Detective Glenn in “Bad Ads”

Detective Glenn is a series of modern detective stories set in our modern, digital world. 

I  was hired to solve the Coffee Street murders by some dame who obviously did it and was trying to throw the copsters off the scent, which smelled of beans ‘n bleeds. Since I charge by the Tuesday, I wanted to milk the case for a few days before collectin’ a wad of government-issued two-siders, cuttin’ the pips  and handin’ her over to the latest Dave in charge over at the 81st Precinct. This gave me some free time to solve another X-File, so I checked the note on my mobile titled “No Rush” that contains such cases and asked my salamander to lick the one I should tackle. Let’s take a look at what she tasted:

Case #: 00000P

Bad Ads

Date: Best date is my birthday, April 8
Time: I’ve been likin’ six o’clock lately
Weather: I’d rather be surprised


I recall snapping a screenshot of the above when I was on my way to see if a cobbler could fix a baseball mitt. It was one of them suggested advertisements, real pervy stuff, as if the computer lifted its shirt and showed me hair and contours I wasn’t comfortable with, while assuming I’d want to take it home and fix it roast beef. I wanted to know more, and to do so I’d have to use every instinct and sense I’d obtained after dominating a poker game against a wizard, a warlock and plastic surgeon.

I only had the time and patience to examine three of the b’ads and besides, there’s no mystery in the health benefits of sardines, just ask an otter.

Exhibit B (Exhibit A was my breakfast, for tax purposes)


What’s the game here, sister? I’m only seein’ six foods and three of ’em are sausages. The other three are hot peppers, wine and cardboard, and I ain’t chewed on board since I got my first molar. And “never” is a strong term, don’t you think? You’ll be thanking John Q. Sausage when you run out of fresh meat out on the trail and you can’t catch any more because you gifted your rabbit snare to a wood nymph so she can tie her green hair back.

If I were Polish-Italian, I would take this to mean that I’m not allowed to eat anything, leading me to conclude that “Diet Insider” is really the Icelandic government because to the best of my knowledge, they’re the only country in the world without an official national sausage unless you count fuckin’ sand pie. Not sure why they targeted me on this one, I’m pure Canadian steel, but we’ll save that mystery for another day. One down, two to go.

Exhibit C


I’ve come across a lot of tricksters in my time as both a gumshoe and a Major League Baseball umpire, so I can spot one a mile away–this one was so visible I could use backwards binoculars to spot it.

The source is “Truth About Abs”, abs being a trendy body area in the spirit of past classics like beauty marks and firm lobes, but what is it trying to tell me? Will the use of tree bark and/or cinnamon fight carbs and lower blood sugar, leading me to a fresh box of a baker’s dozen abs? I’m in as long as having abs means my guts are better protected because I once took a volleyball to the breadbasket and my butt went soft serve for two weeks.

Look at the emphasis on the word “FIGHT”. They’re after bulldogs and though they came to the right place when knockin’ on my door, I still ain’t slatherin’ their crackers with jam unless I know they got the ears to match the muffs, know what I mean? In conclusion, “Truth About Abs” is actually a branch of the Icelandic government, looking to recruit cheap, strong labour to harvest their beautiful but deadly cinnamon forests.

Exhibit Z (the last one is always ‘z’, no matter what)


I haven’t stepped foot in Uncle Sam’s saloon for years, but if this is what one of their saddest states looks like then book me a one way ticket! The source is “The Fiscal Times” and yet to me, that looks like a very well-maintained bridge and a well-pruned valley, the sign of a fiscally-responsible government. If The Fiscal Times was lookin’ to take down ten of the fifty then they should’ve shown the worst toilets because I’ve seen quakers leave town after one look at a cookie crumb on an otherwise sparkling State House bidet. I’m thinkin’ this is a ploy by the Icelanders to scare us Upper Americans into immigrating to their chunk. Case closed.

Detective Glenn will return in The Case of The Unusual Analytic

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