This hilarious mystery was written serially by the minds behind RiffTrax, with each writer picking up where the last left off.

There’s trouble in Hollywood. Big surprise, Sheepdip, there’s always trouble in Hollywood. But for Yours Truly, Nick Nolte, private dick, actor, entrepreneur, collector of exotic and often dangerous commodities, and People magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive (1992), Hollywood is a filthy, decaying, half-empty swimming pool, and I’m gonna dive in head-first. Someone’s kidnapping Hollywood bigwigs? Hell, I wish I’d thought of it first. Clones runnin’ amok from Pismo to Tijuana?

Sounds like fun, hand me a gun. A dame in distress willing to hire me for a sack a’ quarters? I’m in. I’ll even put on my best shirt for the job, which is easy, ’cause it’s my only shirt. A diabolical plot to mess with the space-time continuum and take over Tinseltown, maybe the whole damn world? I’m on the case. I might get distracted, or black out a few times, or both, but I won’t stop till I bring in these evil peckerknobs and win the heart of the femme fatale……Sorry, blacked out there for a minute. Maybe an hour. Maybe a day—look, who’s counting?

So strap in, Shortpants, it’ll be one full-throttle, mind-twisting, weirdass ride, and I got the wheel. Just hand me that bag a’ pills and that can a’ Sterno and try not to scream so damn much.

—Your Pal, Nick