Melissa and Doug: You only pose as granola crunching toymakers. You are actually evil. What gives?

Dear Melissa and Doug:

I have always thought of you as sweet, kind toymakers. Almost as sweet as Benny Hill's character in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, ready to fight evil, and most importantly, ready to save the children. Recently I was given some of your higher end puzzles, by another mother of a special needs child. I planned to use them and use them well, and when we'd gotten all I could get out of them I would pass them on to our Early Intervention Occupational Therapist who could give them to those less fortunate. Now, though, since I have uncovered your dastardly plans, I may have to consign these puzzles to the heap of toys requiring a ritual burning. Here is the puzzle in question. It looks nice, doesn't it?

Not only can a child put the pieces together, stimulating cognitive learning and giving parents an ideal tool with which to teach multiple concepts, all while appealing to a child's love of "things that go." And this is no ordinary puzzle. When the child has all the pieces in place, each of these vehicles' lights and sirens activate, giving a close and fairly realistic approximation of the actual sound these vehicles make in operation.

See the lights? Imagine the sound of the sirens. Now imagine the sound of the sirens at night. At 2:00 a.m., with decibel levels capable of waking a soundly sleeping two year old. At a distance of two rooms away from said sleeping child. And 15 feet from a naked and sleepy mother who was simply creeping through the house to get a quiet glass of water. A quiet glass, I said. In the kitchen. Not in the living room, where the puzzle was by itself, with nary a puzzle piece in place, nary a one. And no inquisitive child in sight, in fact, no one but the softly creeping mother in sight because all the lights were off and the house was quiet, as often happens during the night, when children sleep, and mothers sleepily stumble about in a dark and quiet house, not expecting either realistic lights or sirens in her fucking living room. When she is naked in the dining room and wasn't hoping for a visit from either the police or the ambulance service.  And when she was under the belief that the realistic lights and sirens would only activate when the final piece of the puzzle was put in place.

Melissa and Doug, the final piece is in place, now.  Just tell me where you live.