Night Gallery: Calling Dick Tracy

I've been purging myself of every collectible thing that I never really cared for, following the death of one Gerorge Takei autograph that was mercilessly eaten through by the nasty liquid contained within an old "Star Wars" Pepsi can I was holding onto, a can which is not as leak-proof as one might assume. Other casualities include a Star Wars Episode One pin where Yoda arrogantly assumed he could predict my future, saying that I would "read," I would. I'm a little glad to rid of that guy, actually.

Part of the purge included a thorough sort-through of my computer's hard-drive, during which many Beatles MP3's were deleted, and I discovered a cache of odd JPG's, of whose origin I am mysteriously unaware. They were scanned from a 1959 issue of the Toronto Star, but who made the images, where I got them, and why I should have them is a complete mystery. A mystery for the likes of Dick Tracy!


Yes, remember officers: when driving around in a police car, complete with flashing red light on top, you'll want to remain as inconspicuous as possible. It is also recommended that you wear your full dress uniform when participating in any undercover sting operations - that way there'll be no misunderstandings.



Dammit, Tracy doesn't can't even grasp what the heart is without a visual representation. I think we need another detective.

Tracy's horrifying deficiencies with regard to stealth and anatomical knowledge aside, the most shocking thing about these images is the insight that they provide into modern-day police work. For example, we now what REALLY happened to Paris Hilton, the arrest all being a clever ruse to draw out her would-be killers (click to embiggen):


Boy, you've gotta love Dick Tracy, eh? If he's not profiling criminals with horribly offensive nicknames to much their terrible deformities, he's calling the anorexic "fatty." Twas truly a more innocent time.