Mr. Bunsy had a secret. A secret all his

Mr. Bunsy had a secret. A secret all his own. A secret he dared not share. Not with Mrs Bunsy, or dropsy not even with Timmy Turtle. In fact, especially not Timmy Turtle because

the entire pet shop knew Timmy would sing like a canary if the owner Bob put the screws to him. Mr. Bunsy would have to enjoy his secret escape tunnel all by himself. One night as

I was in Bankok. The world was my oyster that night. The bars seemed like temples. However the pearls weren't free. I found a god in every golden cloister

and every lamp post was a Bodhi tree. But after I woke from the spell, I realized I was in a flophouse in a seedy district of Pattaya. Mara had seduced me. My vows already broken

, I propped each eye open with a double cappucino and waited for noon to arrive. The swelter of the flophouse coffee bar was doing nothing to accelerate temporal velocity.

My nerves started to jangle. I stood on top on the coffee bar, grabbed the clock hands and turned them to 12. There was a sudden shift and the shadows swung wildly. It was noon.

My bet had paid off. With the sun overhead, there were no shadows for my pursuers to hide. I strode out to confront them. "It seems that the tables have turned! Or clocks, rather."

Detective James Manatee pulled out his signature engraved .44 Cougar Magnum. Day light savings time puns were hard to come by, but villains in need of justice weren't.

"Think you're here to set my clock, Manatee?" he sneered. "Think again." His checkered past included working backstage for Criss Angel. He dived into a nearby dumpster and