A/N: It's time for some parody. Or more specifically, a parody of everything. No stone left un-... spoofed. That's how things are supposed to be.
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CHUCK VS. THE REAL DEAL
Chapter I
"Never Been Readier!"
---
Chuck and Sarah were sitting on the coach wondering what to do with themselves. As always. It was Christmas. Ellie and Devon had gone on a safari trip somewhere in Kenya so the lovebirds were alone.
It was Ellie, as usual, who was raving about killing a bunch of rhinos or at least a pregnant lioness.
"Awful, babe," Devon blurted out with zero excitement in his voice, " just awful. Let me go down to the basement and get my sling, it must be in one of those boxes. We can't go there, deep into this jungle completely unarmed."
"What!" Ellie had glanced at him with an expression that simultaneously spelled "I so despise you, sissy boy!" in 7 different languages.
'If Tarzan could do it with his bare hands, so can I, Devon!' Ellie snapped, focusing her glazed eyes on him.
'Mission reluctantly accepted, milady,' Devon sighed. 'So when do we set off? Again!' Devon said the last while pointing at his bare chest. After all he was so proud of it. There was no need for him to say his fave word anymore. So fed up with it. He had written it there with a permanent marker hoping it'll last at least for a week. It read ''Awful!!!''
'How about right now?' Ellie suggested while picking up the phone to order a taxi.
It happened 2 weeks ago. Chuck wondered why Ellie hadn't called since. Maybe it was the pregnant lioness who got lucky this time?
'Swell,' Chuck exclaimed to himself. Casa Bartowski would be his and only his own property now. He would be able to sit there with Sarah, undisturbed by anybody, and they would be wondering what to do with themselves, practically … forever.
He sighed blissfully. How happy he was! And if Ellie had gotten the upper hand over the poor lioness, well, then his sister and essentially a substitute mother would be still there for him, permanently reminding what a loser he was.
'So it's a win-win, … great,' he joyfully snapped his fingers.
Even Casey wasn't there. He had taken a leave. Actually, THE LEAVE. Finally. He had accumulated a little over 13,000 days of unused, fully paid holiday. So he took them all en bloc and left for Paris, France.
There, he planned to stay on a permanent stakeout outside the headquarters of French foreign intelligence. News had reached him that Elsa Trenchina had been sent on a six-month assignment abroad. So he was going to wait there and confront her when she would finally get back. His plan was to send her a tweet, finally letting her know that his feelings for her were actually NOT real.
Casey's departure presented a tremendous problem for general Beckman as she was still determined to prevent Chuck and Sarah from even a single thought of fraternization, copulation or propagation. Not until they finish off this evil Ring anyway.
Thus, since no other CIA and/or NSA officer wanted Casey's job, and they all threatened to quit if they were to be ordered to replace the NSA hunk, general Beckman had no choice but to assign herself with the task.
She had moved to Casey's apartment about 10 days ago and immediately became a permanent fixture in front of the 1,300 monitors with built-in speakers there, each corresponding to a camera and microphones, strategically located to document each step of either Chuck or Sarah. Or God forbid, both.
On her second day, however, she was urgently transferred to the closest CIA psychiatric facility for a thorough reevaluation. Truth was, only somebody as superhuman as Casey could do this job.
The commander-in-chief, and that would be Barack Obama, had no choice but to dispatch the joint chiefs, one by one, on rotating principle, to stay on guard at Casey's and thus make sure that US national security, a direct and primary result of Chuck and Sarah's unrelenting virginity, was still alive and kicking.
Poor, Barack. The Chiefs revolted after a week and threatened to resign.
To make matters worse, the damn Congress made it clear that unless the president found a quick, long-term solution to this crisis, his impeachment was a sure bet. Even Chris Matthews and Keith Olbermann were sputtering after him. And that was unheard of. Even in a parody.
Sighing deeply, the president took his basketball ball, hopped into his copter, and from there into Air Force One. Several hours later he entered Casey's place.
Obama was so used to conducting the state affairs from his blackberry that the change of venue didn't bother him one bit as long as the blackberry was there with him. In fact he liked it better than the White House as there was no room for the secret service here. He could breathe much easier now!
