My Second Career

A light bulb went off when I saw Gestalta on the shelf at Ikea.

I'm retired.  I need a new hobby.  I could become and artist and sell my works at cafes and art fairs!

And (gulp) maybe some day to museums!

Really!  No goal is too lofty for me.  I am Lou Clyde.  I just have to aim high and persevere!

So I bought Gestalta as an investment to help me hone and perfect my drawing skills.

It was Dave who told me I had the artistic talents of a Pictionary playing sloth.

Thanks, Dave, for crushing my dreams.

And I wasted $5.99 plus tax on my Gestalta.  I decided to put him on the mantel next to my mannequin leg.

It was Kimmy who told me my Gestalta was creepy.

I took another look at him and I had to agree.  He was naked.  Did I really want porn on my mantel?

He needed clothes, and I was hoping Barbie would lend him something.  It turns out that Gestalta is big-boned compared to Barbie, and, unfortunately, the only thing that fit was her bathing suit.

It was Luke who told me that my bikini clad Gestalta was even creepier than porn star Gestalta.

At this point I was getting really annoyed at the lack of support and respect I was receiving from my family.

But I guess Luke had a point.

So I gave transgender Gestalta a beautiful head of hair.  Except it was uneven.

And the light bulb went off again.

I'm retired.  I need a new hobby. 

I can become a hairdresser!

The Interrogation

The fact that it was a victim-less crime did not make it any less horrendous.  This criminal was clever.  Cunning.  No prints at the crime scene.  No DNA.

Solving this case would require an elite team of investigators.

I discovered the crime while looking for Tylenol in the suspects' medicine cabinet.  A piece of chocolate cake molded into a tight ball.  An open invitation to every sugar-craving ant, roach, and cootie within five miles.

I quickly identified two persons of interest.  Each with rap sheets as long as their chubby little arms.

Linda, aged 3, had recently been arrested for fishing poop out of a toilet, inserting it into an unzipped zip-lock sandwich bag, and leaving it, along with its foul fragrance, in the bathroom trash can.

Suspect #2, 9-year-old Kimmy, was a repeat offender, having multiple arrests for leaving "potions" in various locations around the house, including under her bed.  These vile concoctions contained random ingredients such as ketchup, mayonnaise, soda, and suntan lotion.

After securing the crime scene, I placed the suspects on the counter beneath bright interrogation lights.

ME: "Listen up, Girls.  Who put this balled up piece of cake in the medicine cabinet?"
KIMMY: "Not me!"
LINDA: "Not me!"
ME: "Tell the truth.  Which one of you did this?"
KIMMY: "I would never do that!"
ME: "Okay, Linda, did you do this?"
LINDA: "No."
ME: "Then how did it get there?"  And stealing a line from my own mother, "It couldn't have grown feet and walked there by itself!"
KIMMY: "Daddy must've put it there."
ME: "Why would Daddy put a piece of cake in the medicine cabinet in your bathroom?"
LINDA: "I think Bluie did it."

Ugh.  This shameless hooligan disgusted me.  Blaming it on her dog was just plain reprehensible.

ME: "Bluie doesn't have thumbs."

I was getting nowhere.  It was time to call in reinforcements

ME: "Well, let's let Daddy figure it out.  DAVE! WE NEED YOU!"

We could play good cop/bad cop.  

Dave would be the bad cop.

Dave wandered into the bathroom, unprepared for the chaos.

DAVE: "What?"

ME: "Look what I found in the medicine cabinet.  This balled up piece of cake sitting right next to the toothpaste.  And both girls deny putting it there."

Without hesitation, Dave looked at Linda and said, "Linda, why did you do it?"

LINDA: "Because I'm sorry."

I gasped.  It was that easy.  Clearly he was the good cop.

Which made me the bad one.

I looked down at the little felon.  "Linda, you are sentenced to one hour in your jail cell.  No books."

The delinquent paused before entering her bedroom.

"Can Bluie come?"