Since the police had me tagged as a suspect,

Since the police had me tagged as a suspect, I knew then I had to incinerate my garbage. Any phone bill, any left-over sandwich wrapper, could link me to the scene.

I had *just* lit my garbage can on fire when Inspector Dugong arrived. "Having a little cookout are we?" he said. He picked up a signed receipt from the Dew Drop Inn off the ground

with a big red lipstick kiss on it & Celeste LaBelle's number. "I'm claiming it as an expense" I explained to Inspector Dugong. "Better not burn it then," he said with a hard stare

as his tongue flicked erratically in and out of his mouth. 15 years on thorazine hadn't done the inspector any favors. I nodded sheepishly, and extinguished the lighter's flame.

You know, let's just stop right here and talk about a sheepish nod. A good sheepish nod is hard to come by. Rare. It's nod, but it's also racked with guilt. Oh sure, some think tha

t a sheepish nod is the coward's way out of an apology, unless, of course, you actually are a sheep, and an amenable one at that. But I digress. The point is that he was guilty.

But he wasn't sorry. Santa was watching & frowned. Laying a finger up into his nose, Santa heaved a big sigh, then summoned Handsy the elf. "Mark that guy off the list," he said.

It had been too long since the Kringle family had taken a vacation, according to Mrs. Kringle. "He just takes on way too much, he always has," Santa's wife of 525 years reminisced.

except Groundhog Day. Santa really loved Groundhog Day. He loved the way it repeated the same trite meaningless rituals until the day Mrs. Claus dumped him for Punxsutawney Phil.