Undercover Ambassador: First Meeting
by “Joe O’Hair”
“This coffee tastes like crap!” I said, and scowled. I wrote down MEETING on the top of the page in my notebook. Then I wrote BAD COFFEE underneath.
“Florida does the best she can, Joe,” Princess Valiant said. “She comes from a deprived background.”
FLORIDA DEPRIVED, I wrote.
“Kept down by the man,” I empathized. “Fight the power.”
“Fight the power!” she murmured. “Poor downtrodden minority.”
“Downtrodden like gravel under the man’s boot”, I agreed. I sipped the bad coffee again. “Still tastes like… Hey guys, I’m glad you’re here.”
The door swung shut and two desk spooks sat down at the conference table. They glared at me with inscrutable expressions. One was her boss. He looked like a low level spook boss. The other was just another desk spook. Neither one had as good hair as mine.
Her boss said, “So you’re Valiant’s husband.”
“Yeah, I’m a lucky man, maaaaan,” I replied suavely.
She gave me one of those dreamy looks that convinced me to marry her in the first place. She’s such a foxalicious fox of the foxy tribe of foxes. She added, “and an ex-ambassador with experience in Niger.”
“I guess you know what we need. Right, Joe?” he asked.
“We need to find out if Saddam bought any Uranium in Niger.” I responded. “I heard Darth and Der Fuhrer are trying to lay a frame-job on him.”
“Yeah those dillweeds,” he said. “They think we aren’t doing our jobs, and we have to cover our asses or we’ll have to go back into covert work. And I like coming to work at Langley everyday.”
“Me too,” agreed the other spook.
I wrote DILLWEEDS in my notebook.
“Me three,” said Princess Valiant.
“Me four,” said the boss spook. He snorted with laughter.
I laughed. And they laughed. We all laughed. Man we laughed, slapping our knees, bumping foreheads on the table, crying tears of bemused amusement. I laughed, leaning back in my chair until I lost balance and fell backwards on the floor.
“Hoooo haw, tee hee hee hee,” I snurfled. The howling in the room was probably loud enough to wake the dead or even a working class person sitting down the hall and doing whatever the little people do all day when they’re at their jobs.
The deprived lower-class wage-slave secretary opened the door. “Suh, ah y’all all right?” She purred. “Do y’all need your Lithium Suh?”
“No thanks, Florida,” the boss spook blurted. The he started laughing again. She closed the door and tiptoed away.
We exploded in new gales of guffaws, hurricanes of hilarity, cyclones of silliness, until the tittering grew tiresome.
I wrote ME FOUR in my notebook. I put a smiley face next to it.
“It shouldn’t be too hard, Ambassador,” boss spook said. “There are only two exports from Niger. One is yellowcake Uranium. The other is goat urine. All you have to do is find out if Saddam’s guys were looking. And we don’t care about goat urine.”
“No goat urine.” I replied. “No goat urine.” I wrote NO GOAT URINE in my notebook.
He raised an eyebrow. “Keep it under your hat, Ambassador,” he said. “I hope your wife is right about you, O’Hair.
“I ran my fingers through my hair, then shook my head to let it settle down into luxuriously hirsute perfection. “I’ll do right by you and The Company,” I mimed quotation marks with my fingers when I said The Company.
He stared at me.
“What kind of gun do I get?” I asked. “Do I get a code number like James Bond?”
I winked and nodded. “Never mind. Joking.” Like I thought, the conference room was bugged. The gun was going to be in the diplomatic packet. Probably a nickle-plated Beretta M1 9mm. That’s what all the spies use when they go out into the field against the international forces of the corrupt capitalist empire. No blood for oil!
“I’m doing this because I trust Valiant,” he said. “Do right by her.”
“10-4 Roger Wilco,” I grinned.
He stood up and walked out the door without so much as a by-your-leave. Spook junior followed him nervously.
Valiant grimaced and wiped her brow with the back of her hand. “Whew! I’m glad that’s over.”
“What a dillweed,” I smirked. I stood and smoothed my hair as I looked at my reflection in a painting on the wall. “You knocked it out of the park, you handsome devil! How does my hair look, Valiant?”
“Even better than John Edwards,” she cooed. Then she turned me around and pressed against me like a long drink of cool blonde water.
I’m a lucky man.
Editorial Note: “Joe O’Hair” and “Princess Valiant” are pseudonyms. The author has requested the use of a pseudonym to avoid repercussions and recriminations from the Nazi Chimp Rethuglicans who stole the Amerikkkan elections in 2000 and 2004.
For more satire making fun of the three-ring Scott Thomas Beauchamp “Shock Troops”/New Republic/Franklin Foer circus, check out the comments at Villainous Company.