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EAT CRAP AND DIE
A stolen body part, a mysterious ejection from a jetliner, commies attacking Chinatown, and an annoying little dog… all in a day’s work for JR.
Joe ‘JR’ Ragmoine is a Field Representative for the Friendship Foundation, an organization dedicated to the preservation of conspiracy theories, because they are, unfortunately, all true… from aliens, to assassinations, to chemtrails and fluoridation, it’s all factual, which is awkward.
Protecting the collective consciousness of humanity, JR and others take extreme action to make sure conspiracy theorists are kept on the fringe, and to create new conspiracies to explain world events. The job is simple, when in doubt, kill everybody.
This story is a follow-up novelette to the full length action story, Die You Slimy Maggot.
This is a free download provided in appreciation of the many fans of Bronco Hammer… Because the fan base is made up of mainly he-men and supermodels, you earned the right to some down time with one of the greatest stories ever written… for Americans, by an American. Now shut up and read.
Part Two – The Lone Wanker
“Hello,” he grumbled.
“This is Miss January, can you stand by for the Executive Director?”
JR smiled at the thought of the beautiful Miss January, the executive assistant at the Foundation. She was super model material, and she kind of liked JR… at least he and every man she ever met was left with that impression. She had a gift.
“I’ll stand by.” JR tried very hard to sound cool.
After a few moments of waiting, a smooth deep voice exuding education, sophistication, class, and an accent that can only be described as elegant came on the line.
The Executive Director used JR’s code name, “Mr. August. We could certainly use your assistance with a minor problem that just came to our attention. Honestly, this just popped up unexpectedly.”
“Minor? Popped up how?”
He was evasive, which was normal. “I’d say it could have been considered a hard one at one time, perhaps it still is,” the Executive Director responded cryptically.
“What kind of problem, sir?” JR wasn’t surprised. He was used to his day off getting canceled on short notice. He didn’t mind. He loved his job. It turned out to be a far better gig than his old job at the Burbank Quick Fix, Tire Repair, and Lube Shop.
“A wiener,” the director said grimly.
“A wiener popped up?” JR was confused. This call was not what he was expecting, which was disconcerting. That in itself was unusual because expecting the unexpected was a very normal mindset to have for those employed at the Foundation. Nobody gets surprised much in a business where you routinely deal with the strangest conspiracies of history.
“No.. well, yes… it’s complicated. We need you to recover a penis,” he said awkwardly, as if the word penis left a bad taste in his mouth.
“Sir… I may have a bad connection here.” JR frowned. He thought the Executive Director said penis.
“Mr. August… please bear with me, here. This is somewhat complicated… and a bit awkward.”
“Yes sir,” JR said patiently.
“Please allow me to explain further. There is a quite famous American former super-athlete who is going through…what do they call it… transition… yes… transition. It’s in all of the news. I’m certain you have heard something about it.”
“Transition to what?”
“From one sex to another sex. As I mentioned, it’s complicated.”
“Sir, I don’t read the news, follow sports, or give a shit about this transition stuff. What does that have to do with the Foundation?”
“Well, here is the thing, Mr. August… The Chinese leadership in Beijing desperately wants this wiener to… this may sound odd in our culture, they want to grind it up and mix it in their tea. They believe this will turn them into some kind of super humans. They plan on diluting somehow so it can be used to charge up their World Sports Game athletes too.”
“Will that work?” JR said skeptically.
“NASA seems to think so… for what that’s worth… They believe that if the Chinese give the wiener tea to their key athletes they will win the Olympics decisively, thus launching a Chinese nationalist movement that will certainly lead to new aspirations of world conquest. So we need you to grab that wiener and hang on to it until our scientists get there.”
“I thought NASA was space guys,” JR asked, slightly confused on the Executive Director’s choice of scientific authorities.
“Space and wieners. They did a lot of research on the long term effect of space travel on the wiener… that and they are a bunch of wieners.… experts on the wiener as far as I am concerned.”
JR was very familiar with the Executive Director’s dislike of NASA. Rumor had it they once turned down his astronaut application many years before when he was a young man… because… they were assholes, or at least that was said to be the Executive Director’s opinion about the matter. JR actually knew very little about the Executive Director and what he did know was as unsubstantiated as network TV news. The man was an enigma.
“Where is it now, this… super penis, sir?”
“Somewhere in LA … we believe.”
“Believe? Or know?” JR thought he might have misunderstood… it happens quite a bit.
“Just believe at this point, Mr. August.”
“Nobody knows where it is at the moment. It was stolen from the hospital.”
“We have no leads.”
JR didn’t think he sounded very sorry. “So you want me to search the entire Los Angeles area, and perhaps beyond, for a missing wiener that you have no idea whatsoever where it is?”
“I’m so very sorry to acknowledge your assumption in the affirmative, but yes, that is exactly what we need… we need to get our hands on that wiener at all costs.”
“Are you sure the hospital didn’t just do whatever they always do with spare parts?” JR asked, not completely sure what that might be.
“We’re sure. It was placed in some kind of a small hermetically sealed box and was supposed to go in the Sports Hall of Fame in Baltimore.”
“Why there? I didn’t even know there was a Sports Hall of Fame there.”
“There are several sports museums, but they got it because they were the only ones who wanted the filthy thing.”
JR hated Baltimore. He thought for a moment about his most unfavorite town and them wanting to park a wiener somewhere. It made sense. “Well, there’s nothing I would like more than sending Baltimore a big old rotten dick, but I have no idea where to begin on this.”
The Executive Director sounded a little put out at having to explain what to do, “Just go to the hospital and incorporate page nine of the training manual into your action plan until you get answers. Extreme covert action is approved from the highest authorities.”
JR smiled at the inside joke. Nobody approved this… Nobody knows we even exist. Fun!
JR confirmed the order, ”So, just kill everybody then?”
“But of course… this is almost important,” the directly punctuated his answer with a sniff that classy people use instead of just saying, you asshole, like regular people do.