Maybe what he should do is come up with a detective. An intensely human character, with the kind of flaws and motivations anyone might have. Nothing too outlandish. Sure – the guy likes a drink, has a bit of a temper. Smokes cigarettes. Doesn’t pay as much attention to personal hygiene as he should. Has a problematic relationship with his ex-wife and son. Drives a classic old car that everyone thinks he should change because it’s so goddamn unreliable but he can’t because – as is revealed in flashbacks – it’s the car his wife gave birth in on the way to the hospital, the car he learned to drive in, his dad’s old car, the dad who killed himself (very unusually and creatively) with a large piece of agriculture equipment (he was brought up on a farm – has the accent, the insights, the hokey sayings). This accounts for his phobia of large pieces of equipment. This detective knows he’s a cliche but can’t do anything about it. This is the kind of detective people want these days. He wishes he could just be an honest, hard-working detective with a knack for seeing patterns. But hey – he has no influence. The best he  can do is turn up for each episode, make cute remarks, smoke fags, drive his jag, be irascible, solve the case, drive home at the end under jazzy but poignant closing credits.

His name?

Rubble.

John Rubble.