Another Deep Knight Mystery

[Deep Knight]

No, never used it? What about this comment?

Seemed to be conveniently handy. Just happened to slip into your pocket by accident?

I just carry it around, along with 497 1/2 feet of rope, you never know when it might be useful for some evil scheme or other...

Seriously? You ever traveled Air Canada? Ever check their on-time and cancellation stats? If you fly here from DC you'll have to change planes in Toronto, the Bermuda Triangle of airports. Even brave men are wasted shells of their prior selves after that experience. I feel safer already!

No, I haven't but you gotta expect a few hickups when your planes are made from birch bark and maple syrup.

[The Observer]

I have NEVER used Viagra, or even V_gr_.

I never said that you used either. I said that you were addicted to V__gr_. Big difference. Please pay attention to the details and try to keep up (no pun intended).

And tell me the truth, which would you rather have - two iconic blue-eyed-blondes planning how to save on their retirement, or scantily dressed hussies with no regard for the sanctity of life playing tarts and butchers?

I would to like hear the story about the ladies planning on how to save for their retirement. That kind of story is likely to end better than the sordid romps you go on without regards towards STDs, unwanted pregnancies, bad-smelling bodily fluids, lack of intimacy and shallow plot lines. Besides, there is always the chance that one of the ladies with the retirement plan might marry me in my old age and take care of me.

[Parvati]

you gotta expect a few hickups when your planes are made from birch bark and maple syrup.

So *that's* where it went.

[Burnaby49]

I'm just busy making waffles so that I'm ready for the DK flyover.

[Deep Knight]

I have NEVER used Viagra, or even V_gr_.

I never said that you used either. I said that you were addicted to V__gr_. Big difference. Please pay attention to the details and try to keep up (no pun intended).

It started innocently enough, backstage with the Bolshoi Ballet during their American tour. You know how girls are, especially ones who dance on their toes, and once I had satisfied one beyond the hopes of normal womanhood I had to do all the others. And me with a late night dinner date! So, if was a little blue pill and worry-free sailing through my special date and the next four who were lined up at the door.

But then it starts. You need one for Saturday night's stiffy, one for the ugly daughter of the friend of your mother, one for the big meeting upstairs at work. Suddenly it's every day, then before dinner and then before noon. Soon you're waking up and getting it up with a cup of coffee, a handfull of pills, and a monkey on your back.

I had friends, friends who were tired of their women drooling over stories of my exploits, who got me help and I'm proud to say I have my 3-year pin from BPA, Boner Pills Anonymous. I remember my first meeting, when I got up with a tent in my pants and told my story, which quite frankly none of the group believed, especially the part about the line out the door of my bedroom. But it gave me the strength to pull through, and these days I either use the visual stimulation of supple young flesh or role-playing, usually with me as the dirty Dinar guru. If all else fails I can call my BPA councilor, who will read passages from Lady Chatterley's Lover to me over the phone to get me through the night. It's been rough, but it's also been hard, making me living proof you don't need doping to be a world-class athlete! Take that, Lance Armstrong!

And tell me the truth, which would you rather have - two iconic blue-eyed-blondes planning how to save on their retirement, or scantily dressed hussies with no regard for the sanctity of life playing tarts and butchers?

I would to like hear the story about the ladies planning on how to save for their retirement. That kind of story is likely to end better than the sordid romps you go on without regards towards STDs, unwanted pregnancies, bad-smelling bodily fluids, lack of intimacy and shallow plot lines. Besides, there is always the chance that one of the ladies with the retirement plan might marry me in my old age and take care of me.

Dick is a lady? I don't know about you, but that explains a lot! Especially about "Mother" and "Father." As for being set for retirement, they MUST have residuals for all those books, and it's almost certain that even if Jane got married she's divorced by now, given her brother's transgender issues. Anyway, I would certainly give it a go if I were you, I included this picture so you can recognize Jane if you bump into her.



[In the book I had as a kid, they were both blonds and notably blue-eyed. I don't remember the name, but they went to their grandparents' farm.]

[Burnaby49]

Enough with your sick obsession with your nether parts. There are much bigger issues at stake here than your ceaseless ravings about your, ahem, tiny todger.

Where is the 10,000,000 pounds of Maple syrup and what do you and your cohorts plan to do with it? Are you about to despoil our birch forests to construct an illuminati war machine?

[The Observer]

Enough with your sick obsession with your nether parts. There are much bigger issues at stake here than your ceaseless ravings about your, ahem, tiny todger.

Where is the 10,000,000 pounds of Maple syrup and what do you and your cohorts plan to do with it? Are you about to despoil our birch forests to construct an illuminati war machine?

It's even worse than that. He has gotten the strange idea that Dick is a blonde. Even the picture shows definitely that Jane is blonde and that Dick is a brunette. So it is obvious I couldn't have been thinking that Dick had gone transgender. What DK has forgotten that there was a third sibling that was blonde and was named Sally. Those were the two ladies I was referring to when he brought up the subject of blue-eyed blondes. I didn't even imagine that DK's overwrought sex addiction has brought him to the point that he can't tell blondes and brunettes apart. Next thing you know, he'll be writing stories claiming how he deflowered Spot and Puff.

[Deep Knight]

... tiny todger.

