As a private investigator I have worked on numerous cases; from the great beagle heist of 2012 to investigating the Dollar Tree’s attempt to charge $1.15 for a bar of soap, I have seen it all. However, nothing tops the case I have recently worked on. No case left me as disheveled, and hopeless about the human race as this one It was like a giant funnel slowly sucking my faith in humanity into its dark abyss. All I ask is for you to read my tale, and try your best to make sure nothing like this happens ever again.

It was a muggy day towards the end of June. I recently finished investigating who was placing frogs in all of townspeople’s pools. I was shocked to find out it was the frogs. Frogs are reasonable amphibians, I told them to get out of the pools, and that was that. I haven’t received any calls on the matter since. Anyway, back to the story. On that June day that felt like a Vietnamese sauna, I received a call from Wrinkly Prune Senior Center in Daytona Beach, Florida. The caller reported the senior center has not received its shipment of tapioca and meatloaf (two of the three staple foods for anyone over 65) in two weeks. The residents were getting ornery only being able to eat purple jello (the third staple food for an individual over 65). At first I was reluctant to take on the case, Florida is a long way from my office, and I really despise the south. Its an awful place. There must be toxic radiation somewhere slowly eating away at the brains of everyone below the Mason-Dixon Line, the foods garbage, theres mosquitos the size of crows, and the heat feels as if the devil is hiding out in ass-crack. However, the Wrinkly Prune offered me a $200 gift card to the Country Inn Buffet as compensation, and I agreed to take on the case despite my reluctance.

I drove over TF Green Airport at 4:45 in the morning. I picked an early flight, because it’s cheaper, an easier commute, and at that time I am actually able to see the sunrise (a sensation I often miss out on). Getting through the airport tomfoolery was a breeze. I arrived at my gate, stuffed a processed hunk of something that resembled bread in my pie-hole, got on the plane, and began my tract to the mucky peninsula that is the state of Florida. The flight was all right, I purchased three tickets so I wouldn’t have to sit next to any portly individuals, and had the row to myself. I did sleep for the majority of the flight however, when I awoke from my slumber my hazy eyes discovered that I have already reached the Daytona Beach airpot. “Rats” I mumbled to myself, this meant I had to actually work, and even worse I was in the south. Plugging my nose I bolted through the airport, caught a taxi, and headed towards Wrinkly Prune Senior Center.

Wrinkly Prune Senior Center was about as mediocre as it gets. The building resembled a typical nursing home, being a long one-story building made from brick. The awning over the entrance was probably sap green at some point, but has faded from years of baking in the sun. There was a gazebo in front of the Senior Center filled with elderly individuals who lung cancer forgot to visit. They were sucking down off brand cigarettes, and reminiscing about some nonsense that happened half a century ago. I trudged into the Senior Center, was immediately hit by that indistinguishable unpleasant smell which infests nursing homes across the country, and was greeted by a miserable looking women at the front desk. With a mouth full of raw red onion the lady snarled, “Whad ya want?”. I told her why I was at Wrinkly Prune, she grunted, shoved more onion down her socket, pointed at a door and said, “Talk to da chef he's ova dere.”

“Gee thanks” I mumbled, and headed to the kitchen in a slightly more miserable state than before. I opened the door and saw the human Pillsbury Doughboy. The chef was covered in corn starch, and was wearing classic white chef hat, a white shirt, and a white apron. He was hollering something in gibberish, frantically pouring in jello in portioned cups, and laying them on a tray for the nurses to deliver to the residents. Once he was done I approached him. He had an accent from some country in Europe, and was a bit frazzled from the lunch rush. I told him why I was there, and asked him about the meatloaf and tapioca. He said, “every two weeks we get a shipment from Big Mammas Senior Foods filled with meatloaf and tapioca by the barrel. The last four weeks…..no shipment of meat loaf and tapioca! I call and call and call and it never comes. I don’t know what to do, the residents you see they need the meatloaf and tapioca to survive. They can survive on nothing else. Sure jello can hold them over, but only for a month. It’s just jello. If they don't get their meatloaf and tapioca they surly will die, we already lost so many. We need you to find out what’s going on”. I replied, “I understand, can you tell me Big Mammas Senior Food’s location, I’m going to go there and find out whats going on”. Pillsbury (my nickname for the chef) replied, “Its on Salisbury Street, five miles away in the town over, please hurry the seniors, the poor unfortunate seniors.” I thanked Pillsbury, and as a walked out. I saw him frantically rolling in a pile of corn starch out of the corner of my eye, I decided not to ask.

Fleeing by the crabby onion lady, I called another cab and headed toward Big Mammas Senior Foods. Well Pillsbury lied, it was twenty-five my miles away and had to shell out a whole lot of shmeckeles for the taxi ride. I got out of the car and was astonished by the size of the factory. It was about ten stories of metal and bolts, and had several ginormous pipes which are probably responsible for the polar bears upcoming extinction. I walked past the guards and entered the building. The room I walked into was odd, the ceiling was quite low, however the room itself was long, very long in fact. I must have walked a quarter of a mile before approaching a fold away table that was being utilized as a desk. There was a pile of clutter hiding the receptionist's identity. She was pounding away at the keys of a bulky computer from the 1990’s, I said, “hello”, I must have startled her for she jumped out of her seat. Still a bit on edge from me scaring her I told her why I was there and she was understanding. She said I could talk Big Mamma about the issue in about thirty minutes. I patiently waited on the green lawn chair in the corner of the room. After about forty minutes I ground began to shake like a leaf in the autumn breeze, and a large woman shoved her way through the door. She was huge, she must have been about six foot ten, and weighed some number I am unable to estimate. She aggressively shook my hand lifting me a few inches above the ground, and welcomed me into her office. I told her what was going on, and she was baffled. She said Big Mammas has amazing customer service, and all of the shipments are shipped according to schedule. She said I could investigate the shipping docks if I wanted to, and gave me the key to that part of the factory.

I headed down,and to my surprise I discovered their wasn't devilry trucks at all. In fact the boxes of meat loaf and tapioca were falling into some sort of funnel, and were spit out into some sort of large aircraft. I rushed towards the aircraft, but was immediately stopped by armed guards. They yelled, “what are you doing here?”. Once again I told them the scoop. Surprisingly, they both looked at each other and began to laugh. The guard on the left said, “you see about four months ago Mr. Man took over Big Mommas, and is using Big Mamma as a marketing ploy. Apparently the idiot sent you down here for whatever reason. Now Mr. Man is a green man, and by green I mean money. His closest allies are George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Alexandra Hamilton, Andrew Jackson, Ulysses S. Grant, and Benjamin Franklin. He cares about no one else. You see there isn't a lot old dough in the senior foods industry. Yet Mr. Man found a way to get dough out of the lemon that is senior food. He's creating the meatloaf black market. By purchasing Big Mammas, the company responsible for the food at every nursing home in the United States, he can stop making deliveries for a couple of weeks and skyrocket the price for meat loaf and tapioca. The nursing homes will run dry of their vital foods, and will be forced to purchase them for an outrageous price.” he laughed. I was disgruntled, how could they such of thing, how could this Mr. Man be so evil. What the hell, this is absurd. I need to do something, something drastic but what. I thought maybe if I run jump the fence and get on the plane, I could find Mr. Man and kick his ass into stopping this madness. It was worth a shot, I bolted towards the fence, but before I got 10 feet off the ground I felt a sharp pain in my ass. I was shot! The guards quickly scooped me up, and threw me in a dungeon at the bottom of the factory. I was screwed………..To be continued.