Uncle Ned: Case Re-Opener!

The knock at the door woke me from a deep sleep. “Great Caesar’s Salad,” I thought, “who comes around during nap time?!” I stood up, a bag of pretzels and four remote controls tumbling from my lap to the floor. “Dammit,” I muttered, “if it’s anyone but Uncle Ned himself, I’m going to be using my brass knuckles.” I reached into my pocket and slipped my punchin’ aid onto my right hand and thumped to the door. The knocking continued with greater urgency. I clenched and unclenched my fist several times in preparation. I looked out the eye hole to get an unblemished glimpse of this future ER visitor.

“Well stroke my beard and comb my rooster,” I gasped. “Uncle Ned.”

Yes, Uncle Ned was at my door, using his own knuckles to announce his presence. I quickly removed the brass knuckles and opened the door. “Ned!” I grinned, spreading my arms wide.

“Are you Cletus Hookworm?” he said. No nonsense, direct and to the point. I liked that.

“You got ‘im, Ned,” I replied.

“My name isn’t Ned. I’m Tom Hanks.”

“Ah, you’re preparing for a role. Good name, Tom Hanks. Sounds like an everyman kind of guy.”

“No, no, you don’t understand …”

“Listen, I don’t run a celebrity rag, I’m not interested in whatever movie you’re promoting.”

“I know, but …”

“I just want to know, how come you aren’t close to your sister anymore?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Look, she helped you beat your alcoholism and guide you to make the right choice about that hostile takeover, but since then you haven’t even stopped in to say hi.”

“What the f …”

“No no no, you wait. You need to hear this. You might not know it, but she had a baby, but you never showed up to welcome the little bastard into the family. Alex has developed Parker Stevenson’s disease, bobbing and weaving like a breakdancer all the time, Jennifer’s in a really awful rock n roll combo, and Mallory, god, who knows where she is. With Skippy? I hope not. And I have no idea where Steven and Elise are these days. It’s all so sad. There are rumours that a rabid dog named Ubu killed them. Did you know that?!”

“Listen, you’re confused …”

“Damn right I am! You used to be an up front kind of guy. When Alex’s friend Gregor died—his best friend! (sure, we’d never seen him before, but I’m sure there’s a good reason for that)—you didn’t even show up to comfort him. Your own nephew! Wait a minute—you didn’t have a mustache in those days, did you?”

“That’s what I’m here to talk about.”

“That you killed Gregor?”

“No. Look, Uncle Ned was just a character I played.”

“Damn right. You’re a helluva character! That’s why I think you hold the key to so many of life’s mysteries, and we here at Case Closed™ solve mysteries. For example, did you know that John Ritter killed prostitutes?”

Uncle Ned’s mouth was hanging slack at this point. Was this a revelation or was he surprised that the secret was out? Good lord, was Uncle Ned connected to the Whitechapel killings?!?!

He began to back off, his hands held up defensively. “Look, guy,” Ned said, “I think we got off on the wrong foot here.”

“Yeah, I think so, ‘Ned,’” I sneered, “if that’s your real name.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to say!”

“Christ, it’s true then!” I ran to the kitchen to fetch a weapon. All I had was a medieval mace, so that would have to do. I ran back to the front of the house, screaming and swinging the mace over my head. Ned, however, had fled into the afternoon. Where he is now is a mystery for another day.

However, the John Ritter-Uncle Ned connection must be explored if we are to understand the nature of evil. And mustaches.

Case Closed™ Re-Opened!