Alright, listen up, because this is a prime example of why I can’t leave Giggles unsupervised for five minutes.

Our first product? Shoelaces. Easy, right? Wrong. See, I had the idea- laces with me and Giggles on ‘em- but I had more important things to do than actually make them. And Giggles? He was always in my business, so I gave him a job: find a manufacturer. Simple task. I guess it wasn’t foolproof. 

Since the government won’t let Shit Head monsters have driver’s licenses (total discrimination, by the way), Giggles walked to Dairy Queen to “boost his energy.” That’s where his problems started.

On the way, people started yelling at him. Stuff like… wait I wrote this down when he told me so I could look back at it and laugh, let me find it. Okay, here’s what they said: “Look at his friendship bracelets, he probably made them for himself!” and “Did you see that guy trip on the bumps that come right before the crosswalk and skid his whole body on the street?” Cracks me up everytime. Glad I kept it. 

Giggles, being Giggles, started crying. I guess he tried to run, but he didn’t make it to Dairy Queen yet, so he didn’t have enough energy. Eventually, he realized his hecklers were behind a fence. So, naturally, instead of moving on, he walked right up to them.

“They never taught you how to walk in kindergarten, purple man?” one of them shouted.

And instead of walking away-like he should have-Giggles explained, “I usually wear velcro. I’m practicing shoelaces because my best friend Shit and I are making them.”

Apparently, that was enough to earn their respect, because next thing you know, they’re chanting, “I STAND WITH GOTTI!” (They misheard his name. I don’t know how. I don’t ask questions anymore. My guess is he cried through it.)

Then- I don’t know how it happened- but I guess at somepoint they decided they were all going to learn how to tie their shoes together (they wear velcro too apparently). And as the natural progression goes, they agreed to help Giggles- sorry, Gotti- make our laces.

Now I’d like everyone to experience this plot twist along with me. At this point, Giggles tells me, “Oh yeah, this is a prison by the way. I don’t know if you got that. They’re all reformed, don’t worry.”

Why would I have gotten that?

So this oompa loompa starts visiting every single day, passing supplies through the fence. They’d talk, make laces, then a whistle would blow, and the little prisoners would head back inside. At this point, Giggles remembered to tell me that most of these prisoners were little people. I don’t know why anything with him shocks me anymore, but it does.

So it was actually a few weeks in when Giggles tells me about his “manufacturing deal.” Says he’s paying them in candy. Which, okay, sketchy. But I was busy. And I guess it makes sense, what are prisoners gonna do with money? So I bought the candy, handed it off, and figured I’d check in eventually.

Eventually came soon enough when I finished early at the shooting range, and I finally go see these so-called prisoners and-

Holy Shit.

It’s a school. The “prisoners” are kids. The “prison” yard? A playground. These were teachers. TEACHERS, Giggles!

I looked at him, waiting for some sort of realization. Nothing. Just blinking. So I had to spell it out.

“Giggles. This. Is. A. School. Those. Are. Not. Little. People. They. Are. Childrens.”

(I know the proper form is children, but this is my story and this is how I talk. Just keep following.)

At this point, I had two options: shut it down, or embrace the fact that Giggles had accidentally started a child labor ring. Obviously, I went with option three—take over payroll and make sure they didn’t like him too much. His head was already getting too big with the whol Gotti thing- you know?

Then one Friday, I show up, and who do I see? Clarence.

“Holy Shit, Giggles! That’s CLARENCE!”

Clarence was one of the 68 seniors I saved from a burning retirement home. Turns out, his grandson was one of Giggles’ little workers. And Clarence? Not thrilled about the whole “paying children in candy” thing. So he made a counteroffer: he and the other 67 retirees would take over production at their new retirement home.

I agreed—mostly because butterscotch is cheaper than what the kids eat. Plus, I’m an old soul. I love hanging at the home.

Giggles took it hard. The seniors wouldn’t call him Gotti. But now they run our shoelace operation out of Shitz Crazy Headquarters (which, yes, I managed to get the retirement home renamed). There are other old people living there, but I don’t let their scrawny ass hands touch our supply. Bad luck.

Giggles still visits his little friends and checks in on the old bags, but at least now, he has more time for Dairy Queen. And that is how we got our first product.

Moral of the story? Never let Giggles handle logistics. Stuff get’s done, but it’s half ass.