The Adventures of Sly Danny
Volume One, Number One

Ever since that punk with the saggy jeans and the white man's afro threw an old Journal of Psychology at me and shouted "Check it, Sly Danny!" it's been tough to concentrate on much of anything.

Sly Danny? The kid didn't even know me. It made me want to yank his teenage whiskers right out of his pimply face. I mean, he knew me from the carwash and obviously he'd seen my nametag bearing the humble moniker "Dan," but that's it. Doesn't give him the right to go making up nicknames for me. Punk.

The word "SUFFL" jumped out at me from the Journal which lay open at my feet on the sidewalk. What the?

"It has come to the attention of my staff that Daniel J. Card, of (ironically enough) the very SUFFL that broke the PSA story, has been driving around in a 1974 'Love Van' chock-full of SUFFL T-shirts, and refuses to send or deliver them to anyone. A peculiar case, indeed. As his dark curls reach ever closer to his shoulders, and the tint on his sunglasses grows darker and darker, his neighbors are beginning to think he's emotionally akin to the Unabomber. But these symptoms obviously indicate that Card is suffering from T-Shirt Anxiety (TSA)."

My van? The shirts? My hair? My SUNGLASSES? For Miami Vice's sake, what was this? I started singing the old Rockwell hit (had to look that up, but I knew Michael & Jermaine Jackson sang on it), "(I always feel like) somebody's watching me". Somebody was indeed watching me, and I was determined to find out who it was.

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