Monday, October 25, 2004

 

Called to the Orifice

It is possible that they have gotten some explosives, yes.

Possible, yeah. I would say so. Since just this morning several hundred scarab beetles wired with C-4 scurried into the offices of NOAA and blew themselves up. Weather forecasts are on hold for the next few weeks or months. Not long after that, it rained frogs on Mary Mother of God’s election headquarters.

Frogs. What harm in that? A little squishy underfoot, but…

Explosive frogs. One of the hallmarks of a Bushco operation—he just loves exploding frogs. Seven campaign volunteers were killed, twenty maimed. Rosary beads were all over the place. It was sickening. Hardly a laughing matter. And here—a report just in that flies with C-4 strapped to their bellies are crashing into campaign posters and blowing them up. Allah campaign posters. That isn't good. His campaign is already pissed at us.

I don’t see how any of this affects my—

Explain how almost 400 tons of high explosives just go missing then, sir. On your watch.

Well, it wasn’t exactly MY watch. I had assigned people to secure these explosives, and ...

And?

I guess they didn’t do it very well.

I guess not. Witnesses report that a pack of wolves, maybe ten at the most, stole the explosives.

Well, wolves. Wolves are pretty scary, so you can understand that the guards might ...

These same witnesses say that your guards—who, by the way, were not people at all, but really calves and lambs wearing blue uniforms and hats—ran away at the first sign of the wolves.

Guards are expensive, so we used cheaper barnyard contract labor. You said we had to stop spending so much on—

Shut up. Let me put it this way. The Big Guy is really pissed. He says you better find this stuff and bring it back, along with the wolves or whoever they sold the stuff to. And not tomorrow, either. Today. Or phftttttt! Your throat.

The Big Guy? Lincoln?

No, stupid. The BIG GUY.

The—oh. The Big Guy.

Rigggghhhhht. Now get busy. And send in Barthwart on your way out.

Yessir.

Barthwart, what’s going on with this Million Mantid March? Any news?

It’s very interesting, sir.

What?

The sunglasses are keeping them out of the zappers. But the Raid seems to be working on about half of them.

You’re kidding. I thought they were immune.

Well, they would have been sir, except that about half of them didn’t get a shot.

A shot?

An immunization against Raid. The Raid vaccine.

Really? Why not? I thought they bought more than enough for the whole mantid population. Didn’t they contract with that company, Bill’s Handy Insecticide Vaccines, Inc. In Mexico somewhere?

Turns out the vaccine they got from him was no good, contaminated.

Really? With what?

Trout roe. Completely useless. Bill’s taken off with the money, nobody knows where. So now all they got is some vaccine from a French company—Jean-Claude’s Discount Raid-Stop. Not enough for all of them and they’re killing and eating each other to get what there is. Total panic.

My, my. Where is the march, now?

Passing through Virginia. Near the Dismal Swamp.

Hm. Lots of catfish around there, right?




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