But there came around another big problem. The United States is a democracy. And its leaders should lead by example. If Chuck and Sarah were to guarantee US national security by staying celibate, then so should their bosses, beginning with, … of course, the commander-in-chief himself.
Thus, having just moved into Casey's place, Obama hopped back into Air Force One, went to New York, and there, before the UN General Assembly, solemnly took a vow of celibacy, at least until the end of his presidency.
'Oh God, please let me be a one-termer only,' he was praying to himself while announcing it.
The Nobel Committee in Oslo got so excited by this unheard of act of heroism that they gathered in less than an hour and awarded the president with 13 more Nobel peace prices as well as the latest teleprompter model. This state-of-the-art beauty no more used a telescopic stick to pop up in front of the speaker but was hovering in the air, manned by mini-UAVs.
The Vatican didn't waste their time as well. Anywhere between the 6th and the 9th peace prizes they announced their decision to pronounce the president a saint. So he had to swing by the Vatican and pick up his sainthood.
Once Obama arrived back at Burbank to carry on with his duties, he realized that the courtyard between his new quarters and Casa Bartowski had already been occupied by 378 TV, newspaper and blogosphere reporters with all the necessary support, including cameras, cameramen, laptops, desktops, satellite dishes, portable toilets, ...
So, how to get back to Casey's apartment?
Any of us, the ordinary, unwashed citizens would quickly give up, but it was no coincidence that this guy popped out of nowhere and became the President. The ingenious plan came up in less than a second. Lying on the ground and crawling through or rather between the legs of almost 800 journalists and cameramen would surely lead him back to his new offices.
It was politically very risky, however. Most of the reporters were women and pressed against one another they couldn't be sure that while the president was crawling down under them he wouldn't look up. After all, many of them were wearing skirts.
As any other problem however, this one had its simple and ingenious solution as well.
President Obama gently asked one of the adjacent female journalists to lend him her silk scarf. He tied it over his eyes, went down on the ground and prayed to himself, "Oh God, please let me reach colonel Casey's front door as soon as possible!"
---
17 hours later, and only after he squeezed through each journalist's legs at least 4 times, the president miraculously reached the target door.
Once inside, he untied the scarf and smiled at his daughters who were manning the post in front of the monitors for him.
'Heeey, Sasha, …. Malia, … guys, is US national security still intact?' he asked while trying to hide the fact that at least 3,000 butterflies were dancing a wild tango in his stomach.
The younger one, Sasha, glared at him.'US national security is bullet-proof guaranteed, daddy, at least for the next 11 years. There was no need for us to be stuck here like idiots!'
'How come?' the president furrowed.
'Being 8-year old myself, I can assure you that those two,' she pointed at the monitor with Sarah and Chuck sitting at the opposite ends of the couch, 'behave like 4-year olds, so … until they grow up to at least 15, it is, statistically speaking, a safe bet.'
'Oh,' Barack sighed with relief, 'good, … good, you can go now, make yourselves some sandwiches, or pancakes, daddy needs to catch up here,' he said, while crashing on the couch and focusing on monitor number 79, where he could see Sarah and Chuck engaged in the same ultra-exciting activity—namely, sitting on their couch.
'Daddy, daddy, did you get us any presents?' Malia remembered to ask.
'Of course, sweetie pies,' Obama blurted out utterly terrified. 'That's the last thing I'd ever forget to do.'
'What, daddy, where are our presents?' both girls tweeted.
'Uh, ...hmmm,' a totally embarrassed, looking for a way out president, cleared his throat.
'Uh, ... Sasha, I got you six Nobel peace prizes and, uh ... same for you Malia, six for you too. You like them?' He asked after handing the prizes over to his daughters.
'Awesome, daddy, it's actually beyond awesome, but they haven't taught us at school, what's beyond awesome,' they shouted excitedly. 'So we stick to awesome, … for now. And who else can get such a present from his daddy,' Sasha exclaimed and rushed to Casey's kitchen to make some sandwiches.
'And out of curiosity, did you get anything for mommy?' Malia inquired frowning.
