Abraham Maslow said....

If your only tool is baloney, every problem is Wonder Bread.

If your only tool is bigotry, every problem is the Boogie Man.

If your only tool is 'the news,' every problem is a sound bite.

If your only tool is the written word, every problem is illiteracy.

If your only tool is prayer, every problem is somebody else's problem.

If your only tool is ignorance, every problem is education.

If your only tool is the law, every problem is a crime.

If your only tool is mouth wash, every problem is gingivitis.

If your only tool is philosophy, every problem is an abstraction.

If your only tool is a car, every problem is a road.

If your only tool is music, every problem is a song.

If your only tool is tax, every problem is a budget.

If your only tool is conservative talk radio, every problem is a conspiracy.

If your only tool is war, every problem is the enemy.

If your only tool is a lightsaber, every problem is the fan base.

If your only tool is capitalism, every problem is a union.

If your only tool is communism, every problem is an employer.

If your only tool is a canvas, every problem is scenery.

If your only tool is coffee, every problem is drowsiness.

If your only tool is medication, every problem is a disease.

If your only tool is a hammer, every problem is a nail.

If your only tool is escargot, every problem is a snail.

It's Not Immigration that Stinks, It's Your Undergarments

LOS ANGELES, California---Every private investigator needs several pairs of undies at the ready in case of emergency. It's crucial. One never knows when they will have to chase down a lead in the pouring rain, or someone pulls a gun on you and you soil yourself. Happens every time.



But, these days, besides white, it's impossible to buy a pack of men's undergarments that isn't multi-colored. Even grey is sold in 50 shades of grey. It's obscene. Though I can't speak for everyone, the only variable of consequence, most days, is level of cleanliness. It takes an extra 4 seconds per day to choose the color of undies. That's 21 years of a person's life and about $13.62 trillion in worker productivity per year, just picking out undies!

When did the world go mad?

-P.M.

How Peter Became A Pirate

LOS ANGELES, California---I've been trying my hand at writing fiction since the private detective work has been a bit slow. Seems like ever since they finished that Wall along the border with Mexico, there's been no crime, no drugs, no sexual deviance, no more abortions, nothing. All of America's problems were solved, just like that. Poof! It's almost spooky. And I'm sure many folks are feeling discombobulated with having to admit the orange bastard was finally right about something. What really got me was when Colorado decided to re-criminalize the crazy weed, since it turns out only bad hombres were using it. Meanwhile, Los Angeles has become a boring shadow of its former self. The tension between the police and Compton? Gone, like a ghost. The smog that hovers over L.A. on any given day? Gone, like Brigadoon.

So.... I write, because it's the only thing I know how to do besides sleuthing. Here's a teaser from my new Peter Pan fan fiction novel.

CHAPTER 12: NEGA-TINK

"I do not believe in climate deniers!" Peter shouted in frustration.

The Secretary of Fairy Magic, Sarah Tinkerbell Sanders, said to Peter Pan, "Every time a person says 'I do not believe in climate deniers,' there's a Republican somewhere who drops down dead. Is that what you want, Peter Pan?"

"I DO NOT BELIEVE IN CLIMATE DENIERS!" Peter shouted so loud that Tinkerbell fell down in her tiny house. She looked like she was dying! Peter began to panic. "Oh no, I've killed Tink!" and he picked her up in his palm to try miniature CPR.



Suddenly, Tink lifted her head, and said, "Peter, there's only one way to save me. Start clapping!" Peter put Tink back in her house and started clapping slowly.

"Faster, Peter, faster!" He quickened his pace! Clapping like a standing ovation at the opera. "Now, say 'I believe climate change is a hoax and everything Captain Hook says is honest and true!' Say it, Peter! Louder! Louder, Peter!"

Peter was clapping and shouting now so loud he woke up The Lost Boys, who thought they were being attacked by Captain Hook's pirates. But, at least Tink was feeling better.

Then Captain Hook appeared out of a shadow, having heard his name in such positive phrases. Peter drew his sword, but Captain Hook said, "Peter, there's no more need to fight. We're on the same side now, don't you see? What do you think pirating is all about? It's about climate denial! Trashing the planet with no consequences or accountability. Living it up for the moment and not caring about whiny children."

Peter looked reflective. He said, "You mean I've become a pirate? But, pirating is bad!"

"What? Where did you get such fake news, Peter?! Have you been reading The New York Times? Come on, good boy? You've had the curtain pulled over your eyes. Pirating is the life for me and you. After all, there are good pirates the same as there are good Lost Boys. There are good people on both sides."

