Max paraded into Chief's office with the air of a pompous monarch. Larrabee seemed a bit
confused that Chief hadn't returned and shared his perplexity with Agent Smart. 99, who had
been right behind him waited patiently for his answer.
But before he could open his mouth, Larrabee interjected in horror. "Oh no! It's the coffee, isn't
it? I've poisoned him and now he's in an ambulance on his way to the ER!"
"He is?" asked Max, scratching his head. "I thought he was on vacation." A moment later, he
seemed to realize his stupidity. "I mean, he *is* on vacation, I just spoke to him, and he left me in
charge. Isn't that nice of him?" Before the astounded Larrabee could reply, he continued, waving
his hand authoritatively. "Now, you are under my jurisdiction, and I say . . ." He blinked, trying to
dream up an appropriate command. "What would Chief say at a time like this?" he whispered to
99.
"'You're fired' comes to mind," she remarked wryly.
"Oh, right." Max cleared his throat. "Larrabee, YOU'RE FIRED!" He bellowed at the top of his
voice and then began to cough violently. "That took a lot out of me," he said hoarsely to Agent
99. "In fact, I think I've lost my voice. I don't know how Chief does it."
Larrabee was laughing heartily. "Gee, this sure is a funny joke, Smart, but seriously, where is the
boss."
"I'm not joking," murmured Maxwell feebly, his voice becoming weaker by the second. "Chief
really-" Suddenly, his voice gave out completely.
"Oh, Max!" cooed 99 in concern. "You stay right here, and I'll get the ingredients to my mother's
laryngitis remedy. She used to use it on my father all the time. It seems that he spent so much time
talking his way out of things, that he lost his voice frequently. Funny, you wouldn't think a
greeting card writer would need to talk much." She shrugged and headed out the door.
"Maybe he was really a spy and made up that story to protect her family," Larrabee suggested to
a miserable, gesticulating Max. Then he broke into another round of chuckling. "Just kidding!
Man, I'm so funny today!"
At that moment, the phone rang. Max stopped waving his arms long enough to gesture for
Larrabee to answer it. After he stopped laughing, the stupid spy obeyed his new boss. "Hello? Oh,
good morning, Mr. Parole Officer! What? Groovy Guru's up for parole? Hmm . . . . You say he's
been a model prisoner, eh? Just a second, let me ask Chi- er- my boss." He turned to Max.
"Should we allow them to grant Groovy Guru parole?"
Maxwell's eyes bulged in disbelief. He remembered his last episode with that Mad Musician. He
and 99 had almost become kill-happy zombies! He waved his hands frantically for Larrabee to
refuse.
Unfortunately, Larrabee, thick-skulled, bumbling fool that he is, misunderstood Max's sign
language. "Mr. Parole Officer? Yes, you may grant him parole. My boss is so excited about it that
he's practically jumping out of his seat!"
Agent 86 banged his head on the desk with frustration. He was beginning to sympathize with
what Chief had to go through for him.
99 re-entered the office, her arms full of condiments for making her special salve. "Here we go!
It's lucky for us that the CONTROL kitchen is always well stocked. Now if I can just remember
the formula . . ." She dumped the supplies on Chief's desk and began measuring various amounts.
"Guess what?" asked Larrabee with the self-satisfaction of the cat who swallowed the canary.
"The Parole Officer at the Federal Pen, KAOS division, just called."
"Mm?" replied 99 distractedly.
"Groovy Guru was applying for parole. Now, I didn't suppose that you'd think it was in our best
interest to grant it to him, but Max gave the ok."
"What!" 99 dropped a glass jar full of hot mustard. It shattered and oozed off the desk into Max's
lap. "Maxwell Smart! How could you do such a thing! Have you forgotten how he tried to take
over the country! Why, after Siegfried, he's one of KAOS's most formidable accomplices! I'm
not speaking to you!" She ran out in a huff, leaving a very angry Max ro deal with the oblivious
Larrabee.
"Mmph mm ma moo uh!" said Max in the loudest voice he could, which was about minus 40
decibels. (Translation: Now look what you've done!)
"I can't hear a word you're saying, Max, you'll have to speak up."
Smart was seriously considering homicide when Hymie, the Homo sapiens replicate robot entered
the office. "Any trash to be taken out today, sir?" He blinked in surprise when he saw Agent 86
behind chief's desk. "O, I beg you're pardon, Max. Where is the chief?"
Max shrugged, which was about the only answer he could give in his voiceless state. Hymie
scratched his head and repeated his entreaty about the garbage. Max was about to dismiss him
wordlessly when a rare stroke of genius hit him. With an air of brilliance, he pointed at Agent
Larrabee.
Hymie looked puzzled. "Agent Larrabee does not look like trash to me, but, if you say so." He
hoisted the moronic spy on his shoulder and carried towards the door. Unfortunately, Larrabee
was flailing around so much that Hymie couldn't see and consequently, the robot walked into the
wall beside the doorway.
