Wednesday, November 15, 2017


Ashley Parker hears a strange murmuring outside her bush. it's Comey! he's doing his college boy scout try darndest to ascend the vine which trickles into Ashley's apartment bay window in the dead of night.

Ashley: what are you doing here, Comeycakes? not that i'm unhappy to see you.

Comey: the circus is between towns. i volunteered to stay away from the troupe cos the traveling between locations is, well, boring. and Comey is anything but boring. that's when all the fighting and ethnic divisions break out, when us freaks are given nothing to do. as long as we're flipping and fipping and twirling we're a cohesive unit, not a congestive one. what you see before you is the latest in spy technology. Cold War era.

Ashley: my metal man.

Comey: men used to climb the walls of our dueling dual mutually-bugged embassies to search for bugs. the Russians were clever back then in more of a cartoony way. they literally baked wires into the concrete they used for building plaster.

Ashley: i would have gone with bisque porcelain myself. should be some interesting pieces at Christie's this weekend. mold them into naked Russian ladies so you'd be sure the Americans would speak directly into their mic'd breasts.

Comey: all this talk is making me hungry. mind making something for me?

Ashley: sorry, i'm working.

Comey: the ball in selectric typewriters, they transformed those into listening devices undetectable by scans.

Ashley: you know that is fascinating. i've seen an electric typewriter from afar but i never looked at the guts. had no reason to. i had no idea. dad brought home a traditional typewriter with single hammers but his next purchase was that cute square Macintosh that fit in your pocket. i saw for the first time that amazing typeball just yesterday. that thing is a miracle! it's a super-alloy golf ball of the future! something out of The Flash. some sci-fi orb you can't see whizzing by.

Comey: simply replace with another ball for ALL ITALICS.

Ashley: it's a beachball on acid! much more efficient. and fun! i really wish they had stuck around longer. computers are boring and quiet by comparison. what have i been missing all my life!

Comey: you play golf?

Ashley: always too expensive. but not anymore with your money, right honey? my G man, G for golf.

Comey: and here i thought beach volleyball was your sport. well i have on the equipment for snowboarding and skiing. how bout it? i wish i could go for real. the one time in our history that we're friends with the enemy and can look around is the one time i'm fired.

Ashley: 'tis the weather. like a nippy Moscow night of old. but i'm heating up. i am so close. you guys next set up shop in the District, right?

Comey: yes but 1300 miles away. in the heart of the heartland.

Ashley: hey is there anything suspicious happening at your circus?

Comey: no, not really. the boss always keeps an office by the peanut stand. with a glass door that says PRIVATE on the front. a subsection of the bigtop tent. i dare not ever enter it. i like having money.

Ashley: huh. you're like those Hollywood starlets who are stuck selling their souls. and is there a lock on it?

Comey: yessim. double-barreled. you need the key and the combination.

Ashley: *smiling* heh. well it looks like my rollerderby rink froze over right on cue. i have nothing to do.


at the US Trials, President Bump is enjoying some football, chili threads, and an Australian bullwhip. international football.

Bump: i know. eggs. i like them handed to me. i'm hip.

Pusilic: you've got the hips for it, sir.

Bump: now get out there on that pitch and make the country proud. shame about the United States. how could we not qualify? who's running this operation? who's your teacher? i could be a better coach. i'm a great motivator.

Pusilic: thank you for bailing me out.

Bump: i dare you not to thank me for this. would have been an international incident not to have the best new young hot rising star showcased. i mean there was a real possibility there for a while you weren't gonna become the greatest player of all time.

Pusilic: sir, which of the three countries should i play for?

Bump takes out three yellow-glowing large fingers.

Bump: well your World Cup runneth over. which three?

Pusilic: i'm from the Moving Plains. i have divided loyalties and weird citizenship with England, Germany, and Croatia.

Bump: two European, bleh. i'd go with the Croatia, they don't have much going for them these days. except war and famine like most countries on this benighted terminated rock. a big win could really lift their spirits. they live in Hell like we all do. i mean other than that singer from back in the day when the internet was still young who did that perfectly-timed sex tape with her facial on the boat bed. that sex tape was just right, not too long, not too short. i enjoyed it. i converted to Catholic on that day.

Pusilic: i won't let you down, sir. cos you can't be let down.

Bump: if you bomb out i still got this whole Kiev cake on my lap that wrests my interest. where're the drinks?

Pusilic: there's lucozade in little soccerball-shaped containers being handed out.

Bump: ogh that has such an international-flair sound to it.

Pusilic: it means loco in the international language of love.

Bump: hey kid, you got some pus in your hair. wipe it out before you descend.


Bump: oh that's my Samsung. shhhh, don't tell anybody.

Bump climbs down to the concrete bleachers.

Bump: let me check the scores on my watch. ooooohhhh. yes.

Gobunov: did you get our message?

Bump begins to sweat profusely from his pored-up cheeks.

Bump: ooooooh, no. i can't. please. i need a name. who is this ravishing redhead in the Gas-x commercial? i need to know. you guys are cruel. why are you doing this to me? is it hot in here or is it her? you're...........oh no.........i think it's've converted me. i'm into gingers now.


at the National Anthem, it's George Takei's turn. he stands up and climbs out of the dugout as he always has done throughout his career when his name is called. stiff and stern and with a sonorous stentorian speaking style.

when he sings, his voice sounds the same as when he talks. that distinctive rattle to his voice like he's just eaten raspberries with whip cream.

Takei: you people will never understand my slant. i am proud of my heritage and my struggle. there was a struggle.                     *there's an uncomfortable silence in the stands*            i will not say oh my to these claims against me to appease the cretin masses. Takei okay.

he senses that he is about to disappear.

Takei: beam me up. beat you to it!

the Enterprise screeches to a halt in the sky. its front is a bowl that looks exactly like a '50s UFO.

Takei: ha! saucer me this. i never wanted to live on this planet to begin with! there's gotta be a better place!

Takei disappears and the Enterprise warps to nothingness.


Jules said...

I’ve often heard strange murmurings in my bush. I found that waxing cured this.

Typewriters are the future of the past. Key that in and find your hammer time.

I’m also from the Moving Plains but they’re still here when I return. *)

the late phoenix said...

did you see a naked Donna Reed in the bushes? she has all the wax, the whole ball of wax, she knows where the good stuff is selling

I swear the first time I saw that typeball thing was on Rachel Maddow last week. had no frickin' idea that was what was in electric typewriters!

earthquakes, you can't live with 'em. you can't live without 'em cos without 'em the earth would explode