Peter looked confused. At this moment, Captain Hook seemed to have all the answers. He was so convincing, like a snake with a forked tongue! Peter wondered if he should have finished high school instead of running off to be king of the Lost Boys.

Sensing that Peter was wavering, Hook said, "Peter, why did you run off and leave your original life to become a flying, crowing, leader of an imaginary intentional community? Did you think you could change the world by being an escapist? Of course not! You don't care about the real world. You wanted to be a child forever, and you succeeded. The final step is to join me and be a pirate!" Hook began to sing with his great baritone voice, "Yo ho Yo ho! The Pirate's life for me. Come on, let's go drill for oil on my pirate tanker." As he sang, Hook reached out his hand where Peter could not see it, and Tinkerbell gave him a palm-full of her special forget-about-it pixie dust.

Peter thought for a moment, and said, "Wait! What about the Neverbeach? The Lost Boys have been trying to clean it up ever since the oil spill covered it with oil, dead fish, and birds."

Hook said, "Oh, don't be such a snowflake!" Suddenly, he sneezed a big sneeze, "Aaachoo!" And he blew pixie dust all over Peter. "Good Lad! We'll just cover that oil with concrete and it'll be just like new! In fact, Peter, I'll even put a statue of you on the boardwalk! Peter Pan, the greatest pirate since me, Captain Hook!"

Suddenly, it all made perfect sense to Peter. Peter started to sing the song himself this time, "Yo ho Yo ho, the pirate's life for me!" as he flew off toward's Hook's ship to begin his new like as a pirate. And behind him, Sarah Tinkerbell Sanders finally got her wish.
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Vladimir Putin's Top 7 Titilating Leaf Blowing Tips

NEW YORK, New York---Sometimes it's hard to tell truth from lies. Forty-eight hours ago, Friday morning, I'm sitting in my office trying to keep cool when in walks the original Matroshka doll. Could have been an heiress to the King of Prussia. She's crying, and tells me she needs help dealing with her ex-lover, some big shot New York real estate mogul. As she holds out a wad of cash and says to go to the New York public library and look in the "yard work" section, she catches a bullet in the jugular and the sound of the window shattering hits my ear. As I hold her, she struggles to get out her last dying words.

I say, "Do you have a name?! A name! God damnit, don't die on me now!!" All I hear is a gurgle and something like "Gruuuummmmmpppp."

I'm not one to follow up on fantastical theories, especially ones involving snipers taking out Russian dolls, but she gave me twenty-five thousand dollars, and the least I could do was to go to the library. After all, a tip like that confounds me like dog shit on my shoe unless I get to the bottom of it.

---------------------

That afternoon, I was on the first flight to New York City, "The Big Apple," "The Land of Opportunity." Hadn't been back since Jessica and I split. She caught me doing patty-cake with a client, and she left L.A. for New York, and I hadn't had the heart to visit after that.

One thing that always gets me about New York is the smell. It's like a billion farts filtered through a wall of hundred dollar bills. You can always taste a fart in New York, and you can always know who done it. I don't know why, but it seems like farts have more personality in New York, more attitude, than in other cities. When I got off the A Train at Time's Square, I looked up and saw a brightly lit billboard which read: "Now playing! Jessica Rabbit stars in Hamilton!" "Good for her," I thought. "Finally making her dream come true," but as I turned to carry on my way, I caught a whiff of that unmistakable eau de toilette, one of Jessica's farts.

"I see you're still wearing the suspenders I gave you, Phillip."

"Sure I am. They're great suspenders."

"Well, at least something is keeping your pants up these days."

I didn't say nothing. Cheap shot or not, I deserved it.

"What brings you to the City?"

"You know, Jessica. With me, it's always work. Got a case. Something about a library and a bigshot named Grump."

"Grump? Hmm, never heard of him. Maybe they meant Old Ben Kanobi. He used to live up the road here aways."

"No, I'm sure it was something Grump or something that rhymes with Grump."

"Well, there was a rich asshole who tried to grab my pussy backstage the other day, and I gave him a piece of my mind. I punched his balls so hard he had to go to the hospital and get them removed from his lungs."

"What's the name, darling."

"Dump. Mr. Arnold K. Dump."

Jessica Rabbit. I don't know how I could have ever taken a dame like that for granted. She was my first toon, and probably my last. Toons don't go with guys like me. But, that's for another tale.