'Uuh, yeah, yeah, this sainthood, over there, it's for her.'
"Considering my vow of celibacy she would soon earn it anyway." he thought to himself.
'OK, sunshines, take all the prizes up to the attic. Y'all, I gotta catch up with my presidential duties,' he said, trying to concentrate on monitor 79, where he could see Chuck and Sarah still sitting on the couch.
---
Chuck was energetically writing something in his notepad. At the other end of the couch, Sarah was just sitting and staring alternatively at her left and right hand.
Then she jumped up a bit, turning toward Chuck.
'Chuck, my love, I love you, I love you, I love you, … can I say something? ' Sarah asked really excited about something.
'Of course, sweetie.' Chuck replied casually. 'You can say anything as long as it is in compliance with the existing law and the anti-fraternization rules, both written and the don't ask don't tell stuff,' he winked at her.
'After all,' he went on, 'our current chaperon is Harvard law graduate, so … if you have to, do consult your lawyer, and please, stay within the rules, ok?'
With that, Chuck smiled and waved at several of the cameras that were pointed at them.
'What I wanted to share with you was,' Sarah began hesitantly, 'uh …. this is the most exciting Christmas evening date we've ever had, right, sweetie?' Sarah asked smiling wide at him.
'Absolutely!' Chuck agreed. 'Actually, it is as obvious as the fact that I'm writing something in my notepad right now.'
He pointed his eyes at the notepad. 'Exciting, huh?'
'Mesmerizing,' Sarah replied still beaming.
'And by the way, … to change the subject completely,' Sarah went on even more hesitantly, 'what are you writing down there, my sweet, sweet carrot? If I'm not invading your privacy too much, of course. You don't feel too violated by my question, dontcha?'
'Err ...,' Chuck was thinking, 'I'm not sure if that wouldn't violate the fraternization rules, my sweet apple pie, a little consultation won't hurt, I think. Hold on.'
Chuck pulled out his mobile and dialed a number. 'Mr. President, there is a certain quest …'
'I heard it Chuck,' Obama interrupted him, 'remember? I'm monitoring and listening to your conversation, … so ...''
'Well?' Chuck interrupted back, 'what's the verdict then?'
'And what are you writing there, Intersect?' the commander-in-chief tried to keep it formal.
'My resolutions list, sir, and by the way, some of my resolutions are actually intended to further enhance the anti-fraternization wall.' Chuck said proudly, cocking his head.
'Hmm,' the commander-in-chief was thinking. 'This is an easy one, but I'm a bit rusty with legal matters, haven't practiced for a while. Hold on.'
President Obama started typing on his blackberry like crazy.
'Chuck,' he started thirteen seconds later. 'The Supreme court, in W. Disney vs. R. Nixon of 1968, ruled that Mickey Mouse, or the asset, could discuss certain issues with Walt Disney, or the handler, as long as it doesn't amount to cartoon pornography. And as you know, pornography is in the eye of the beholder, you gotta see it to tell.'
'So, here I am,' Obama declared with all the necessary aplomb. ' ... on my post. If I find out anything improper in your conversation with Agent Walker, I'll tell' ya. You may proceed for now.'
'Thank you, … sir, …. 14 times Nobel peace prize winner, … saint, … demi-god ..." Chuck wondered where this was going, but the prez simply hung up on him.
'Thank you for hanging up on me, oh God, … it's such an honor,' Chuck said with his eyes swimming in tears.
"Sarah, we're in the clear, dear,' he said beaming pure joy, 'I can tell you about it, uh ... I'm making my new resolutions list.'
'So I heard, Chuck, so I heard, but this is still uber, uber-exciting,' she tweeted enthusiastically, ' … to be honest, I'm even a little hot here, asexually, of course. Can you give me a blank sheet, from your notepad, my sweet Subway footlong, … so I make my own list?'
While Chuck was looking for a blank sheet there, in his drastically overused notepad, Sarah focused on her hands, but this time simultaneously on both, and screamed so loud that all 378 reporters outside heard her.
