"Police!" he shouted, brandishing his badge as he rushed out onto the stage, "I need that microphone right now!"

The confused polka singer stared at him a moment, before holding out the microphone, which he quickly grabbed before speaking over the concerned murmurs of the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I need everyone to remain calm, but there is a criminal in this building with us." The crowd gasped, "I need everyone to remain very still while we search the audience. If you can remain seated, please do. And whatever you do, don't let anyone walk up behind you: the criminal we're after is a kleptomaniac who has developed some sort of technique which allows them to steal people's buttholes."

The crowd was silent for a moment, then people began to laugh.

"It's not a joke!" he shouted, "You're all in serious danger!"

But the laughter grew, and so, he picked the only reasonable option...

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"You stole a butthole..." he said with equal parts horror and disgust, "...that's the one thing no one should ever be able to steal... and the worst part is, I don't even understand why."

The thief looked up at him, and slowly, a wicked grin formed and spread across his face, cold eyes twinkling with abhorrent glee. The detective's hands trembled on his gun as the perpetrator spoke words that chilled him to his very soul...

"To show we could."

The detective breathed harder, faster, and finally let out a roar as he pulled the trigger, firing wildly, emptying his entire magazine in a rain of fury...

...but when the smoke cleared, there was no body. All he could hear was the ringing in his ears, and the cackling of the Butthole Thieves...

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