---------------------


A Miss Gertrude Stein guided me into the archives of the New York Public Library, and led me to the "yard work" section. She said I wasn't the first one to come looking here in recent days. Another private snoop who didn't drop his name, but he stuck a feather in his hat and called it macaroni. Sounded to me like someone trying a bit too hard to look like a yankee, but I couldn't be sure. I made a mental note and continued on with my work.

Apparently, he didn't find what he was looking for, because he left in a fury. Maybe I did have something nobody else had. When I got to the microfiche the Russian doll told me about, I found an article by a guy named Vladimir Putin. The name sounded familiar, and I could guess it was Russian. The article was about leaf blowing:

Seven Titilating Leaf Blowing Tips, by V. Putin 

It's that time of year again for yard work. Most people know me as great world leader, but I also have a green thumb, and one of my favorite hobbies is yard work. If you want your yard to make great again, read on!

1. Plan where you want your leaves to ultimately land. Position a tarp in the designated spot, so you can haul the leaves to your compost heap when you’re finished. If you’re blowing them directly into a wooded area or compost pile, do it in sections. Collect your leaves into your designated spot and then separate 6’ sections of leaves at a time, blowing them to their final resting place.
2. Work in one direction only. That will help prevent you from blowing leaves into an area you’ve already worked through. 
3. Hold the blower at your side and point the front end at the ground at a shallow angle. Use a smooth back-and-forth motion as you walk slowly with the leaf blower in front of you.
4. Wind – If you can, remove your leaves on a day when the wind is blowing in the direction you want them to go, or on a day that is still. You’ll find that doing otherwise is seriously counter-productive.
5. Wet – Bottom line, dry leaves are easier to remove with a blower than wet leaves. Test the moisture of a leaf pile by directing your blower at its base. If it barely budges, it might be best to do another chore instead and come back the next day.
6. A leaf blower is most effective for gathering the bulk of a lawn’s leaves into large piles, to be removed with a tarp or by hand. Don’t expect to blow every last leaf off your lawn with a leaf blower. That will drive you crazy. Try hard not to be too fussy. You can follow up with a leaf rake at the end to get the stragglers.
7. The vacuum mode of a leaf blower is best reserved for smaller and less accessible jobs, where a leaf rake would be difficult to use. Use it for leaves that have been trapped around rocks, at the bases of fences, or in the tight spots around your house. It’s also handy for getting leaves off your deck, or for removing small amounts of dirt and grass clippings from your drive.

Well, there you have it. Those are my latest 7 tips. Get out there and blow!

I didn't know what to make of it. I made a copy and left the library. Outside, I lit a smoke and looked up the names of gardening reporters at The New York Times, called them, and scheduled to meet at Starbucks within the hour. Tommy Thumb, the reporter, met me and immediately gasped aloud at the article. He informed me that Putin had been hiding out as the President of Russia and they suspected he might have been involved with some kind of international money laundering scheme. I didn't know nothing about that, but I said, "What does any of it have to do with Arnold Dump?"

"There's no telling, Phillip. If I were you, though, I would get the heck out of Dodge, because if it's true and you're not the only one on this trail, this news about Putin could blow the roof off of multiple international conspiracy theories."

He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket. As he did so, a piece of a peacock feather fell out. With shaky hands, he lit a cigarette and continued:

"This thing could answer who killed Kennedy, what happened to Britney Spears, and Episode 8 of Twin Peaks: Season 3."

"No kiddin'?" I say, as I surreptitiously redistribute my weight from my chair to the balls of my feet.

"I don't know nothin' about no Kennedy or Twin Peaks, but I do have one more question for you: what's the house that Ruth built?"

"What, huh?"

Like a gazelle, I jumped off the balls of my feet, grabbed hold of a ceiling fan above us, did a spinning somersault over Tommy's head, and put him in a sleeper hold. People at the Starbucks got alarmed with me standing there holding this passed-out New York Times reporter, but I knew enough about New York City to get out of this one.

I said, "It's OK. Everybody stay calm. This man is a sexist, racist, bigot. He just made an off-color joke which may have triggered any one of you, so I am making a citizens social justice arrest."

It was dead silent.

I made one last ditch effort, shouting "Hashtag MeToo!" Everyone stood up and gave me a standing ovation.

Amid all the noise and distraction, I reached inside his pocket and I found his wallet. In it, his identification card. On it, the name, "Vladimir Putin, President of Russia." Behind it, the business card and private phone number of "Arnold K. Dump."

...to be continued.