Born in Luton, England, a
small borough of Bedfordshire. He is the son of a chippy (carpenter), Charles
Wiskers, and a filthy prostitute (Annabelle).
He grew up with his father, although hard of hearing (mostly due to the
large swaths of hair emerging from his ears), they were quite close until
little Richard began growing large amounts of hair from his nostrils. This he blamed on his father. “Bad genes.”
Richard would try to keep his whiskers trimmed, but found that they grew
back overnight, and as he grew older, it became almost painful to clip
them. At which point he receded into the
depths of his modest abode and read mostly comic books (Batman and Billy
Whizz). His father tried to engage him
in regular healthy social activity—even introducing him to women from time to
time. Richard was only laughed at and
mocked for his odd appearance. At the
age of 19, his father took him to a brothel on Elizabeth St. Unbeknownst to Charles, Richard’s mother had
been working there for years as the Madame.
Charles immediately fell back in love with Annabelle, and Richard fell
in love with prostitutes in general. All
the “bints of Luton” soon came to know Richard as a particularly good shag, and
started coming to his house and paying him for an evening.
This life was all well and good, but he longed for more. Richard
(a few minor STD’s later) had finally built his confidence to socialize with
some of his fellow classmates at university.
One particular woman that would soon steal his heart and then shit on it
was named Charlotte. She taught Richard
much about being a man in modern society. However just a few months after
meeting, she began cheating on him with one of her professors. Wiskers was
absolutely devastated by this and began consuming copious amounts of Quaaludes
and Cocaine (Quoke). He would crush the
ludes into powder form, mix it with the coke and shoot it into his todger and
then shag anything that had legs and couldn’t run too fast. One morning on a bright and beautiful day,
three weeks after his bender started, he woke up to a new clarity. He could sense things that he’d never sensed
before. Life smelled good. His whiskers, once a source of embarrassment,
opened his eyes to a new world. A world
filled with clues. Clues everywhere
about everything. He was able to detect
which professor Charlotte had cheated with by tracing the semen from a stolen
pair of her underwear back to the cock that had spit it out. He found this professor and gave him a strong
Soon Wiskers’ powers became known to all of Luton, and he
was tapped by local police to suss out the location of a missing little girl
presumed dead. Within a matter of hours,
Wiskers had not only found the girl but brought the kidnapper to justice. After several successfully and swiftly
resolved cases, he was awarded the QPM (Queens Police Medal) and was asked to
be the personal detective of Her Majesty.
Naturally, Wiskers was delighted at the opportunity and set off to the
palace where he would have free room and board.
This would be his very first trip outside of Bedfordshire, and his whore
mother and chippy father assured him that his talents were too great for Luton.
His father handed him a giftwrapped package and told him not to open it until
he reached the palace. He opened the
gift on the horse and buggy ride there: a beautiful coat and hat to protect him
from the elements whilst clue-hunting, and a beautiful, handmade and polished
billy-club—“twice the size of your average bobby’s.”
As the Queen’s detective, Richard had it in his mind that he
would be shaking hands and sipping scotch with the elite detectives of
London. He had fantasies of becoming
Britain’s greatest hero. It seemed the
queen had other plans for Richard, as he mostly wound up finding her missing
reading glasses. Occasionally he would
find her pussy when she wanted to pet it (the Royal Cat loves to hide in the
grand piano). Richard would read in the
newspaper of the crime in his beloved new city and would beg to be involved.
But her majesty always had some new little task for Richard to do.
He soon grew bored of this life and began searching for new
kicks. Still not fully over his
addictions, he was easily able to find a regular supply of Quaaludes and Cocaine. He again fell into the habit of shooting this
into his cock and was one day found in garden by a Royal Guard conked out in
the flowerbed, foam spewing from his mouth, needle in his cock, a small Nazi swastika
cut into his stomach and the Royal Cat’s body next to him also foaming at the
mouth and needle in it’s tiny cock. This
did not look good for the image of the Royal family, so the guard snapped a
photo of Richard on his iPhone, and showed it to the Queen.
Her Majesty was outraged and decided to banish him to the
biggest rat-infested shithole she could think of: Brooklyn, New York. Richard pretended to be upset by this news,
but on the inside was filled with joy.
He’d always wanted to solve crimes in New York, and all of the terrible
cop shows taught him (there are too fucking many to count *cough * “Blue Bloods”) that there are a lot
shitty (actors playing) detectives and it takes them forty-five minutes (with commercial interruption) to solve a
single case. Surely this could be bested
(hopefully in 6-7 minutes on the Internet).
Wiskers packed his
only article of clothing and his latent fingerprint kit and sailed a small
scooner all the way to America alongside the late great Captain Crab. This trip took weeks due to poor westerly
trade winds, but on this trip, Wiskers was able to hone his skills in
preparation for the adventures ahead. On
this voyage, Capatian Crab was MURDERED! Truly difficult times to be expounded
upon in much greater detail in a form that people will actually be interested
Once landed in New
York, he immediately took up residence in one of the safest neighborhoods in
Brooklyn, Bedford Stuyvesant, because the name reminded him of home. He was stabbed and shot within the first week
and maybe even raped. He moved to
Greenpoint where he found a room with an interesting fellow named Rodney
Hammock. Hammock was a detective and had
lost his badge eight times in Miami. According to him it was for “getting in
too deep”. The problem is, the only
thing Hammock knows is being a cop. It
was time for Richard to get back on the saddle; it had been months since he
shot quoke into his todger and felt he could probably pass the drug test
required by NYPD. Here is roughly where
the Wiskers/Hammock adventures begin.
Sober Wiskers is an extremely shrewd detective, and was able to prove
this rather quickly, expediting his way to elite detective. He was able to
bring Hammock along, basically by telling him to “keep your bloody gob shut,
whilst I solve the case.” Hammock, seeing
it as his only way back, was a consummate professional around headquarters. But
sobriety could not last long for the pair of them. And while they’re new partnership proved to
be somewhat productive, it was also hindered by their lust for booze, coke, quoke
Well I’m not going
to keep going on and on, but if you’ve read this far and wonder why Wiskers had
a Swastika on his stomach, it’s because he was trying to shoot up the Royal Pussy with quoke and the cat
inadvertently scratched that symbol into Wiskers’ flesh. Wiskers is not a Nazi and
the light scratch has healed completely.