Cameras started clicking and camcorders whirring at all directions. The light effect of so many cameras so densely packed had an almost disastrous effect on the entire human race. The Russian spy satellite that was orbiting over the area took a photo that was interpreted as a missile launch. Fortunately, all Russian politicians were hooked up to the 1,300 cameras through the 378 news outlets so they knew what was actually going on.
'Sarah, what's wrong?' Chuck asked, horrified by her scream.
'My fingernail, Chuck, the nail of my left index finger is now a little longer than the right one,' she said, focusing her horror-filled eyes on Chuck. 'I'm not perfect, Chuck, … not anymore. It's over. What do I do now?' she asked with tears rolling off her eyes.
Chuck was thinking. 'Hold on your tears, sweetie! Remember? I'm the hero that gets things done in my nerdy, nerdy way. I'm gonna save you, my sweet two fingers!'
He rushed toward his bedroom and soon got back with his high-school microscope.
'It has built-in ruler inside there. Measure up and see how much you need to file, my sweetest apple, actually my sweetest two apples.' Chuck winked at her.
Sarah carefully studied both fingernails under Chuck's powerful lenses. 'Yeah, yeah,' she said, while sobbing quietly, 'left is 3 microns longer, … I can't believe it, how could this have happened? What am I gonna do now?'
Chuck rushed to Ellie's room and got back with a small oblong box.
'Ellie's set of files' he said triumphantly and offered one of them to Sarah.
Sarah eagerly grabbed the file and started fixing the rebellious nail. She was filing the nail as it was still under the microscope so she could immediately measure up its exact length.
After finishing with it, she thought for a second, and decided to make sure all nails were in order.
...
'Ready, they're OK now,' she finally announced 40 minutes later.
'Thank God,' both Chuck there, and president Obama across the courtyard exclaimed with relief.
But it was worth it. Everything was back where it was meant to be. Sarah Walker was back to her normal perfect self.
'Now we can get back to our resolution lists, right, sweetie?' She announced cheerfully.
'Right,' Chuck nodded and went on with his list.
A really exuberant Sarah, whether rationally or maybe not so much, started making up her list. But after writing down one resolution only, she turned to Chuck again.
'Sweetie, last year we set the date for our first love-making, you know, the physical thing, to what, April 1st, 2017?'
'Yeah, yeah, I think that's correct, uh … why? You want to move it to a sooner date, sweetie?' Chuck asked visibly worried.
'Nooooo,' Sarah enunciated. 'Negative. Actually, sweetie, I was thinking, … I'm 28 now, so, in 2017 I'll be what, 36, 37? I mean ...uh, my biological clock would be still fully intact, I guess. So, … why don't we postpone our first lovemaking for … mmm, 2023? I'll be still able to bear a child, … I think. Most women are, anyways.'
'That's right, sweet bonbon,' Chuck said enthusiastically, 'good thinking. People spent too much energy while doing this, the lovemaking process, … the sex thing as you once called it, therefore they need to eat more, especially proteins, more energy, more cows and the CO2 gasses, it's environmentally so unfriendly. If only every agent handler and his or her asset followed our example, global warming would finally be turned around, don't you think?'
'My point exactly,' Sarah screamed with joy, 'my sweet cucumber.'
'So, let's do it, let's do it, let's do it!' Chuck yelled and added another resolution to his list, postponing 'IT' for 2023.
Ten minutes later Sarah turned to Chuck.
'I'm ready now. If you show me yours,' she started playfully, 'I'll show you mine.'
'Deal,' Chuck responded with a wide smile, 'oh, … you're talking about the resolution lists, right, … right, … of course, ... what was I thinking.'
'Well,' both started at the same time.
'Hahaha,' they laughed at this incredible, mind-boggling coincidence.
'You first.' Both had said that simultaneously again.
'Hahaha,' they laughed at this even more incredible and utterly mind-boggling coincidence.
'No, you first,'
'No you, … yours is longer.'
'No, you ...'
...
'Okay, okay,' Chuck finally caved 9 minutes later. 'My resolution number one is to become more sensitive, softer, you know, kinda metrosexual, … I think I'm too macho, don't you think, Sarah?'
'Too macho, Chuck, I totally agree.' She agreed after some pondering. 'That's the expression I've always been looking for.' She angrily slapped her forehead.
