Sorry I was gone

You may have noticed I haven’t posted in a couple of weeks. Ohh, I hope you noticed it. I mean if you didn’t, it might mean I am not the singular most important thing in your life. I don’t think I could handle that kind of rejection. I would cry. You see, if I found out you all weren’t hanging on every word I’ve written, I might do something crazy like go into politics, and as we all know there is certainly no room in government for someone of actual intelligence. So, let’s just say you all missed me and get on with it. Don’t you all feel better? I certainly do.

I can tell you now, the reason I was gone is that I was called up by the intelligence agency I consult for, NJ7. It used to be called MI6, but with world tensions escalating they had to kick it up a notch. There was a time back, with the pandemic and the Ukraine situation, where they almost raised the name to OK8. This would not have been good. Believe me, if I had said I was OK it would not have been okay. It’s much more okay when I’m not OK, because if I become OK the world is surely not okay. Okay? Anyway, things are okay, you are okay, and I’m not OK, and that’s okay too.

This is my story

The problem on the minds of secret government agencies everywhere, is one on which I have consulted before. The new television pilots are out, and there is once again a disturbing trend. Overweight, nerdy, middle-class, bad-looking men are once again being paired up with super-hot women. As we all know this is an impossibility. Some secret society has infiltrated the TV programmers, and are trying to undermine society by making geeky men think they have a chance with beautiful girls. These men get a false sense of confidence, only to be destroyed in bars and on dating apps across the nation. Once completely devastated, they then move back into their parent’s house to play video games, and eat Cheetos, proceeding to destroy the economy. Well, except for the folks who make Cheetos, but you get the idea. The secret society then invests heavily in Cheetos stock, and proceed to topple governments with the billions they make. Boy, it sure is a good thing Mr. Ohh! Is around to stop this sort of thing.

Normally I just consult on such cases, but this time they needed an unknown, ordinary face, so they called me. Frankly, I never thought of my face as ordinary. More like stunning, or gorgeous, and was insulted. However, when I told my wife about it, I received a harsh reality check. Ouch! Either way duty called, and I packed my newly realized ordinary look in to an ordinary plane and ordinarily cried all the way to the job.

I was to make contact with an actress model by the name of Desiree, at an audition for some Scottish show. Actually, her name was Agnes, but nobody makes it in television with the plain old name like Agnes. Therefore, my job was doubly hard. I had to find an Agnes, who was posing as a Desiree, hiding in a group of Taylors, Morgans, and Elise’s, all playing in a field of Heathers. Holy Mary!

The way it was

In reality, the job wasn’t as tough as it could have been. My unique powers of observation picked up the scent almost immediately. The scent, of course, was onions. Someone in that room had eaten a hamburger. You must realize, women who look like these avoided eating like a passion. Consequently, the only one who could have possibly come near such a feast as a burger with onions had to be my girl. To narrow it down further I went straight for the lips. The colors went from Fire Engine Reds to Corals, all the way down to Subtle Pinks. But one stood out for me, a medium dark red, which I like to call Ketchup. A slip of the napkin, and she was easy to find. Yes, Agnes left me a trail only a true foodie could follow.

The audition took a short break for lunch, so I was able to make contact. Agnes informed me, I would have to disperse all the women before I would be able to infiltrate the TV producer’s inner sanctum. Normally an easy job for agent Double Ohh Seventeen, Licensed to Fill. I would have grabbed a bucket of fried chicken, and the ladies would have succumbed to food coma in just minutes. But this was Hollywood; Land of avocado toast and fish tacos. Even the chocolate is eighty-percent cacao. Yuck! I mean these ladies wouldn’t even put bacon bits on a salad. This was going to be tough.

In all it’s glory

Then I saw my in. A well-dressed waiter was passing around glasses of red wine. I inquired, and Agnes confirmed, red wine was accepted actress fare as it was full of anti-oxidants, and the alcohol raises metabolism to burn more fat, as if they had any. But I digress. The lunch break was coming to an end, and I had to think fast. I called on an old friend; High-Fructose-Corn-Syrup. Agnes ran to the food truck outside as I changed into a waiter uniform. Just before the producers were about to start the call back up, I slyly served up the last round, but this time it wasn’t wine. It was imitation, almost-maybe, kinda sort of like, well it was the same color as, Grape Juice. Of course, like all secret agents of fiction, I was right. One sip of that super-sweet purple concoction, which is supposed to taste like grapes, but doesn’t even come close, and they were hooked. Those women came running to me like I was some kind of drug dealer. I left it to Agnes to get them debriefed, and then relocated into normal Midwestern society. While I went after the true enemy, Marketing Executives.

When I went through the door, the first sound that greeted me was, “Hey, lunch isn’t over yet. We didn’t call anyone.” Luckily though, I still had on my white coat. One of their minions admitted me thinking I was just another waiter. You should have seen the decadence. These folks, who were telling young girls they have to starve, each had a seven-course buffet to choose from. Even the security personnel were big around the middle. What a conspiracy I’d discovered.

Speaking of security, I didn’t make it ten feet further before I was caught. They took me into a side room and began their heinous torture by…

What??

Excuse me??

And I’m sticking to it

You say, you think my story might be a bit embellished? I’m insulted. I guarantee you all, there is no way this tale is larger-than-life. It’s impossible to embellish a total fabrication. Uh Oops! Okay you caught me. I just know you all have me on a pedestal and this story is far more likely for one such as Mr. Ohh! than, “I couldn’t post because I had a bad bought with kidney stones.” Excuse me for trying to maintain quality.

Sheesh!