"Mm huh bu hah mu!" whispered an exultant Smart. (Do I REALLY need to translate? Hymie
MISSED the door, get it? Oh, why do I even talk to you people!)
Hymie backed up and marched dutifully out the door and toward the metal dumpster at the back
of CONTROL property. Maxwell leaned back in his chair, basking in the sweetness of success. Of
course, the chair tipped and dumped him on the floor. "I really need to stop that," he thought as
he picked himself off the floor. "That's the 3rd time this week! Well, would you believe the 7th?"
He blinked stupidly. "Well, I've heard of talking to yourself, but this is ridiculous! I think I need
some air. That *must* be it." So he went through all fifty security doors to get outside. (What
else!?)
99 re-entered the office only to find that it was completely empty. "Where has that man got to
now?" she wondered aloud as she exited the annoyingly secure building. She saw Max strolling
along the sidewalk in an obvious daze. She ignored him and turned her gaze toward the back of
the CONTROL property. What she saw defied description. Hymie, loyal spy robot, was carrying
Larrabee to the dumpster!
"Hymie, what on earth?" she asked as she ran towards him.
"Agent 86 told me to dispose of the rubbish," Hymie explained as Larabee squirmed in his
position across the machine's shoulder.
"He *told* you?" inquired a disbelieving 99.
"Well, not in so many words . . ." trailed off Hymie. 99 crossed her arms and glared. "Ok, in no
words at all, just sign language. From my calculations, I can quite certainly state that he is
suffering an acute and quite rare form of laryngitis, which can only be cured by a salve of two
parts hot mustard, two parts honey, and three parts tabasco sauce."
99 blinked. "That's my mother's secret remedy! How did you know the ingredients?"
"It's not so secret now, is it?"Agent 99 glared even harder. "I suppose you will be wanting me to
put Agent Larrabee back where I found him, but that would be disobeying orders from my
superior.
"Maxwell Smart is not superior in anything," she retorted. Then, she seemed to have second
thoughts, "except maybe looks, charm, kissing . . ." She seemed to be reliving a recent scene with
her partner that had been cut out of the tv show. Her eyes were closed in a blissful contemplation
of the feel of his lips on her own. Suddenly, she snapped back to reality. "Alright, alright. If Max
wants you to put Larrabee in the trash bin, it's his prerogative, but when Chief gets back . . ."
"Don't worry, Miss 99," cried Larrabee, "I'm sure I can find a way out of there by then."
This assurance was hardly comforting given the fact that Larrabee had once locked himself in the
bathroom and taken three hours to realize that the door locked from the *inside* as well as the
outside. But the female agent made no mention of that embarrassing affair and instead saluted
him. "Just think of it as a training exercise," she called as she walked toward the sidewalk. By the
time she arrived, Maxwell was nowhere in sight. She sighed in exasperation and returned to her
rightful place in the office.
***************
Meanwhile, a huge welcoming committee of former inmates and new recruit KAOS agents were
celebrating the return of Groovy Guru. KAOS HQ was decked out in full hippie ornamentation
with peace signs (crossed out and replaced by the KAOS logo, of course) flowers, and tie-dye
painted walls. Everyone present was in high expectation of their leader's arrival. Suddenly, a great
shout emerged from the crowd and Groovy Guru was borne inside the building by his rabid
admirers.
"War, Hate, and Misunderstanding!" chanted the Guru and the cry was repeated by the entire
assembly. KAOS HQ erupted in a terrible cacaphony of angry shouts and embittered cheers.
"Death to CONTROL! Long live KAOS!" Adding to the din was the raucous music of the Sacred
Cows, who had just been released from a mental institution. The noise was so great that the entire
neighborhood shook with the vibrations of the anarchistic ritual. Then, as though a great wind had
swept through the place and carried the sound away, there was a dead silence. Groovy Guru came
down off the shoulders of those who had carried him and prepared to make a speech.
"My groovy friends, and KAOS allies," began the Homicidal Hindu, "we are gathered here today
to celebrate the return of the Sacred Cows and myself from the Center Of National Trainees for
the Retainment Of Lawbreakers. But let us not forget that their are others who would wish to
drown our plea for anarchy with their sappy cries of 'Peace.'" At this, loud hissing and booing
was heard, which the guru quickly hushed. "Why, our very own top spy Conrad von Siegfried is
unable to join us, no thanks to that Artless Agent, Maxwell Smart, who landed him in jail not so
very long ago! For this outrage and so many others, there is no other solution but REVENGE!"
Another shout went up from the crowd. "And you all are all required to help in my plan of action
to create the ultimate weapon against snoopy female agents!"
"Groovy!" came the cry. And the preparation for the creation of that evil invention went long into
the night . . .
