Industrial fan fiction
For some reason, I love the idea of fan fiction. But I think I want to write a whole series called Industrial Fan Fiction. The first one would be a Raymond Chandler knockoff:
Marlowe came into the room. The lights were off, but the blinds were open. The window, too, and there was no breeze. A pale beam of moonlight fell onto the body in front of the desk.
It was Marie. She was dead. A single bullet wound, just over the heart. She clutched a piece of paper in her hand.
Bingo. Evidence.
Marlowe leaned down to pick it up, but unfortunately he was a 260-pound Heat Buster cooling fan with a 48 inch blade, usually intended for use in petroleum refining facilities or dip tanks holding flammable or combustible liquids. He didn’t even have hands. Look for him at IndustrialFansDirect.com.
I bed I’d make a lot of money.
