The Weekend (Or Not)

     Whoa!  Is it Monday already?  What happened to the weekend?  I was all happy that the weekend was here like, five seconds ago and now it’s gone!  Conclusion:  Somebody stole the weekend!
     Sherlock Holmes mode engaged.  First, let us examine the facts.  A week is made up of seven days.  Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday are the weekdays, Saturday and Sunday constitute the weekend.  I made it through all the weekdays and got very happy on Friday about the upcoming weekend.  I went to bed Friday night, woke up the next day, there was some blurred action, and then it was Sunday night, time for bed.  Second conclusion:  I believe I’ve been drugged!
     Possible culprits:  My siblings (yes, all of them), my dad, my mom, my cat, and yes, even the butler.  The only one who I know is innocent is my dog.  And Fred.  Other than that, it appears that everyone is a suspect.  However, my family is not knowledgeable enough about the inner workings of the weekend and stealing to be able to pull off such a feat.  Now the cat, he’s another story.  I wouldn’t put something like this beneath him, above him, or anywhere around him for that matter.  He’s evil incarnate that bugger is. 
But!  Due to keen deductive skills that I have been employing secretly while distracting you with small talk, I have found that, against all odds and to my extreme surprise, it was not my cat.  It was, in fact, the butler!  Bet you didn’t see that one coming.  No one would ever suspect the butler.  He probably thought he was safe.  But with my deductions, no one is safe.  I can see through any and all falsehoods by examining the details.  All is transparent to me!
     What’s that?  We don’t have a butler?  Preposterous!  Oh wait.  Yeah, that’s right.  We don’t.  That was just me wishing we had one so I could call him Alfred and have him say cool stuff about watching the world burn.  Darn.  There goes the last suspect, right out the window.  Now what?
     I guess I’m just not cut out for this detection thing.  Someone heave a huge sigh of disappointment for me, would you (I would do it myself, but I’m afraid of inhaling my tongue or something)?  I’m sure there are other things in life, most definitely, but come on.  What could be better than going around like Sherlock and saying “Ha!  Know what you had for dinner last night by looking at your boots!”  Not much, that’s for sure.
     And now I’m gonna go way off-topic by marveling at how on-topic I’ve been.  Amazing, ain’t it?  Speaking of which, did you see that bunny swinging his lightsaber and screaming “THIS IS SPARTA!”?  Sorry.  I just had to make sure I wasn’t ruining my reputation by being too coherent or anything terribly damaging like that.  I mean, coherency is all well and good, but this A Bevy of Balderdash, y’know?  Coherency here is like hope with Obama.  Oh dear.  Did I just make a politically bashing joke?  I’m sorry.  Oh dear, I just stepped on a flea.  Poor little guy.