Imploding bastard

When he arrived, the house seemed strangely familiar. "Băstard!" Arthur thought. "He's stolen my garden!" The regular cops must have had a tip-off – there were fifteen or twenty cars, scores of uniformed and plain clothes men, marksmen, armoured vehicles, insurance salesmen, professional golfers.

"Make way, I'm a doctor," said Arthur, shooting a pathway through the crowd. He burst into the house – and realised he was up against a psychotic. "Băstard! He's stolen my living-room!" From outside the bungling uniforms apostrophized over a loud-hailer, "Throw down your weapons – and come out with your hands up!"

    What?
    Not plot?
    Squat
    Parrot.

{Negative space, boxed in}

"What's it all about?" thought Arthur. And imploded.

[Simon: "Nothing but four upturned theodolites"]

(?) theologies!