The night is damp as Bob Hope sings about a White Christmas while the temperature hovers around 20C. The music mysteriously comes from behind a bush, past yellow police tape. Pull back to reveal a Florida home, curiously designed like a Cape Cod cottage. The house is done in muted green pastels, occasionally splashed with red and blue, shone from stubby police cars, parked outside the home. The cars are on odd angles, belying this well ordered, clean neighbourhood.

Detective Goofy’s own electric NEV police car pulls up to the crime scene. He pauses a moment and looks out past his steering wheel as Annabell cow comes running from the front door of the house and vomits. Technicolour cud spills across a perfectly manicured bush – the Christmas music sputters and stops – she hit the speaker.

As he opens his door to his tiny car, Det. Goofy’s shoe catches on the runner and he tumbles out.

“Waahoooie!” Goofy says, stumbling and righting himself. He then slips on Annabell’s vomit and walks backward onto a rake, which whips up and smacks him squarely on the back of the head with a loud bell noise. None of the other dog and cow faced cops laugh.

He meets Donald in the doorway of the house. Donald looks like he hasn’t slept in 48 hours. No surprise, thinks Goofy, since this is the second murder come to Celebration. In as many days.

“Isha fawkin messh! I’ve never scheen scho mucsh blood!” Donald says.

Goofy pushes past into the home. One wall in an otherwise uber-organized living room has been painted with cartoon blood and brain.

On a gingham couch, is a human body with a shotgun tucked between it’s legs. From jaw to crown, there’s little flesh left that could describe a head. Yet little cartoon birds circle the dead body’s head/stump. Their chirping is repeated on a loop.

“Take a break boys,” says Goofy. The birds look dejected and fly off sullenly.

“Gwarsh,” Det. Goofy says to nobody in particular in the room, “Sure is messy!”