'Well, so I promised myself,' Chuck continued, 'next time I get clipped by a window sill and have to shoot the gun by accident, I'll aim it at myself, the foot. Clip my macho wings a bit.'
'Oh, Chuck, … pleeeeease,' Sarah shook her head. She felt so disappointed now. 'Are you kidding … the foot? Which part of the male body symbolizes macho-ism best, huh? Male hormones, hellooooo?'
'Oh, … you mean, the …,' Chuck pointed at the produce section, 'oh, … oh, … come to think of it, a man can get by with one chestnut only, … I guess, … right Sarah?'
'Of course, Chuck, people get injured that way all the time, it's no biggie. They still can do IT.' Sarah assured him while furrowing.'Pfff.'
Thus, Chuck wrote down another resolution. "Aim at the left, hmm-huh, … reproductive gland, when accidentally shooting at something."
Sarah, however, stared for a second at her watch and then screamed wildly, for a second time that day. As loud as she could.
'Oh, God, what's the national security emergency now?' Chuck already knew Sarah well enough to figure this was serious, … very serious.
'Chuck,' she yelled, 'what time is it?'
The Intersect glanced at his watch. 'It's 21:40, my sweet, sweet Subway chicken teriaki loins, … why?'
'Oh, oh god, I forgot to tell you.' She started with her face racked with guilt, 'I hooked up, I mean online, with a bunch of FDFFTA's and uh …, we hit it off.' She blushed.
'FDFFTA's? What the hell is that?' Chuck asked with a totally glazed eyes now. 'Wasn't that some sort of a chemical compound?'
'No, silly.' She smiled while waving her hand at him. 'FDFFTA stands for Future Dostoevsky Fan Fiction Turbo-Angster.'
'What?' A thunderstruck Chuck asked.
'It's a certain type of a fanfiction writer. There are thousands of them. They told me the other day that their angst-fodder is getting very low, they need some more uh, … material, to nibble on ... so.'
'So?' Chuck echoed.
'They talked me into giving them some … you know,' she raised her shoulders, 'I can be quite a giver, you know.'
'Uh-huh, … so I heard,' Chuck frowned, ' … ok, ok. I could see that, it's reasonable. So, ... what should I do?'
'Don't worry, Chuck,' Sarah winked at him, 'just follow my lead. We are angst-naturals anyway. Hopefully, even turbo-angst.'
Sarah rushed into Chuck's bedroom and reappeared with his laptop. Then she hooked it up with the FDFFTA's online chatroom.'
'Hi, you, ... FDFFTA guys,' she playfully waved at the laptop web camera.
Hiiiiiii, … youuuuuu, … two-legged, … two-armed, ... golden-haired goddess.' FDFFTA No.163 answered on behalf of all the turbo-angsters.
'I'm so sorry for being late, guys, but …' Sarah started hesitantly.
'Oh, please don't, ... don't worry, we-we are just hooked to all the 1,300 cameras anyway, so we understand, it's ok, we were mapping out our next angst poems anyway.'
Oh, and by the way,' turbo-angster 163 went on nervously, 'congrats, … on your nails, fingernails, Miss, uh …, we so deify you, hmmm-huh, agent, … super-agent, ....' Angster 163 couldn't continue. He had fainted.
'Oh, … good, … good,' she sighed with relief, 'so we start in 10 minutes, guys, see ya in 9.'
"That was a bit awkward," she thought to herself.
With that, Sarah took the chewing gum out of her mouth and stuck it to the laptop web camera. 'It must be a surprise,' she winked at Chuck.
That was a bit of a mistake. The image of her chewing gum sprawled across the monitors made the remaining 178 turbo-angsters go crazy. It was HER chewing gum. HER saliva. HER DNA! ' They all were feeling really dizzy now.
Chuck was wondering whether to raise the question about the remaining 1,300 cameras, many of them installed in this very living room to Sarah, but then decided to keep his mouth shut and see what happens next.
Sarah went to the kitchen and soon got back with an empty bowl and a tube of Visine eye-drops.
