Fortunate Drawers

Sitting here in a café in a small Turkmenistan town, watching caravan after caravan go by (what you Americans might call tractor-trailer rigs), smelling jet fuel and gunpowder, I figure this is part of the forward base action I was expected to report to my superiours in a conference call later this afternoon.

At first, I complained about this satellite phone, looking like a geek at a debutante party, or rather the rich geek father depositing his little princess at her coming-out party (and yes, you can take that for all it’s worth, these days).

But looking at those guys across the street cradling their smartphones covered with acronyms trying to get a good signal, I say being the sore thumb at an M.C. Hammer hardware store is a good thing, for once.

Besides, I’ve got a friend who carries her lucky knickers just for me.

And I’ve got another friend, El Presidente, who thinks about nothing but al Qaeda and schooling in Sunday afternoon football smackdowns to keep my thoughts warm at night, too.

I wasn’t always like this, sipping stale coffee, spreading badly-worded rumours from underpaid government copywriters, but then maybe I was…we just called it primary school back then.

That’s okay.  It beats sitting at home, not making any money there, either, watching the television news or surfing the Internet for useless tidbits like every other secret organisation in the “business.”

Where was I?  Oh yeah, spiking my coffee with homemade hooch.

You see, in the hinterlands of the former Soviet Union, radioactive material is as easy to get as rabies from the raccoons I used to…well, let’s not go into boring details at this juncture in the punctuated story.

But hey, when a guy gets lonely…never mind.

Anyway, I was sitting on a crate of rotten eggs, unable to distinguish the smell of my ripe, unwashed body from that of chickens that’ll never live to see the light of day reflecting off a machete swinging toward their heads, when it hit me.

The kid down the street, always pestering me to call a tobacco shoppe down the street from his cousin in London and asking if they have Princess Edward in a can, looked at this blog I was texting with my calloused thumbs (calloused, mind you, from texting — what else did you think caused the callousness?  I mean, calloused hands.).

He asked if I had a more interesting writing style, after he’d thrown the uranium/plutonium ball at my noggin.

Hey, that reminds me.  Maybe I’ve got a gold mine at my feet.  Either that, or the pyrite the panhandler pretended to think was gold and sold it only to me, his best friend in the whole wide world, if not the block in which we both live, at a bargain basement we were using to brew the hooch I give out to unsuspecting tourists before I remove their overweight wallets.

Seriously, what have I got that you don’t?

All this nuclear fissable material.  No, that’s the Coke gurgling in my stomach that’s fissable.

It’s the fissionable stuff I’m dreaming about right now.

You see where I’m going with this, don’t you?

Yeah, you know it.  Re-activating Project Orion.

We’ll just declare Turkmenistan off-limits and use it to launch the Mars mission my fellow members of the Committee are dreaming with me.

We’ll rename the country ChernobylTwo or something like that.

We can put this whole “war” to contain nuclear proliferation to a rest and just keep starving the Iranian people to death while their leaders bask in the personal glory of the sacrifice of their people to show them old episodes of “Who’s The Boss?

Can you think of worse torture than that?

Rumour has it the last thing that Andrew World’s-worst-job-as-overpaid-angry-man Breitbart saw before his heart acted up was Alyssa Milano pretending to act.

Let that be a lesson to you, kids.  Don’t get your hopes up.  And further more, don’t listen to a word your clueless parents have to say.  They were terrible students in school and the only reason they’re doing well is that their bosses were even worse so the whole adult scheme is to pretend that everyone is smarter than they really are.

Of course, you kids have no clue what I’m talking about because, as we’re supposed to know, genetic research proves that our species has actually gotten worse, our purity as animals watered down with talks about backyard BBQ parties, easy-to-hack security alarm systems and other ways we deny we’re overdressed members of the fight-or-flight club.

Almost time for the conference call.

Go back to looking at your cute kitten videos and sports scores.

I’ve got a nuclear bomb powered rocketship to promote!

9 thoughts on “Fortunate Drawers

  1. you are SO out there you make me look…what was I gonna say?…ha!…you make me look… everywhichways – when I cross the road. your free-form thinking is fun and nuts and serious and intelligent. what is it like to be YOU?!

    • pegs, insanity is hereditary (or is that infectious?) — you can get it from the very people who think you’re one of the sanest people they know. Creativity is the only way I’ve learned to maintain a semblance of sanity in a world full of people striving for normality that doesn’t exist except in their heads. How about you?

      • Me, I think that’s well said – I’m definitely mad and without follow-through on the creative impulse the madness would lead to hari-kari (that Japanese guts thing – is that how one spells it?) I’d be pushing up the daisies, put it that way. Well actually, me, I AM pushing up the daisies metaphysically speaking, up-earthing the nasties and the tasties and embracing my UNnormal self. Apart from when I dig myself down too far and the nasties get too nasty and I chide myself and hide – I’ve been doing that a long time too…Life presents presents we don’t always want; creativity unwraps them in leaps and bounds beyond the constructs of inhibition.

      • Absolutely. Then our alter ego approaches dressed in the body of another person and we think, “That can’t be what I imagine my worst best self or best worst self or whoever I am when I’m not the me people think I am.” We smile, sigh, and say to ourselves (and sometimes out loud when we least expect it), “Hey, I’m not as batty as I thought — all of us are UNnormal in our own way.” Just don’t tell that to your best friends or your worst enemies (and especially not your wurst enemas…OUCH!). :^P

    • “And you’re very cheeky (and brilliant!) to draw on my drawers (a second time)…like dat.” The best comic artist can work wonders in any medium. Cheeky, my @rse!

  2. Oh, and me, being El Presidente of myself, me, I agree totally with the bumblin buffoon, I like, NEVER, give thought to matters of national importance on a Sunday – it simply isn’t right for the religious right, right?? OH NO! Now you know where I lay my hat! – and if you believe that…

    • Ah, so you’re one of the Democrats who switched sides to vote for Santorum in Tennessee? Caughtcha! Your punishment…is of your own devising (or divining, depending on how clairvoyant your hat may be).

    • Don’t worry. I’m a stranger in a strange land — I voted for Ralph Nader in the last two elections. Can’t find a viable third candidate to select this year…sigh…

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