The FBI Comes Knocking
Sorry to get to the blogging so late, but an incedent occurred this morning which has kept me otherwise occupied. I was awakened by a frightful banging at the door. Horatio and I had had quit a bit of fun last night so, believe me, I was in no mood to greet the world. What's more, once I did stumble out of bed and over to my closet I was unable to find my robe, and all the clothes were in the hamper. Because of certain things that happened last night, I was certainly not going to put those clothes back on.
Here's the problem though; I, Memes, sleeps in his nature's finest. So there I am with no clothes on and this banging at the door. What to do? What to do?
"Could you hold on?" I called through the door, trying to quell their insistant hammering.
"FBI, open up now Mr. Memes.
Crap, I thought. And that's all I could think. Just crap.
Now, here's the thing: I don't want to brag, but I, Memes, is monstrously endowed. I try to keep the lid on my secret as much as possibile (wear loose fitting clothes, avoid x-ray machines whenever possible), accept with the ladies of course. But in this case, apparently I had no choice. So, I opened the door.
You should have seen the look of shock, no, dare I say, fright, on the face of the two FBI agents. I would swear one of them began to whimper like a small animal. I just stood there, impressive.
When they finally recovered
(wait, did I mention just exactly how endowed I am because it is a truly amazing freak of nature kind of thing. I'm sure that on some level my wangdoodle actually stretches beyond our demention into the fifth, sixth and a bit of the seventh demention themsleves. I would imagine that there are beings from other dementions who would wish that I could, somehow, tone down the glory of my maninfestation)
But, I digress, getting back to the story, when they finally recovered one of the FBI agents said something stupid like, "Can we come in? We just have a few questions for you Mr. Memes."
"I demand to know what this is all about," I replied.
"We have a few questions about some acquaintaces of you're's down at the Crescent Cafe."
"The what, I asked?" incredulously.
"The Crescent Cafe down on 6th down near the Village."
"Oh, you mean the Bagdad Cafe. Yes, by acquaintances, you mean the nobel jihadis with whom I, Memes, is doing business. That, my good man, is none of you're busnines. I will answer none of you're questions. Now, away with you."
"Mr. Memes, I'm sorry, but we insist," the prick of an Fricking Board of Insolence agent replied.
"How dare you. It is not in you're job discription to insist that a citizen of the Unitee States of America answer you're random and impertinat questions. Oh, but I forget, you live in jesusland, don't you? We;ll I don't, my friend. I still live in the USA and I am proud of it."
And, with that I picked up my cell phone and proceeded to call my attorney Biff. He lives next door, and he doesn't go to the office much, so he came right over and began to threaten the FBI agents with a litany of lawsutis, injunctions, and briefs. At which point, they suggested that I put on some briefs and take a little ride with them. After much tense negotiation, my attorney agreed to their request and he went with me.
For two hours they asked me the same questions over and over. "What are their names?" To which I replied, "I don't know. I haven't the foggiest." Then they would ask, "How could it be, Mr. Memes, that you don't know the names of people you do business with?" To which I replied, "In the business I am in, one does not need to know the names of one's comrades , only that we share the same interests."
"And what interests are those , Mr. Memes?" To which I replied, "Oh, certain political causes and initiatives of a humanitarian nature, such as feeding the poor, and looking out for the rights of the working man."
They also asked if I knew where the nobel jihadi's disappeared to when they go away for weeks at a time, which they do on a seemingly revolving basis. They also asked if I had any knowledge of any trading in weapons systems, or any plans to attack the interests of jesusland. I replied that, I don't.
And the truth is, I don't know anything.
I think one of the guys at the Bagdad is named Ahmed, but I'm not sure. It is very hard for me to decipher they're accents. And beyond that, they rarely speak directly to me, and do most of they're talking in exoctic dialects with which I am not familiar.
After hours of this b.s., the FBI informed my attorney and I that they had had enough of us, and we left.
We shall see how this new turn of events shall shape up.
