Stan Smith adjusted his tie. He let out a yawn, and reached for a cup of coffee. After taking one sip, he knocked on the
office door of Bullock, the director of the Central Intelligence Agency.
"Come in Mr. Smith, there's troubling news to report" said Bullock. There was an unusual discrepancy between his tone of
voice and the subject matter of which he was speaking.
"Oh no. Troubling news?" asked Stan, with dejected eyes. He could hear Bullock laughing in the other room.
"Come in already, Smith, pull up a chair!" said Bullock.
"Oh, right. Sorry," said Smith. Stan remembered back to his days in Psi-training, and thought to himself: "I wonder if I can walk through a door," as he backed up from the
door to the office of the director, and with a sense of determination and after burning up a considerable amount of
mental depletion, charged towards the door like a bull entering the ring. All that was accomplished for Stan was
a door that fell down below the feet of Bullock, who was eyeing Stan with a look of frustration.
"Stan, you know you failed to meet our adequate Psi program requirements on every single test. Never, ever, do that again" commanded Bullock. Stan grimaced, but chuckled softly.
"You're right, big guy, I won't ever do that again" said Stan.
"Good. And why do you keep adjusting your tie so frequently and deliberately?" asked Bullock.
"I'm just trying to maintain the image of a well adjusted trusted respectable and distinguished agent" replied Stan.
"There's only one other agent I've had that I remember who adjusted his tie all the time. He was so incompetent. But, anyway
back to business" said Bullock. Bullock pulled out a huge chunk of files, which he organized together, began plopping them against the desk.
"See these files, Mr. Smith?" asked Bullock.
"Why, yes sir. I'm all about the files. What do they relate to? A giant Project Mogul weather balloon full of dead aliens, monkeys,
midgets, mummies, and crash test dummies? Or is there someone I have to kill?" asked Stan.
"I'm getting to that, Smith. Patience. I'm sure you were wondering why I was in a maniacal fit of laughter before
you entered the room" said Bullock.
"Well, yes, actually. That was a little confusing, sir. Especially since you told me you had troubling news" said Stan.
"The troubling news is so bloody bizzare that I can't even begin to explain it without sounding like a complete lunatic.
Our submarines, boats, bases, and embassies across the world are exploding for literally no reason at all. No one knows
the cause of it, it just freaking happens. Remarkably, no one is killed or injured at all. Every single time it happens, our agents
and ambassadors become covered in a strange blue liquid that seems to simply appear all over their skin. Next thing
you know, boils and rashes, and eventual slow and painful death. For some, that is. Only one has died so far. The rest
have turned into raging alcoholics" explained Bullock.
"Alcoholics sir? That's remarkable" said Stan.
"Isn't it though? The man who died was our ambassador in Chile. Everyone else seemed to magically heal by themselves, I'm not sure why. The man who died was one of our best most respected agents, who was an expert in psi warfare, a graduate of our top secret Goat Stare program!" said Bullock.
"May I see a picture of this man?" asked Stan. Bullock showed Stan a photograph, which was of a man who looked like a sailor, smoking a pipe. It looked quite a bit like Roger.
"Hmm, this guy looks kind of familiar. Any idea who may have possibly killed him?" asked Stan.
"Yes. A former KGB operative named Abram Agafa Rogerioh. Here's his picture" said Bullock. The pic looked like Roger, hugging a bear, dressed like Putin.
"Hmm, this looks an awful lot like the other guy you showed me" said Stan, reluctantly sipping his coffee. Bullock sat back leisurely, and lit up a cigar, smoking it.
"Stan, being the inventor of the term 'conspiracy theory' I have a little theory of my own. Perhaps this is the same man, he faked his death, and was brainwashed by the Russians. Now he's perfecting some sort of lethal agent that could destroy all our embassies. Whatever the truth is though, Stan, I expect you to get to the bottom of it!" said Bullock.
"Where do I begin?" asked Stan.
"I'm sending you to Chile to meet with a close personal friend of the man who died. He says he witnessed the embassy office
blowing up, and that he may have also seen who committed this horrible act of terrorism" said Bullock.
"Interesting. So that explains all the reports of unexplained explosions across the world then" said Stan.
"Elementary, my dear Smith. Now, shoo, here's your plane ticket. OUT!" yelled Bullock. After Stan left, Bullock began laughing maniacally like a Bond villain for no apparent reason.
