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I'm not a talented writer by any stretch but I'd like to try starting a fun little story and I'd love to have you all contribute. Feel free to take what I start with and either add or edit to your heart's content. I would like to see the original premise and puns maintained but if you feel that removing or remaking them will suit, have at it.
A Gardener's Tale
He was a rake with a long handle that no one could pronounce and she was a hoe with sharp edges and winsome curves. Their meeting was by chance but they recognized immediately a shared love of earthly and growing things. They'd known each other but a very short time before they took the chance and laid beside each other in the heather that flanked the plot where they first met. He complimented her on the beauty of her furrow and she was impressed with the length of his tines. They began to meet every night in the gardeners shed and life was fine until she went missing one fine spring day. Aanharken was beside himself with grief and contacted me. I'm considered a sleuth of some repute and folks hereabouts like to call me Sam Spade, which I tolerate with good will, but my given name is Claude Turner.
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Well, what the rake didn't know is that the hoe was a little rusty when it came to relationships.
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Aanharken tried to take me down some primrose path with various tales of their garden of earthly delights, but I told him if he was gonna axe for my help he needed to cut to the chase.
"I don't think I can handle life without her," he rasped, and shed a tear. I told him I'd see what I could dig up.
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When I interviewed some hot tomatoes about the hoe, they furrowed their brows before answering.
One saucy gal told me she thought the hoe was seeding some sort of plot against Aanharken. She did not think she loved him one tiny bit.
A young gal, who was obviously pretty green, disagreed.
"Actually, she was talking to me about being infertile, and it really bummed her oput. She was ready to give up this business and grow some roots."
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A canvas of the neighborhood proved fruitful. I discovered some flats not far away where a group of rowdy young folks had planted themselves. On the night of the hoe's disappearance they'd been potted but nonetheless were sure that they had seen the hoe leaving the shed in the company of young Mr. Barrow. Will Barrow appears to be a steady, dedicated worker, always carrying more than his weight.
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Further pursuit of witnesses to provide information on young Will Barrow led me to Melonie DeVine. She occupied sumptuous digs on a small hill overlooking the Garden. Melonie, a transplant from down south, had a lush, full figure and an accent to match. Her skin was rough and patchy from too much sun but she had a natural scent that was sweet/tart and ripe.
It had been some months since I'd seen Melonie but my appearance at her door was met with her usual aplomb, "Why, if it isn't the dashing Sam Spade come to see little old me. Honeydew come in and I'll make us some tea." Her satin voice drew me in as I speculated that her use of the term "little old me" was less than an accurate self-depiction.
We sat and drank tea as I questioned her about the night that the hoe had gone missing. I asked her if she thought that the young woman had run off with Will, perhaps to get married. After some weighty deliberation she replied, "Sam, there is no way that young gal would have left with Will to get married. She considered me a confidante and I spent many evenings here as she proffessed her love for Aanharken. I'm sorry to squash your pet theory but she was resolute to somehow marry the Rake. And one more thing, she once told me that Aanharken wished to run away to tie the knot and she refused. She told me that she told him, "Aanharken, I cantaloupe because I've finally found a place that I feel at home and I'm certainly not going away from here to get married."
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For my next stop, I decided to visit the invisible rabbit. Of all the bunnies in the world, this one was the harvest. The bunny wasn't home, sow the hole trip was wasted. It was enough to make me reap.
I took a look around anyhay - sometimes a little breaking and entering is just the thing to lettuce dig up some dirt. It's not stealing if you intend to give the stuff back - just burrowing. Hay, whatever pays your celery, right?
I found the dirty pictures in the back of the burrow. It seems she enjoyed teasing the bunny, and he certainly rose to the occasion. I'm no prude, but it was enough to make me daisy.
At last I thought I was making progress on the case. I should have gnome better. That's when someone razed the stakes on me.
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Let me boil things down for you lest this turn into just another cotton tale. I was in the soup and the trail was muddy. I know people call me Sam Spud, but that's just because I have eyes all over.
So as I was saying, the list of suspects was a yard long. I decided to pull up stakes and see if maybe the grass was greener on the other side, ya dig? I was gonna leaf. I got to the corner of Vine and a startled voice said "don't shoot." I wasn't even packing. I knew then if I was to ever to market myself, I needed to wrap this up while things were still fresh.
I followed the voice and found my old friend Al Dente. He's a little pasta his prime, especially since he's been hitting the sauce, but I figured I could durum a good turn -- maybe dish him a little somethin on the side. So I casually plucked some lettuce out of my back pocket, peeled off a leaf, and asked if he had any dope on the rake or the hoe. It was barely noon and Al was already simmering in his own juices. I started to boil, but he suddenly went cool on me, said he was just drained, you know, and under a lot of strain too. I turned to go, and cool as a cucumber, he bares his gerkin and makes with the old slice 'n dice.
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I gave him a ablastous mace and fallowed up with a sap to the jaw.
Shoot, someone had gotten to Mr. Dente before I did. I'm not antipasta, but sometimes his type really grates on my nerves and cheeses me off.
It was clear I was barking up the wrong tree. I needed a fresh view of the case before I began rooting around again. I decided to go back and talk to the rake.
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I found Aanharken hanging out in the shed. He was morose and seemed reluctant to answer my questions. In particular he was hesitant to talk about any of his old flames. After I raked him over the coals he finally offered up a name. Rose Bush wasn't in when I called so I left a message.
I was in my office working on the case when a subtle fragrance alerted me that I had a visitor. Rose, in all her glory, planted herself on the edge of my desk. She was wearing a vine green dress that was slit up the side. I could see long shapely stems that went up all the way. The color of the dress set off her deep auburn crown. Her scent filled the room as her velvet voice broke me out of a trance, "Well, Sam, what do you want?" I launched into my explanation of the situation but she cut me off with a raised eyebrow and an acid tone, "I have no interest in discussing that tool, the rake, with you. Our relationship is entirely over and I had nothing to do with the disappearance of that worthless hoe" She left my office with a regal bearing and her scent slowly faded as I mused that her beauty cloaked a prickly personality. I was facing a thorny problem and I knew I was gonna have to wade back into that dangerous tangle with more questions, sooner rather than later.
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