She generously put most of the Visine tube on her eyes or rather, around them and then energetically rubbed it. Having put a lot of make-up there in the morning, now Sarah looked like a blond version of a mentally disturbed Alice Cooper.
Then she ruffled her hair as much as she could, went to the fireplace and filled the bowl with ash. While getting back to Chuck, she started sprinkling the ashes all over her hair and clothes.
'Well?' She asked Chuck. 'Do I look angst-worthy now?'
'You look like the queen of angst, my sweet chewing gum, with all this … trash all over you.' he nodded approvingly. 'Actually, I think I wanna cry already, or at least howl like a wolf a bit. You know, ... warm up.'
'So, you ready now?' She asked.
'Yeah, … yeah, … I think I am.'
'Oh, god,' she slapped her forehead. 'Speaking of "ready", how could I forgot, ... the most important part!'
She took her brightest lipstick out of her purse and spread a lot of it on her lips.
Then Sarah approached Chuck and started, very slowly and meticulously, to leave lipstick imprints all over his face, examining her work the way an artist examines his picture after putting the final touches.
Then she went on down his neck and unbuttoned his shirt. Halfway down his chest, however, Chuck started protesting.
'Ahh, stop, … stop that. I don't need to be president Obama to tell you that this is most inappropriate. I think this is more than enough, Sarah, fraternization starts kicking right now, so whatever dramatic effect you're after ...,' he said and gently pushed her away.
'Yeah, … yeah, maybe you're right.' Sarah tried to recover while still panting. 'You ready now, Chuck?'
'Uh, … in more than one way,' Chuck uttered embarrassed. '… if you know what I mean?'
'Of course I know, Chuck, but that'll make your angst even more authentic, my sweet banana pie.' She said excitedly. 'Who says the real spy world is fun, huh? The James Bond stuff is so contrived, every spy will tell you that. We are the real deal, Chuck! You and me.'
'I'm sure we are, my sweet lipstick,' Chuck readily agreed.
'Ready?' She asked him again.
'Never been readier!' he yelled desperately.
'OK,' Sarah stepped toward the laptop and announced for its microphones: 'Angst, session number one, starts NOW!'
She removed the chewing gum from the built-in camera and quite acrobatically plunged on the floor, rolling over there.
'Aaaaaah, … Chuck, … whyyyy?' she started screaming and weeping, while plucking her ashy hair. 'Whyyyyyy?'
'What, dear!' Chuck yelled back, 'what could possibly drive you into a state of such … hmm, uber-angst?' He asked and winked at the laptop camera, giving the turbo-angsters the thumbs up.
'Ohh, … Chuck, you've been cheating on me, you nerdy, nerdy superhero, admit to it,' Sarah was sobbing, 'whose is this lipstick all over you, huh? Aaargh!'
'Uh, ...mmm,' Chuck was stammering, 'I have ... uh no idea ..." he lied shamelessly.
'Oh, my Romeo, Romeo, you may love me but you have … uh thoughts, … thoughts about fornicating with somebody else. Own it up, Chuck!' Sarah cried, 'Now!'
'Uh, … ah, ummm, … I have no idea what you're talking about, Sarah,' Chuck was racking his brains in a desperate attempt to figure which of their countless angsty episodes she specifically had in mind here.
'Oh, you got into so many trysts, Chuck, that you have no idea which one I'm talking about, right?' she cried out. 'Aaargh, Chuck, whyyy, … whyyyy? Am I not attractive enough for ya?'
'Yes, …. no, I mean ...'
'How about 5 minutes ago, huh?' Sarah went on yelling,' while, uh … while I was leaving all these lipstick imprints all over you? Were you thinking about me, or about Jill? Ahhh, Jill, I'm gonna kill ya! Sarah drew a gun and started shooting in all directions, obviously wandering which camera Jill was watching them through.'
'Or was it Lou, huh? Still wanna eat her sandwich, Chuck? Or your imaginary lover, maybe?'
'Whu-what? I-I, don't have … uh, im-imagi ... ?' Chuck started stammering.
