Sweater’s Most Wanted

I have a secret admirer.

Keyword: “Secret.”

I hate secrets. When I see people whispering the muscles in my hand involuntarily tighten into a fist. I suspect had I lived in the old West, I would have shot a man for merely stopping his conversation at the same moment I entered the room.


I’m related to the Earps. Ask me how!

So when I got to work one morning not too long ago and found a CD on my desk with a note that read, “AARON—WILL YOU BE MY ‘CHARLES’ LOVE, YOUR SECRET ADMIRER” I knew I had to find out who did it.


The crime scene. Click for larger image.


The rest of my desk. Notice Richard Petty
and the bottle of champagne in the AC/DC coozy.


Mr. T on the first floor, The Jesus Karate Band upstairs.
They all say they saw nothing.

The CD had one track, the theme song from the ’80s sitcom “Charles In Charge.” So this secret admirer wanted me to be their Scott Baio. They wanted me to be in charge of the their days and their nights. To be in charge of their wrongs and their rights. You know, this is something I can do. I like being in charge. I also would like to have Scott Baio’s dating resumé. But that’s beside the point.


Holy mackerel! You look amazing Pam!
Get it? Mackerel? Let’s make out.

Anyway, after a shakedown email to a few suspects, no one ’fessed up. The email was a move I would regret, because it quickly started a copycat crime. Soon after I sent the email I received an anonymous Scot Baio portrait, The Ballad of Scott Baio and an email in my name with the address scottbaioisnumberone@hotmail.com.

So like a good renegade cop with a dislocated shoulder and no one to live for, I decided that I had to put on some more pressure. And how I did that was with a little tactic I like to call reverse psychology. I pretended like I didn’t care, and just let the guilt and the internal suffering of the crook smoke ‘em out.


”Cosby! You want to tell me why I just got chewed out by the commisioner?!?”

Well you know what chief? It worked like a charm. The perp who gave me the portrait confessed. Same with the balladeer. Two different people. Both of whom I retaliated upon by anonymously leaving them each a David Hasselhoff 2005 calendar.


July is going to be a very good month.

I was beginning to see this was a network of professionals. But with my Ben Matlock-esque prowess, this web of criminals was unraveling like a cheap gym sock.

I thought it would be over in a matter of hours. But the creator of the CD and email are mysteriously still at large. That’s why I’ve had to call in the big gun. John Mothergrabbin’ Walsh.


“My eyes can penetrate your soul! SKEEEEAWWWWAH!”

Know this Evildoers. John Walsh is hot on the case. He and the late-night-syndicated-TV-watching Americans will not rest until you’re begging for forgiveness on death row to Susan Sarandon.

But if you’re a real secret admirer, and not like, a dude, then just let me know, okay? We’ll grab a drink after work, say, Wednesday night.

And don’t worry. I won’t forget my mackerel.


The Jesus Karate Band has put a cease to their rocking until this case is closed.

The Jesus Karate Band:
Jesus—triangle, harp, pyrotechnics
Blue Belt—bass
Pink Belt—lead guitar
Chuck the SuperGuppy—vocals, keyboards
Root Bear—percussion, frosty beverages
Foose the HandiCapable—rhythym guitar, crying