"Good old Rogerioh. If anyone could get rid of those pesky agents I didn't need, he could. But, you're all washed up, bro. Stan has to kill you now! I won't allow you to release any more information, Abram. Bwahahaa!" thought Bullock.
Stan caught the plane, and arrived in the designated location, an island.
There, in front of Stan was a beautiful house located in the remote countryside. The man came to greet him.
There was only one slight problem...he looked a LOT LIKE ROGER...Stan could not confirm Roger because of plausible deniability, and because
Roger was a member of his family...so he didn't know what to do or say...
"Hello, welcome to my humble abode. My name is Clyde Pinjent, Agent R. I live here on this island, I own both parrots and pigeons, I'm a bit of a scatterbrain, I helped the CIA in a LOT, I mean a LOT of drug busts, and I played both Lou Grant and Betty White on the Mary Tyler Moore Show, I'm extremely close friends with Susan Sarandon, also I am Susan Sarandon. I have an uncontrollable addiction to strawberry ice cream, I love margaritas, all forms of alcohol, oh, and you're Stan, right?" asked Clyde.
"Yes. Smith, Stan Smith. Nice to meet you, Mr. Pinjent Clyde" said Stan.
"Wait, you mean, we haven't met before? I swear we went on the same CIA mission once. Oh well, come on into
my hut, I'll introduce you to my birds and I can slip into something a little more comfortable" said Clyde.
"Uhh, there's no need for that, please trust me. Tell me about this recent string of strange embassy disappearances" said Stan.
"Consider my house the new CIA embassy, Stan. You can have as many fig newtons as your heart desires" said Clyde.
In Clyde's house:
"So, Stan, wanna hear about the time I banged Mariah Carey?" asked Clyde.
"No, not really. I was hoping for some information about the embacy explosions. Our boss told me
you know something about the man responsible for these acts" said Stan.
"Ah, yes, Carlos Aliente, my crazy cryptic spanish cousin. He was always a strange boy. No one really understood him.
He had a Russian alter-ego. Wrote a series of strange letters to the Navy about aliens and time travel. Always wrote in black bold print. That's almost all I know. But I could have sworn I saw him blowing up an embassy with his mind, and running away
laughing his fricking head off. He always wore teel glasses, and had a pair of fake lion teeth. He spoke five
different languages fluently, none of which originated here on Earth. I wrote a book about aliens inspired by letters he sent me. Carlos was a psi-warrior working for the CIA just like me. That, and we were lovers back in the Mary Tyler Moore era. That's about all I know. He lives in the hut right next door" said Clyde.
"Ah, I see. Did you consider him a hero?" asked Stan.
"Well, he certainly thinks of himself as one. He thinks of himself as a fighter for freedom. He's a conspiracy theorist who's always
stealing classified information from agents like us and ramming it down the publics face. You're gonna have to put him on ice.
Thing is, I don't really see how a guy like that gets his kicks. I mean the guy is sick he has multiple personality disorder" said Clyde. Clyde then put on a pair of teel glasses, inserted fake lion teeth,
and began jotting down notes in a journal. Stan violently snatched the journal and read it as follows:
The UFO is almost ready for you, my Naval Commander buddies. God bless the USA, after UFO disclosure.
Below is stuff I leArn about hOw al1iens talk:
The Draco Reptillian language is different than English. Letter M stays same. Y translates into O. All vowels alter into
vowels. To make things simple, here's substitution of letters chart for better clarification on subject for naval usage when interacting with ET:
The substitution chart:
English: Z
Saurian: Q
Stan pulled a gun on Clyde.
"You're Carlos Alienteh. You're the one the CIA hired me to kill" said Stan.
"No, no, it's not true. You are the butterfly! BUTTERFLY! We need marshmellows!" said Carlos, laughing hysterically and
tossing rose petals on the floor.
"My god, you're insane!" exclaimed Stan.
"Not as insane as Susan Sarandon. Come in here Susan, play with Stan!" said Clyde, signaling for her. An alien who looked
like Roger dressed in drag came into the room, and tied up Stan.
"Nothing to fear here. These are just my mind controlled alters gone wrong" explained Carlos Clyde Abram Rogerio.
To be continued...