TBC . . .
confused that Chief hadn't returned and shared his perplexity with Agent Smart. 99, who had
been right behind him waited patiently for his answer.
But before he could open his mouth, Larrabee interjected in horror. "Oh no! It's the coffee, isn't
it? I've poisoned him and now he's in an ambulance on his way to the ER!"
"He is?" asked Max, scratching his head. "I thought he was on vacation." A moment later, he
seemed to realize his stupidity. "I mean, he *is* on vacation, I just spoke to him, and he left me in
charge. Isn't that nice of him?" Before the astounded Larrabee could reply, he continued, waving
his hand authoritatively. "Now, you are under my jurisdiction, and I say . . ." He blinked, trying to
dream up an appropriate command. "What would Chief say at a time like this?" he whispered to
99.
"'You're fired' comes to mind," she remarked wryly.
"Oh, right." Max cleared his throat. "Larrabee, YOU'RE FIRED!" He bellowed at the top of his
voice and then began to cough violently. "That took a lot out of me," he said hoarsely to Agent
99. "In fact, I think I've lost my voice. I don't know how Chief does it."
Larrabee was laughing heartily. "Gee, this sure is a funny joke, Smart, but seriously, where is the
boss."
"I'm not joking," murmured Maxwell feebly, his voice becoming weaker by the second. "Chief
really-" Suddenly, his voice gave out completely.
"Oh, Max!" cooed 99 in concern. "You stay right here, and I'll get the ingredients to my mother's
laryngitis remedy. She used to use it on my father all the time. It seems that he spent so much time
talking his way out of things, that he lost his voice frequently. Funny, you wouldn't think a
greeting card writer would need to talk much." She shrugged and headed out the door.
"Maybe he was really a spy and made up that story to protect her family," Larrabee suggested to
a miserable, gesticulating Max. Then he broke into another round of chuckling. "Just kidding!
Man, I'm so funny today!"
At that moment, the phone rang. Max stopped waving his arms long enough to gesture for
Larrabee to answer it. After he stopped laughing, the stupid spy obeyed his new boss. "Hello? Oh,
good morning, Mr. Parole Officer! What? Groovy Guru's up for parole? Hmm . . . . You say he's
been a model prisoner, eh? Just a second, let me ask Chi- er- my boss." He turned to Max.
"Should we allow them to grant Groovy Guru parole?"
Maxwell's eyes bulged in disbelief. He remembered his last episode with that Mad Musician. He
and 99 had almost become kill-happy zombies! He waved his hands frantically for Larrabee to
refuse.
Unfortunately, Larrabee, thick-skulled, bumbling fool that he is, misunderstood Max's sign
language. "Mr. Parole Officer? Yes, you may grant him parole. My boss is so excited about it that
he's practically jumping out of his seat!"
Agent 86 banged his head on the desk with frustration. He was beginning to sympathize with
what Chief had to go through for him.
99 re-entered the office, her arms full of condiments for making her special salve. "Here we go!
It's lucky for us that the CONTROL kitchen is always well stocked. Now if I can just remember
the formula . . ." She dumped the supplies on Chief's desk and began measuring various amounts.
"Guess what?" asked Larrabee with the self-satisfaction of the cat who swallowed the canary.
"The Parole Officer at the Federal Pen, KAOS division, just called."
"Mm?" replied 99 distractedly.
"Groovy Guru was applying for parole. Now, I didn't suppose that you'd think it was in our best
interest to grant it to him, but Max gave the ok."
"What!" 99 dropped a glass jar full of hot mustard. It shattered and oozed off the desk into Max's
lap. "Maxwell Smart! How could you do such a thing! Have you forgotten how he tried to take
over the country! Why, after Siegfried, he's one of KAOS's most formidable accomplices! I'm
not speaking to you!" She ran out in a huff, leaving a very angry Max ro deal with the oblivious
Larrabee.
"Mmph mm ma moo uh!" said Max in the loudest voice he could, which was about minus 40
decibels. (Translation: Now look what you've done!)
"I can't hear a word you're saying, Max, you'll have to speak up."
Smart was seriously considering homicide when Hymie, the Homo sapiens replicate robot entered
the office. "Any trash to be taken out today, sir?" He blinked in surprise when he saw Agent 86
behind chief's desk. "O, I beg you're pardon, Max. Where is the chief?"
Max shrugged, which was about the only answer he could give in his voiceless state. Hymie
scratched his head and repeated his entreaty about the garbage. Max was about to dismiss him
wordlessly when a rare stroke of genius hit him. With an air of brilliance, he pointed at Agent
Larrabee.
Hymie looked puzzled. "Agent Larrabee does not look like trash to me, but, if you say so." He
hoisted the moronic spy on his shoulder and carried towards the door. Unfortunately, Larrabee
was flailing around so much that Hymie couldn't see and consequently, the robot walked into the
wall beside the doorway.