Here's the problem though; I, Memes, sleeps in his nature's finest. So there I am with no clothes on and this banging at the door. What to do? What to do?
"Could you hold on?" I called through the door, trying to quell their insistant hammering.
"FBI, open up now Mr. Memes.
Crap, I thought. And that's all I could think. Just crap.
Now, here's the thing: I don't want to brag, but I, Memes, is monstrously endowed. I try to keep the lid on my secret as much as possibile (wear loose fitting clothes, avoid x-ray machines whenever possible), accept with the ladies of course. But in this case, apparently I had no choice. So, I opened the door.
You should have seen the look of shock, no, dare I say, fright, on the face of the two FBI agents. I would swear one of them began to whimper like a small animal. I just stood there, impressive.
When they finally recovered
(wait, did I mention just exactly how endowed I am because it is a truly amazing freak of nature kind of thing. I'm sure that on some level my wangdoodle actually stretches beyond our demention into the fifth, sixth and a bit of the seventh demention themsleves. I would imagine that there are beings from other dementions who would wish that I could, somehow, tone down the glory of my maninfestation)
But, I digress, getting back to the story, when they finally recovered one of the FBI agents said something stupid like, "Can we come in? We just have a few questions for you Mr. Memes."
"I demand to know what this is all about," I replied.
"We have a few questions about some acquaintaces of you're's down at the Crescent Cafe."
"The what, I asked?" incredulously.
"The Crescent Cafe down on 6th down near the Village."
"Oh, you mean the Bagdad Cafe. Yes, by acquaintances, you mean the nobel jihadis with whom I, Memes, is doing business. That, my good man, is none of you're busnines. I will answer none of you're questions. Now, away with you."
"Mr. Memes, I'm sorry, but we insist," the prick of an Fricking Board of Insolence agent replied.
"How dare you. It is not in you're job discription to insist that a citizen of the Unitee States of America answer you're random and impertinat questions. Oh, but I forget, you live in jesusland, don't you? We;ll I don't, my friend. I still live in the USA and I am proud of it."
And, with that I picked up my cell phone and proceeded to call my attorney Biff. He lives next door, and he doesn't go to the office much, so he came right over and began to threaten the FBI agents with a litany of lawsutis, injunctions, and briefs. At which point, they suggested that I put on some briefs and take a little ride with them. After much tense negotiation, my attorney agreed to their request and he went with me.
For two hours they asked me the same questions over and over. "What are their names?" To which I replied, "I don't know. I haven't the foggiest." Then they would ask, "How could it be, Mr. Memes, that you don't know the names of people you do business with?" To which I replied, "In the business I am in, one does not need to know the names of one's comrades , only that we share the same interests."
"And what interests are those , Mr. Memes?" To which I replied, "Oh, certain political causes and initiatives of a humanitarian nature, such as feeding the poor, and looking out for the rights of the working man."
They also asked if I knew where the nobel jihadi's disappeared to when they go away for weeks at a time, which they do on a seemingly revolving basis. They also asked if I had any knowledge of any trading in weapons systems, or any plans to attack the interests of jesusland. I replied that, I don't.
And the truth is, I don't know anything.
I think one of the guys at the Bagdad is named Ahmed, but I'm not sure. It is very hard for me to decipher they're accents. And beyond that, they rarely speak directly to me, and do most of they're talking in exoctic dialects with which I am not familiar.
After hours of this b.s., the FBI informed my attorney and I that they had had enough of us, and we left.
We shall see how this new turn of events shall shape up.
posted by Pastorius at 10:59 AM
2 Comments:
Memes,
You're lucky they didn't draw their weapons and fire when they saw the size of your gun.
Brian
P.S. When I was in the marines, we used to have a little saying that went like this,
"Here is my weapon, and here is my gun.
This one's for fighting and this one's for fun."
Memes,
You should have turned around and mooned them, my man. The full fruit salad.
Post a Comment
<< Home