Upon completing the last email to my co-worker, I figured I couldn’t let the crook escape without a chase so I changed my moistened undies and picked up the chase. My tenth great grandmother is Pocahontas and this proved to be a priceless inheritance. Thanks to my Indian lineage I am an expert tracker. I followed the scent of evil to the garage where I discovered some licorice residue on the bench press bar. The urgency to escape was clearly paramount in the mind of Mike, Batman or whoever he is because he stopped and apparently did a set or two on the bench. (For future reference we will refer to this criminal as Villain.) I quickly tabulated the weight on the bar to see what strength, or lack thereof, I was up against. After carrying a couple ones and consulting my abacus I deduced the weight to be one million pounds. While I thought of my next move I took advantage of the exercise equipment and did a set of 100,000 reps in roughly two minutes. I quickly collected myself and got back to hunting down Villain. There was a faint smell of recently consumed licorice in the air and at that singular moment I knew the pursuit was going to come down to death. Him or me. Neither one of us would concede until the other had breathed his last breath. Prison was not an option for him and failure was not an option for me. A deadly concoction. With the smell of consumed licorice in my nostrils fueling my tracking instincts, I followed the trail that would be undetectable to any other person but was lit up like a billboard to me. I proceeded with caution, unsure what my unseen opponent had in store for me. I tried not to think of the fate of the stolen licorice. I can’t imagine what sick things lay in store for it and couldn’t let that deter my focus. I will never understand the sick, demented mind of an individual who steals bags of licorice in a black jumpsuit. There is a place reserved for people like that, it is called Hell, and my duty, my obligation, nay my life’s purpose was to usher Villain to his permanent residence there. There was a sound! My senses were inordinately acute and I had a heightened sense of awareness of all things. My ears, which have the range of sonar, detected a wicked cackling laugh, the only kind you hear when a psycho steals a bag of licorice and is enjoying the contents. Adrenaline inundated my system and I gained the strength of ten men, which, when calculated, is equivalent now of 50 men because I have the strength of 5 men. This is not crucial to the story but merely a nice tidbit of side information. I silently ran toward the sound. Any remaining fear was quickly dissipated from the onslaught of adrenaline surging through my veins. There was no him or me anymore. Only me. He was going down. I just hoped I could get there fast enough to recover some of the pilfered licorice. I arrived on the scene to find him cramming handfuls of licorice into his face. Licorice was everywhere like a licorice rain cloud had unloaded its bevy. Barely in control of my anger and the fact that I was propelled by crack, I mean adrenaline; I opened my mouth to speak. Before I could utter a word, he asked if I would like a piece. Yes, I said and then we polished off the bag. We had a smoke and that was that.