leroy" and everyone else called him "Encyclopedia." At the dinner table every night, he'd help his father, the chief of police, solve tough cases, usually getting all of the information he needed after asking a single question. During the day, he set up his own detective agency and helped out the neighborhood kids with their mysteries. Daniel O'Brien wasn't like your average fifth grader either, but mostly because he was 23-years old.
The Encyclopedia Brown Detective Agency operated out of Brown's garage. There was a table set up as Encyclopedia's desk and two milk crates--one for Encyclopedia and one for his assistant, Sally Kimball--to use as chairs. Daniel often slept in the corner sometimes and Encyclopedia suspected he had nowhere else to go. Daniel woke up with a groan and a slurred "fuck me," in accordance with his standard morning ritual. "Morning, assholes. Thanks for waking me up, Lady Parts. You too, Sally." "That's not his name," Sally said. "What? It's better than 'Encyclopedia.' Jesus." "His real name is Leroy," Sally offered. "We just call him that because he's so knowledgeable, like an Encyclopedia." "Well,
"Anyway, our finances really depend on selling a whole lot of pumpkins and for a while we were doing well, like we do every year. Bugs Meany and his Tiger Gang couldn't really compete with our service and experience. But, recently, someone stole all of our pumpkins, and I just don't-" "It was Bugs Meany," Daniel said. "-understand who would do that. Or why, for that matter. The season is almost over, no one will even be thinking of buying pumpkins this time next week. Who would do that?" "Bugs, it was Bugs, it's always Bugs. Can anyone hear me?" "What do
Encyclopedia Brown, Mr. Brown and Daniel were all gathered around the Brown's table for dinner. Mr. Brown was weary from a particularly trouble day at work. As Idaville's chief of police, he sees a lot of days like this. He rubbed his eyes with his palms for a few moments, muttering to himself. "What's wrong, Dad," Encyclopedia asked. Daniel jumped in immediately. "Kid, I don't mean to speak on your Dad's behalf or anything but shut the hell up for a few minutes, he's clearly had a rough day." "I think I know my own Dad, Daniel." "No, no, he's right, shut your mouth. I just got off a 21-hour shift, I have to go
"A new victim! Interesting! Perhaps I can take a look at this mystery, Father! It sounds positively spooktacular!" Mr. Brown sighed and put his head in his hands. He was not used to seeing so many exclamation marks, and also he hated his son. "Jesus Christ, this kid." "Right? So it's not just me then, OK, good. Yeah, this kid's a real tool," Daniel said, filling his pockets with scraps from the table. "Such a tool," Mr. Brown agreed. Leroy shrunk in his seat. "I thought you
Most rich kids just want to be pop stars.
How did these hyper-specific tropes spread so quickly?
The Hollywood rumor mill has been playing games with celebrity deaths for at least a century.
It's easy to work the system and win these awards even if you don't deserve them.