“You sure buddy? Because if you and your Ukrainian friends fuck up, it will be the end.”
“Oh yeah? What you gonna do?” taunted Pulikesi. He was friends with fucking Snowden.
“Well, we have a bunch of expired ICBMs rusting away on the base. I could stick one up your asses and aim at Mars…”
“Please don’t…” pleaded Ilya, who knew the Russian ways a little better.
“Oooh why Mars?” exclaimed Pulikesi. Fergana Valley, Siberia, Snowden and now Mars. The intricacies of Russian pranks…
“Coz Mars needs Morons.”
Ilya couldn’t take it anymore, “Oh please. Please stop, Comrade Primakov. There is no need for Mars. The software is ready… trust me.”
Pulikesi wouldn’t let go, “Hey man, can you tweak your missiles to hit Saturn instead. Damon’s been to Mars… Mila Kunis has done Jupiter… Clooney….”
Chapter 37
Undisclosed Location
Jim Borland sat on his filthy couch flipping channels. After researching thoroughly, he had found the one place on earth which scared the pants off Uncle Sammy. The place was a certified hellhole. It held a -12% freshness at RottenHellholes.gov. Even dumpster diving celebrity chef, Gary Pono had circumvented the hellhole despite accusations of being elitist.
Amnesty International had lasted three years before packing up. Médecins Sans Frontières had lasted two. Even the Mormons had been like, “Yo Church, can I repeat Haiti?”
Jim’s research suggested that the key to survival in this anal hole was to out weird the weirdos. Hence he got super weird. Or at least tried to. The first week he had been a hippie. Someone had shot him. Then he had tried a yuppie. Police thugs had accused him of being a tranny. Only a treaty involving Ben Franklin had saved the night. Eventually he had settled onto a look, inspired by Walter form the Big Lebowski. Somehow, holding a tire iron and a bag of dirty undies at the same time was just too darn weird for these wannabes.
“Madam Undersecretary, this is Snoop Team Six. We have located our target.”
“Great. Whats he doing?” asked Undersecretary Sarah McAllister.
“He is in the house. Alone. Curtains drawn. Watching TV. Football.”
“Snoop Team, can you turn on that camera on your helmet? I want to see how this plays out…,” said the Undersecretary. She gestured an intern to take a selfie of her watching the big screen.
Snoop team leader responded, “Madam Undersecretary, our cameras are on. It’s just so darn dark out here. Brown outs.”
“Well don’t you have that green light thing?”
“You mean IR?”
“Yep.”
“Night vision is only for the elite Seal Teams Madam. Sorry about that.”
“Fine, I guess we will just listen in.” Despite her arguments about national security, her boss, the Secretary of State had vetoed against the use of better teams. She had mumbled, “Low priority”.
“Roger that Madam Undersecretary.”
Snoop Team Six surrounded the single storey house. Two guys went to the back while a couple took the sides. The rest took a battering ram to the front door.
Suddenly the feed from the Snoop Team’s helmet brightened. They were inside the house.
The team surrounded a guy sitting on a couch. His back was turned towards them.
He was holding a beverage in his left hand and doing the most natural thing with the other.
“Hold your fire! Hold your fire!”
“Hands up in the air!”
The guy slowly raised his beverage.
“Both hands Mr. Borland.”
“Man, come on man… at least let me finish.”
The Snoop Team’s leader hesitated. The Undersecretary spoke quietly, “Let him finish…”
In the background some commentator was praising the tenacity of the football team.
“John, the Detroit Lions are back… a team that went 0 and 16 just a few years ago… absolutely, tonight the entire country hears the Lions roar… Damn straight Matt, it’s time to restore this once proud city…”
Jim Borland finished.
“Sir, turn around slowly. Slowly.”
The dude turned around.
Sarah shrieked as Doug Sanders dived under the desk.
Jim Borland had a clown face painted on.
“So, what took you so long?” asked the clown.
After securing the house south of the 8 Mile Road, Snoop Team Six bundled the clown into their armored carrier and sped away to the safe harbors of Ann Arbor, Michigan.
Ann Arbor, Michigan
They sat the clown, still handcuffed, across Sarah and Doug.
The Snoop Team Six saluted the Undersecretary, “Here you go Madam.”
“Thanks a ton guys. I will see what I can do about those night vision goggles. Thanks.”
“What took you so long?” repeated the clown.
“Jim, enough. This isn’t the appropriate time…” protested Sarah, “…plus Russia is about to boil over…”
“Or freeze over… it’s getting cold out there you know…” supplied Doug.
“Thanks Doug,” said Sarah sardonically.
Doug Sanders thought he heard something odd. “Wait… did you just say ‘appropriate time’?”
Jim Borland, still bearing the clown paint, giggled uncontrollably.
“It’s… it’s… this thing… it’s called Clowning the CIA…” offered Sarah apologetically.
Doug didn’t catch it, “You sure he isn’t a Juggalo.”
“Despite what Hollywood says, the straight male hooker industry is tiny… Plus I don’t think Jim has the tenacity to make it out there.”
“Juggalo, not gigolo… Juggalo, the fans of the awesome rock band, Insane Clown Posse — ICP.”
“Oh…” Sarah was stumped for a second. She turned to Jim and asked if he was a part of this ICP’s posse. Jim shook his head violently. He seemed insulted. What a sad clown.
“There are no ICP’s posse… Juggalos are fans of the ICP… they paint and party…”
“Oh, a modern day Kiss…?” Sarah wriggled her nose in distaste.
“NO…” began Doug, before letting it go. “So what’s this, Clowning the Employer bullshit?”
“Right, yes, it’s a privilege the CIA offers its tenured employees… the tenured employee… after a screw up, can completely disappear… no consequences… it’s like a lifelong paid holiday…”
“What…?”
“Working for the CIA can be taxing.”
“So the CIA doesn’t try to find you?”
“They may or may not… but if caught the tenured employee get his/her old job back. No consequences.”
Doug pondered, “So this Jim is our Jim… again?”
“Yes moron,” said the sad clown.
“You can hide anywhere?” persisted Doug in disbelief.
“You need to be tenured.”
Once the ruckus related to Clowning the CIA had been settled, Jim repeated his question, “What took you so long?”
“Oh… you know the world’s a large place…and believe it or not Liberland is actually quite big…” began Sarah.
“What… I thought we just didn’t care,” said Doug in disbelief.
Sarah gave him the, ‘Doood you were supposed to make him feel like he was wanted…’ look.
Reading the exchange, Jim smiled, “Hahaha… classic… I still love you guys…”
“So we good?” asked Sarah doubtfully. The Clowning the CIA program had a 90% success rate. In the other 10%, clowns became trolls. The whole Abbottabad thing had been a text book case of clowns gone trolling. If only that asshole had turned around… everyone would have seen his painted clown face.
During secret congressional hearings, the CIA had vehemently defended its Clowning program by suggesting that the program had produced more good than bad for the country.
“Absolutely, totally good. And don’t worry, I will do my psych eval tomorrow.”
“Well okay Jim… welcome back…”
“Hit me with Russia…”