Sockin' it to the Muffin Man

I do remember this case very well. If for no other reason than it was the last time I ever had the pleasure of sitting behind the wheel of my beloved Corvette (I don't know why my colleagues insist on referring to it as Ralph's; Ralph certainly didn't need it anymore, what with being all crushed and burnt-up, and had anyway bequeathed it to me with his last, crushed and burnt-up breath, so I don't know why anybody has to keep referring to it as "Ralph's car" ... It was my car! MINE!!), even though I was packed in there with a bunch of dudes. I still don't know how one puts an automobile in gear while changing a radio station although I suspect it has something to do with why "agent" Mitchell wasn't in a position of higher authority (at the time, of course; my understanding is he is the Personal Security Specialist for Hollywood starlet Halle Berry now). At any rate the Corvette was totalled that day, same as the Muffin Man's drug/baked goods/hosiery operation.

And of course I remember our sock aliases. As mentioned previously, Michael was indeed "Azure Jewels", but Mitchell was "Crimson Glory", Schlomo was "Royal Confetti", Jeff was "Mauve Splendor" and I was "Pumpkin Buggerer".

My recollection of the origins of this photograph differs, however. I would have sworn this was our initiation into the gang; I remember a cold room (very cold, hence my perceived, um, shyness) and leaving a foggy imprint of our buttocks, which very few people realize are actually more distinct than fingerprints or dental records, on the plexiglass cubes was their way of making sure we were legit and not undercover operatives. Fortunately for us, Scottish-Jewish-American FBI agent Schlomo McCaskill had somehow anticipated this circumstance and arranged for us all to be outfitted with prosthetic buttocks beforehand. I still have no idea how he could have known something like that but he basically saved the whole operation and our lives. But it was a long time ago. I could be completely wrong.

Still, right or wrong, I'd have to say my fondest memories of this case come from getting to meet and work with the amazing Scottish-Jewish-American FBI agent Schlomo McCaskill. What a remarkable man. Truly an inspiration to crimefighters and those with prosthetic buttocks alike. I'll never forget the last time I saw him. He said, "Ay, The Muffin Man may have gotten away this time, but I dinna plan to give up on finding this fercockt gonif! Mind ye this, boychick; he could be closer than ye think! A bi gezunt, laddies. Man oh man, do I love baseball!" With that, he finished eating the last bite of his hot dog haggis muffin with cream cheese and capers and rode away on his motorcycle. We haven't seen him or the Muffin Man since.