'Oh, really? Then why were you talking in your sleep to this ..., uh, what was her name, uh … Yvonne something. Are you again dreaming about this ridiculous Australian actress? You like her accent better than mine, huh?'
'Who else do you cheat on me with, Chuck? John Casey? Sometimes you talk to him, … or Big Mike? Jeff? Ohh, Jeff, … Jeff, how could you do this to me!' She was plucking her grayish hair again now.
'No, no, no, no,' Chuck desperately waved his hands in denial, ' I'm sure those conversations have been strictly work-related, no male to male bondage, … uh, bonding, ... I mean bonding.'
'Ah-hah! Freudian slips! Now, I know!' Sarah was howling like a wolf now, a female one, of course.
'Oh, Chuck, so you're lying to me now, right? She was rolling on the floor like crazy now. Aaaargh!'
'No, dear, I'm just …, don't you see,' Chuck was wondering whether all this was act or for real now, 'I actually have no idea what I've done …'
'Chuck,' she wept for a whole minute here so the entire human race, watching all this, got really irritated now, 'don't you see? I can't stand all these triangles, and-and the trapezoids anymore.'
'Me too, Sarah, … but why?'
They are only 2-D figures Chuck. I'm so sick and tired of 2-D. We are real, Chuck, real 3-D, NBC characters. You just need to put a pair of these special, geeky 3-D glasses to see it. I want us involved in cones, parallelepipeds of interacting naked bodies, cubes, spheres, cheating with many more people at once. That's how real life is, Meine Liebe! Kinky!'
"Great stuff, Sarah" Sarah congratulated herself. From there on, they were talking only in German.
Fortunately for the entire non-German speaking world, Stephen Bartowski immediatelly hacked all possible networks and implemented his last code, translating their German back into English. Subtitles immediately appeared in all broadcasts of all these 378 reporters.
'Aaaargh,' the entire world was aghast at the technological miracle. After all it was a live broadcast.
Now something finally dawned on Chuck. 'Multiple cheating, huh?' he thought to himself in German.
'Ah-hah, hmm-huh,' he then cleared his throat and started. "And whu-what about you, … uh, pathologically unfaithful super-agent?'
'What, … what about me?' Sarah raised her eyebrows.
'How come you have three children and none of them is mine, huh?' he finally raised his voice a bit.
'Oh Chuck, shut up! It's three sons, and I also have two daughters you know nothing about!' she shook her head. 'What a loser, … with all these things on his head!' she put her hands on her head, spreading her fingers, suggesting Chuck had horns there sticking out in all directions.
'Ah-hah! Gotcha!' Chuck almost yelled at her. "And who are the fornicators, if I may subserviently ask? Casey? How many children did Casey father, huh, CIA goddess?'
'Uuuuh, I-I, it wasn't John, Chuck' Sarah said quietly, unable to look at Chuck now. Shivers trickled down her spine. Chuck was slowly but surely getting closer and closer to the ugly truth. Very ugly, by the way!
'Oh, who, who then? Do I know him, her … them? How many? You think of yourself as some sort of a Messalina, right, sweet pumpkin?' Chuck could feel his blood getting slightly warmer now.
Sarah still couldn't look back at Chuck.
'Yes,' she said quietly, 'you know them, my, … my eternal,' she swallowed really hard here, 'uh … my eternal love. And no. I think of myself as the 21st century Mata Hari, not Messalina. Is this too much to dream about?'
'Ohh, are they from the Buy More?' Chuck asked ignoring the Mata Hari stuff.
'Hmm-huh,' Sarah could only clear her throat. She simply couldn't say another word.
'Ohhhh, myyyyyy Gooooood! The Buy More idiots!' Chuck screamed so loudly that the 378 reporters outside heard him directly, no electronics involved.
'Was it Jeff, … Lester, huh?' he finally had the courage to raise his eyebrows in an angry way.
'Both,' she finally managed to let out.
'Aaaaaah!'
All turbo-angsters, the 378 reporters, president Obama, and the entire globe, that were watching the drama, exclaimed in disbelief. Absolutely incredible! Those lucky bastards, the Jeffsters!'
Now Chuck, already sprawled on the floor, was pulling his hair, weeping like a girl.
