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The pitch black night sky was shattered by a piercing scream, “HEWWWWWWW!!!!!” Mr. Diddles retrieved his lock pick kit and ran away to avoid being captured by The Karate Guys. They chased him down that dimly lit alleyway, on that cold crisp December night, nun chucks flailing wildly like a gang of cats fighting in a potato sack. Mr. Diddles wanted nothing more but to be home watching the rugby game and drinking a Boar Cocoa. That would be a long way off because he hadn’t even managed to break into the McRonald’s Corporate Headquarters Office Department of Redundancy Department office. His plans had once again been thwarted by those damn Karate Guys.
He continued to run, just barely ahead of the pursuing enemies. He looked exactly like Chuck Norris except his face was really different, he had black hair, he was quite a bit taller, and he dressed in a completely different style…More like a half goth half Mormon missionary guy style.
He reached into his left pocket, and in dismay he realized there was a hole. “Ah son of a….!” He quickly checked his other pocket and with much relief found he had a secret surprise stashed on the right side as well (and it hadn’t fallen out through a hole). As he pulled his stuff out of his pants, he turned around to face The Karate Guys. Almost in slow motion his hand went back and then forward, releasing a pink sparkly dust that froze above the heads of The Karate Guys and then exploded like a sack of chicken eggs left in the hot Arizona desert for five weeks. The Karate Guys stopped their pursuit and wiped their eyes frantically. One of the masked hoodlums exclaimed, “This pepper spray is very strong!”
The leader, Skwizzmar Coofer, slapped him silly in the face. “That wasn’t pepper spray, you fool! That was black magic! Voodoo! Hu-ju! And now he has escaped again! You Karate Guys! Stop crying and straighten yourselves up! You all look like a bag of smashed assholes!”
Mr. Diddles had many reasons to hate The Karate Guys. They wrote a lot of bad stuff about him on Facebook, they were always cock blocking, and of course they were always thwarting his top secret missions. Is it ofcourse or of course? Hold on, turning spell check on…
Ok. Currently he was working for the C.I.A.- errr I mean ummm some guy Michael Moore knew in high school uhhh in Canada ehh some guy’s cousin. Oops. This “cousin”, we’ll call him Uncle Sam, was paying him $175 to retrieve a file from the McRonald’s Corporate Headquarters Office Department of Redundancy Department office. It wasn’t a lot of money, but that was fine with him. It would be enough to buy a used air hockey table with a few bucks left over to buy a can of Boar Cocoa, but above all he’d be able to live his life dream, to be a super hero!
The story didn’t end up being long enough, so I’m adding this sentence here to fatten it up a bit.
Mr. Diddles made it to his apartment after making sure The Karate Guys hadn’t followed him. He reached in his pocket for his keys, but there it was; that hole again. God damn it he thought to himself as he sat on his door step. The apartment manager wouldn’t answer at this time of night, and he didn’t have the kind of cash it took to get a locksmith to come out. He sighed in resignation and pulled his lock pick kit close to him and used it as a pillow while he slept.
He woke up the next day at 3:30 in the afternoon, found the manager, and had him unlock his front door. It was a bitterly cold day, so as soon as he got inside he shut the large bay view window in the front room.
He was surprised when he entered his spare room/office and saw his assistant, known only as BH, sitting at his kitchen table. He wasn’t surprised about BH being in his apartment uninvited, he was surprised the kitchen table was in his office. It should have been in the kitchen.
“So ya wanna tell me what happened last night?” She said to him in a seductive whisper. The lawn service was mowing just outside the window so he had a hard time hearing her.
“HUH?!” He yelled.
She repeated herself, in the same whisper. The mowing began to get so loud it shook the walls and rattled the windows. She tried again, this time screaming at the top of her lungs.
“WHAT?!” He still couldn’t hear her.
She tried again. Mr. Diddles attempted to read her lips.
“WHAT DID I HAVE FOR DINNER LAST NIGHT? WHY?!”
“No, no no,” she said. Just then Bobby Bill Thornton, a contact for Uncle Sam, waltzed into the room. He was texting. Mr. Diddles felt his cell phone vibrating so he pulled it out and read the text.
12/14/10 3:48 P.M.
Sender: B.B. Thornton (916) 555- 6291
You couldn’t hear me knocking so I came in. I have important news for you.
Mr. Diddles texted back:
12/14/10 3:50 P.M.
Sender: Morton Diddles (916) 555- 1638
OK so what is it buddy?
He received Thornton’s reply:
12/14/10 3:51 P.M.
Sender: B.B. Thornton (916) 555- 6291
Get ready to die motherfucker!