"Mm huh bu hah mu!" whispered an exultant Smart. (Do I REALLY need to translate? Hymie
MISSED the door, get it? Oh, why do I even talk to you people!)
Hymie backed up and marched dutifully out the door and toward the metal dumpster at the back
of CONTROL property. Maxwell leaned back in his chair, basking in the sweetness of success. Of
course, the chair tipped and dumped him on the floor. "I really need to stop that," he thought as
he picked himself off the floor. "That's the 3rd time this week! Well, would you believe the 7th?"
He blinked stupidly. "Well, I've heard of talking to yourself, but this is ridiculous! I think I need
some air. That *must* be it." So he went through all fifty security doors to get outside. (What
else!?)
99 re-entered the office only to find that it was completely empty. "Where has that man got to
now?" she wondered aloud as she exited the annoyingly secure building. She saw Max strolling
along the sidewalk in an obvious daze. She ignored him and turned her gaze toward the back of
the CONTROL property. What she saw defied description. Hymie, loyal spy robot, was carrying
Larrabee to the dumpster!
"Hymie, what on earth?" she asked as she ran towards him.
"Agent 86 told me to dispose of the rubbish," Hymie explained as Larabee squirmed in his
position across the machine's shoulder.
"He *told* you?" inquired a disbelieving 99.
"Well, not in so many words . . ." trailed off Hymie. 99 crossed her arms and glared. "Ok, in no
words at all, just sign language. From my calculations, I can quite certainly state that he is
suffering an acute and quite rare form of laryngitis, which can only be cured by a salve of two
parts hot mustard, two parts honey, and three parts tabasco sauce."
99 blinked. "That's my mother's secret remedy! How did you know the ingredients?"
"It's not so secret now, is it?"Agent 99 glared even harder. "I suppose you will be wanting me to
put Agent Larrabee back where I found him, but that would be disobeying orders from my
superior.
"Maxwell Smart is not superior in anything," she retorted. Then, she seemed to have second
thoughts, "except maybe looks, charm, kissing . . ." She seemed to be reliving a recent scene with
her partner that had been cut out of the tv show. Her eyes were closed in a blissful contemplation
of the feel of his lips on her own. Suddenly, she snapped back to reality. "Alright, alright. If Max
wants you to put Larrabee in the trash bin, it's his prerogative, but when Chief gets back . . ."
"Don't worry, Miss 99," cried Larrabee, "I'm sure I can find a way out of there by then."
This assurance was hardly comforting given the fact that Larrabee had once locked himself in the
bathroom and taken three hours to realize that the door locked from the *inside* as well as the
outside. But the female agent made no mention of that embarrassing affair and instead saluted
him. "Just think of it as a training exercise," she called as she walked toward the sidewalk. By the
time she arrived, Maxwell was nowhere in sight. She sighed in exasperation and returned to her
rightful place in the office.
***************
Meanwhile, a huge welcoming committee of former inmates and new recruit KAOS agents were
celebrating the return of Groovy Guru. KAOS HQ was decked out in full hippie ornamentation
with peace signs (crossed out and replaced by the KAOS logo, of course) flowers, and tie-dye
painted walls. Everyone present was in high expectation of their leader's arrival. Suddenly, a great
shout emerged from the crowd and Groovy Guru was borne inside the building by his rabid
admirers.
"War, Hate, and Misunderstanding!" chanted the Guru and the cry was repeated by the entire
assembly. KAOS HQ erupted in a terrible cacaphony of angry shouts and embittered cheers.
"Death to CONTROL! Long live KAOS!" Adding to the din was the raucous music of the Sacred
Cows, who had just been released from a mental institution. The noise was so great that the entire
neighborhood shook with the vibrations of the anarchistic ritual. Then, as though a great wind had
swept through the place and carried the sound away, there was a dead silence. Groovy Guru came
down off the shoulders of those who had carried him and prepared to make a speech.
"My groovy friends, and KAOS allies," began the Homicidal Hindu, "we are gathered here today
to celebrate the return of the Sacred Cows and myself from the Center Of National Trainees for
the Retainment Of Lawbreakers. But let us not forget that their are others who would wish to
drown our plea for anarchy with their sappy cries of 'Peace.'" At this, loud hissing and booing
was heard, which the guru quickly hushed. "Why, our very own top spy Conrad von Siegfried is
unable to join us, no thanks to that Artless Agent, Maxwell Smart, who landed him in jail not so
very long ago! For this outrage and so many others, there is no other solution but REVENGE!"
Another shout went up from the crowd. "And you all are all required to help in my plan of action
to create the ultimate weapon against snoopy female agents!"
"Groovy!" came the cry. And the preparation for the creation of that evil invention went long into
the night . . .
TBC . . .