'Aaargh, Sarah, … Sarah, … whyyyy? Who else? Was Skip part of your, ...your indiscriminate orgies?'
'Sometimes, Chuck, … I-I couldn't resist his charms, their charms, … it was unbelievable experience, … night after night.' Sarah blurted out all that like hypnotized. 'They had rented the room next to mine, there in my hotel, so … we did IT almost every night ...'
'Oh, God, Sarah, oh, Sarah, give me your gun, please, so I blow my brains out, … I have nothing more to live for!' Chuck was screaming like a girl.
'But you are THAT guy, Chuck, the Intersect, remember? You still have a goal in life,' Sarah screamed back. "Ooops!' she put her hand on her mouth utterly horrified.
But it was too late. The entire world had heard that Chuck was the Intersect.
'Oh God, what a tragedy!' She screamed. 'Oh God! Now every government in the world would go after my beloved Chuck!'
Sarah had no choice but to finish this tragedy off, once and for all. Nobody could get his hands on him. She had to save him from the enemies!
The turbo-angst had now totally muddled her brain.
'Chuck!' she screamed, 'My Romeo, I can't take the damned angst anymore! I'm gonna kill ya, and then kill myself!'
With that, Sarah changed the empty magazine of her gun with a new one and approached the laptop. There she directed it at the laptop, or more specifically, the built-in camera and pulled the trigger. Then, methodically, without rushing, she approached all cameras installed in the living room, one by one, and put a bullet deep inside their brains, (AKA memory chips).
'Good,' she smiled and winked at herself in the mirror. 'I still got it!'
Actually, she had no idea of the effect of her actions.
All these 179 FDFF-turb0-angsters were so focused on the ongoing action, and it was so vivid, or so they thought, that they were totally taken by surprise.
Almost hypnotized by the sight of the bullet heading toward their screens, they all fainted on the floor a single instant before it hit the camera and made their monitors go blank.
And that was only the tip of the iceberg, although Sarah had no idea yet.
The 378 reporters outside, had hooked up to the same online chatroom connection to watch the ensuing drama from the angle the CIA goddess had picked. After all, it was her show. Thus, now, the courtyard outside Casa Bartowski was covered by a large pile of unconscious bodies.
The Chinese polit-bureau and military commission, as well as the entire Russian political and security establishment were temporarily down as well.
Only three people, except for Sarah were still fully conscious.
Chuck, president Obama, who had abandoned his post and was playing imaginary basketball in the kitchen, and Dick Cheney, who was hiding at one of his undisclosed locations. Or more specifically inside the head of the Statue of Liberty. He was pretending to be the janitor there, cleaning the place.
Who could have thought that the head of the Ring, the future master of the universe, was hiding there as a janitor, cleaning pigeon poop?
Wearing his Darth Vader Halloween costume, Dick was sitting on the couch in front of a TV, having some Subway-approved beer.
'Oh, my god,' he slapped his forehead. 'That was a golden opportunity to finally launch our missiles at Russia and China, dammit!'
He reached for his phone and frantically tried to call the Strategic Air Command. To no avail. All generals there had fainted as well, so nobody answered his calls.
'Damn, … damn,' he yelled like crazy, 'what an opportunity wasted here,' he cursed.
'But this agent Walker is really good.' Darth Vader thought to himself. 'I have to recruit her for my evil, evil RING. And Chuck, of course! The Intersect will be mine now!'
'Mu-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaaa! Muuuuuuu-ha-ha-ha-haaaaaaaa!'
Noooo, no, that wasn't evil enough. Dick wondered if it was the time for him to bite his right pinky and grin crazily.
He put the pinky in his mouth. No, … no, it was too … Austin Power-ish, … no.
He looked down at his feet. Yeah, that must be it. He untied his right shoe, took it off, and then removed his sock. He raised his foot and leaned forward. He finally managed to put his toe pinky in the left corner of his mouth.
Now, that was 100%-certified evil.
'Mu-ha-ha-ha-ha-haaaa! Muuuuuuuu-ha-ha-ha-haaaaaaaa!' He laughed out loud with the free right corner of his mouth.
Xxx