Cracking the (Head) Case

Sometimes I fancy myself a detective. For example, as you might recall, if you leave an anonymous, ominous note on my car, I’ll hunt you down and make you beg for mercy. I can’t leave things unsolved. Look here, see, there’s an answer for everything and I’ll stop at nothing to find it, see. 

Except for the mysterpranker and possible impostermysterpranker. Those mysteries are the bane of my existence and I’ve given up and I’ll never get over it and no, I don’t want to talk about it.

A couple of strange things happened to me recently that had me dusting off the ol’ deerstalker cap and puffing the ol’ pipe to get to the bottom of them.

The Case of the Nefarious Drug Balloon

I was cleaning my car and opened the back passenger door. This was on the floor:


I’ve seen the first season of Narcos on Netflix, so that’s immediately where my mind went. I imagined all the jungles, orifices and back alleys this little balloon travelled to land abandoned in the backseat of my little unassuming Ford Focus. I figured I shouldn’t touch it right away in case this was considered a crime scene, or, you know, in case this balloon sprouted from an asshole.

Hooligans have been known to frequently check the cars in my neighbourhood for unlocked doors and take any goodies inside – I know this for a fact because I was once a victim on the ONE night I forgot to lock my door. What are the odds?! Also, on many winter mornings, I’ve found footprints in the snow left from the night before, leading from car to car. Since I’m incredibly savvy in the art of deduction (don’t misread that), I hypothesized this balloon could be the leave-behind of a drug-addled, car door-checking criminal.

But the evidence wasn’t conclusive. My car didn’t appear like it was broken into. Nothing was amiss inside the car. I stood dumbfounded.

Suddenly, I had an epiphany. Ah ha! Elementary my dear Watson! I picked up the balloon and squeezed it to confirm. Empty. Yes. The conclusion was clear.

Two weeks prior to the balloon discovery, I went to a bridal shower. I picked up my friend on the way. She brought our group gift and it sat in the backseat as we travelled. It was a beautifully decorated tub filled with drinking glasses and booze. And crack.


So, since she’s so darn crafty, what did she use to simulate bubbles in the tub?

Little. White. Balloons.

Mystery solved! Since I’m rarely in the backseat of my own car, unbeknownst to me, the lucky balloon was able to escape the tub and exhale its final breaths behind me as it deflated. It died a slow, painful death of listening to me try to hit Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez notes, making up my own words to Drake, and maybe also witnessing a nose pick or two (it was a scratch!).

The Case of the Mysterious Purple Plop

A couple of days after the balloon incident, I noticed a large blob of purple paint on the back patio.


What the?! I’d never even seen that colour of paint used on the property. How did it get there?

First, my mind went back to the alleged balloon-toting hooligans. Perhaps their nightly hooligan-ing had escalated to vandalism-ing. I took in my surroundings. There was no purple graffiti or any other signs of purple hooligan-ing nearby. I mean, I guess the blob kinda looks like boobs or a butt…

It crossed my mind that maybe a construction worker, carrying an open can of paint, cut through the property for some reason to get to a neighbour’s house. But there was no sign that any of my neighbours’ homes were undergoing construction.


Maybe Barney was shot.

Maybe Grimace was shot.

Maybe the One-Eyed One-Horned Flying Purple People Eater was shot.

(Side note: Is the Purple People Eater purple, or does it only eat purple people? – I’ll save that case of a misplaced modifier for a rainy day.)

I noticed there were more paint drops leading under the planter. I lifted it up.


Ack! So apparently the sneaky bastard tried to cover up their paint blunder with the planter! What a dick!

I texted the tenant who lives in the bottom half of the house. Not pointing fingers… but… “Ummmm… by any chance do you know how purple paint got on the patio?”

She came outside to join my investigation. She was also bewildered. We couldn’t come to a logical conclusion.

I started to clean it up. I laid the planter on its side, wiped the bottom and left it to dry while I worked on scraping the paint plop off the patio. A few minutes later, I looked to my left, and a major clue revealed itself.


Ah ha! Elementary my dear Watson! The paint is coming from INSIDE the planter!

My hypothesis:

  • Someone thought it was a good idea to use a can of paint to help weigh the planter down under the soil.
  • Over the winter, the can expanded and cracked.
  • I moved the planter the previous day to sweep around it. I must not have noticed that at that exact moment, the planter bottom cracked (HA) and released a small purple paint blob.
  • None-the-wiser, I placed the planter back in its original spot where it continued to release purple paint while the other blob slowly spread overnight.

I eagerly dug out heaps of soil and when I got to the bottom, I had all the evidence I needed.


I will neither confirm nor deny my involvement…



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