You might not know this, but I used to be a spy. I was undercover as a hockey star in New York, trying to catch an underground stuffy stealer who was taking stuffies and using them for fur. The crimes were horrible, despicable, and becoming more frequent. We had received word from one of our agents that the thief was involved with a professional hockey team in New York City. So off I went. The only problem was, I had trouble knowing which side of the ice was ours and which was for the other team. The goalies wore masks so I never knew which one was the guy I know. In practice we always shoot at the goalie in the same uniform as the players so that’s who I shot at. Bad choice. At least I was a good shot. It didn’t take long before I was sent to the minors which did me no good since that team was in Albuquerque. I had to get back to the Big Apple. I did what any George would do, I bit into an apple. Once I discerned that the apple had no magic properties, I took a train back to New York.

I arrived in Times Square just as the ball dropped on New Year’s Eve. Well, technically it was now New Year’s Day. The square was full of people. I was sick with the thought that our perpetrator  could be amongst the crowd. I spotted one of the hockey team trainers amongst the crowd and gently tripped him into the Ferris wheel at Toys R’Us. He broke his leg but he will be okay after a few months off work. I polished off my mail order degree and applied for his job the next day. The agency made sure that all of my references checked out. My first job was to give clean towels to the team after practice. Sounds easy but on the first day I gave them sandpaper by accident. After a couple nasty scrapes I realized my mistake and quickly switched to real towels. One of my fake references was the brother of the team owner so they didn’t dare fire me. No one knew that the owner doesn’t even have a brother.

Once the team got onto the ice I got to work. I started going through all of the lockers, looking through everyone’s belongings. I didn’t find much, mostly troll dolls and tiny pictures that dangled off of old key rings. A few razors, some hair gel and lots of dirty socks made my nose turn away in disgust. Ick. And then I found it! It was right there in plain sight, hanging in a cubicle beside the jersey of number 68. It was a key chain made of very soft, stuffed polar bear fur with a stripe of Smurf blue. “Aaahhhhhhhh!” I screamed and fell over, landing on my helmet head. “Yikes!” I knew what I had to do. Stuffing the key chain into my pocket, I raced over to the team bench. Number 68, also known as “Twit” wasn’t there. Where was he? Then I saw him – out on the ice! I always wear skates so I flew myself over the side and skated over to him. He turned and asked me what I was doing there and I poked him with a chopstick, left over from my lunch of Kung Pao Chicken. “You won’t get away this time!” I yelled at him and then the coach called a time out. I showed coach the proof in the key chain. He gasped and called the police. As the police took him away, he panicked and told us where all of the stuffies were hidden – in the press box at the arena! I sent my men to retrieve all of the stuffies; most were okay but some were injured and sent to Stuffy Hospital for recovery.

I did it! When I returned to spy headquarters I was congratulated with a giant bowl of chocolate pudding with whipped cream on top. It was the greatest night of my life.

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