Recounting my story so far, I feel a large chunk of my memory is missing.  Ever since Professor Layton brought me those roses, and our train went into a dark tunnel, I can’t seem to recall even the simplest of puzzles without the headaches starting again.  It’s almost as if…no…wait.

Let’s say, hypothetically, that a small boy were tied up in ropes (as a game of course!), and there were several “guards” in black leather (labeled A, B, C, and Dikembe) surrounding the boy with rods.  How many times could the guards “tickle” the boy, before he started sobbing (from too much excitement!).  Keep in mind that the number of tickles is equal to the age difference between my- the boy’s!- age and the oldest guard, who was 55, and half-brothers with another guard but they never lived in the same house and…oh.  Oh my god, I think I just figured something out…

If I take the length of time since I last saw my real family and add that to the number of years Professor Layton started calling me “apprentice” instead of “monkey slave,” how long will it take before I stop crying?  Assume that the number is greater than the number of times Professor Layton told me ‘A true gentlemen does not kiss and tell.’  I- I think I just realized something BIG!

It all started when Professor Layton told me to add something “spicy” to his tea, but when I went through every possible combination of ingredients, he said ‘perhaps it’s time you consider a solution outside the box.’  I could tell he was hinting at something, but what?

He said if I kept this “whole thing” a secret, he’d give me 1,000 Picarats a week.  So I saved and saved, only to find that there’s no place to spend them!  DO PICARATS MEAN ANYTHING?!  When I finally confronted him about everything that had happened between us, he told me all the events I was describing happened in the mystical town of Folsense, thus all of it occurred in my own mind.  But then- it happened again!  He gave me a simple 20 Picarat puzzle where an obviously phallic key that was stuck between two rocks.  Professor!  How could you?!

If I take apart the camera, then put it back together, then take it apart, then put it back together again and take pictures, the discrepancies in the pictures from before this mystery began to now reveal something clear as day: my eyes are dead in the latter.  This must be the reason I compulsively touch everything in a room in search of hint coins: Professor Layton touched me.  This is one puzzle’s conclusion I will not point and smile at.

Let me take a second look, now that I’ve unlocked the proper hints…

If there are 8 pieces of my heart, and each piece is worth an inkling of my dignity, how long will it take before I can trust again?  Assuming that I only smile every other day, and never on the Lord’s Day, how many times per week will Professor Layton assume that I’m merely looking up to him as a detective, rather than plotting my bloody revenge on the old coot?  Assume that I will cut his body into pieces of equal weight and feed them to my hamster who will achieve a record of 64 steps.

Further reporting by Hardcasual’s Dan Wilbur.