No, Mr. Bonaduce, You'll Have to Come with Me

I had a dream last night that I invented a type of special cigarettes for villains and thieves. The nice thing about these cigarettes was that they’d been pre-printed with barbecue sauce fingerprints of former child actor Danny Bonaduce. In my dream, a group of men in masks were fleeing the scene of a bank robbery, nothing but coal-black eyes, stubble and cigarettes - real men.
And when the police show up hours later, their boots crunching over broken glass and fallen crime scene tape, they find it: a cigarette that has only been smoked halfway.
But wait, there’s a fingerprint on it!
"Evidence," one cop will say to another.
"Evidence," he’ll snort back.
But later as our criminals have shaved their faces and are now boarding a small chartered plane dressed as a retired all-boy band, their guitar cases filled with cash from the heist, the police will have followed their only lead to the house of, you guessed it, Danny Bonaduce.

"Bonaduce!" one cop will say to another.

"Bonaduce..." he'll snort back.

I woke up thinking that I’d once again created the perfect way to quit working at a restaurant, to "do a bank job" and pin the whole thing on famous - albeit fading - Hollywood icons. I could pay waiters and waitresses in New York and LA to take a crime lab course and begin lifting and scanning fingerprints of famous people from water glasses, wine glasses, the backsides of toilets, etc. and when I had finally amassed a worthwhile collection of fingerprints I could put them on bills and coins and cigarettes, tossing the whole bag of marked items up into the air as I ran to the getaway vehicle.Winona Ryders fingerprints would be the only ones I wouldn’t be able to steal since she had hers lasered off to continue her shopping spree (notice we haven’t "seen" her in the news about it lately? Huh?)
They’d be lost for hours. We have several hundred sets of prints here, they’d say. We’ll never be able to get through all these, they’d say.
And even if they did get through all of them, they’d have to round up a hundred celebrities from photo shoots and movie sets around the world just to rule them out. . . I’m onto something.
So if one day you see this post disappear, you’ll know that its because I am preparing for victory. If you’re reading this and are remotely famous, wear gloves the next time you don’t tip twenty percent at a nice restaurant, you cheap has-been. . .