You know nothing of its magnificence. I look at it this way, if the NESARA crowd thinks they'll get $billions in the mail or the Dinaridjits 500,000% returns, then I can have thousands of supermodels a week and a member as long as the Nile and wide as something very wide. "Tiny" indeed!

Actually, this all started when Dove said she had an inside source in the New World Order, so I became an inside source in her "White Knights" who were days away from implementing NESARA, using "Deep Knight" from "Deep Throat" of the Watergate story. Anyway, a couple of months later she bitched, er, complained about Quatloos and ID'd me as a military operative from Fort Benning GA who was the head of PsyOps and "notorious." So, I confessed that I was "notorious" amongst women, like my secret agent predecessors but to a degree that would have embarrassed even James Bond. Then, whenever she made extravagant claims, that is, exceeding the limits of reason or necessity, I responded in kind substituting sex for money. Well, that and the fact that it IS truly magnificent and my praises are literally sung far and wide accompanied by a strummed lute, much like how it was done by medieval troubadours.

Where is the 10,000,000 pounds of Maple syrup and what do you and your cohorts plan to do with it? Are you about to despoil our birch forests to construct an Illuminati war machine?

Why this strange obsession with maple syrup? Is it because of some sick perversion like pouring it over a wading pool filled with naked women and then scattering toaster waffles on top of their writhing bodies? Wait, I did that just last week.

As for birch bark, we are more interested in using the wood to make toilet seats, that's right, the New World Order controls the Birch John Society!

As for Dick and Jane's hair color, they seem to have changed over the years. The picture below shows the colors reversed. I remember the whole family being blond and blue eyed, but it's been a long while. That still doesn't excuse hiding Dick's real gender all these years!

[Burnaby49]

Finally, the inside dope on the maple syrup heist,

http://www2.macleans.ca/category/opinion/scott-feschuk/

[Deep Knight]

Maple syrup contains sugar, which is a reducing agent (if you are an agent and want to reduce, eat sugar). Bat guano contains nitrates, which are oxidizing agents. As any chemist or terrorist can tell you, mixing these two makes things that go boom (e.g. the nitrates and reducing agents Sulfur and Carbon in gunpowder).

Longtime students of NESARA know about VK Durham and her obsession with the Peruvian Bat Guano Bond “BONUS 3392-181” which she claims is worth $206,858,581,565,280,000,000.00. Thats a whole lotta bat shit. Mix it with ten million pounds of maple syrup, and I figure you would certainly have the world's biggest bomb, bigger than the combined atomic stockpiles of the nuclear powers. One shutters when one thinks about how this could be used for blackmail (although the threat of just spreading around $206,858,581,565,280,000,000.00 worth of guano would probably make most people knuckle under).

Even though this isn't "proof" in any traditional sense, I would suggest Canadian authorities keep a close eye on VK if she visits and any long truck convoys loaded down with guano. Beats coping with a new sweet and sticky crater the size of Hudson's Bay.

See viewtopic.php?t=5602

[Burnaby49]

I'm going with Scott Feschuck's theory. Makes a lot more sense than some babbling about batcrap.

The only problem with their evil plan is that maple syrup is at the high-priced end of sweeteners so it's not served at Dennys. So the targeted victim of Scott's plan, the American glutton, couldn't care less about the sudden shortage of maple syrup. When the mountains of pancakes and waffles need a lubricant corn syrup works just as well and has that delicious chemically-induced artificial flavour. However you're on warning. Do you really believe that the ethanol industry is actually using all that corn for fuel production or are they secretly stockpiling syrup to corner the market and hold America to ransom?

[notorial dissent]

Now I remember why I don't eat breakfast!!! GAHHHH!!

[LaVidaRoja]

Deep Knight, Deep Knight, where are you? I want MORE!!!!!!

[Deep Knight]

Deep Knight, Deep Knight, where are you? I want MORE!!!!!!

By popular demand, even if only for a population of one, yet another last chapter!

The Rise of Erasmus of America and the Battle in the Hollow Earth for the Stargate of Doom!
FINAL EPILOGUE: If You Want It Done Right, You Have To Do It Yourself

After a long weekend that took over a month, Deep returned with 5 of the 6 Slice Girls to his penthouse suite in DC for a rest and to resume work. Slutty Slice had overloaded on sensual input and her replicated neural circuits fried - one of the disadvantages of cloning and why they had such a short shelf life in Blade Runner. It seems she had taken these 3 pool boys and a bag of adult toys into a cabana in Rio and not only behaved in a most unladylike manner, forgot that the local power was 220 VAC. What can I say, she was slutty.

Deep Knight couldn't say he was sorry to loose one of his kill-crazy consorts, deep down inside he yearned for a normal, decent girl. One you could marry and make sound financial plans for your retirement with, not one who was either moaning in your bed or dicing up living human flesh, although to be honest he still was a fan of participating in the first and watching the second. But all that would have to wait while while he stopped at the office for a quick update on the status of the mass arrests.

"Bad news, Agent Knight," said the head of Snooping and Blabbing, "Sorcha Fall, Erasmus of America, Drake, and Cobra are all alive and well and still plotting on a counter coup to take America back!"

"But, but, but ..." reasoned Deep, "We buried Sorcha under a 10 ton rock and then poured a thousand cubic meters of cement over that. And I saw Drake and Erasmus get deboned and filleted by the Slice Girls. We filmed it and posted it on YouTube, do a Google search."

"I know it's hard to believe but here's the evidence..." started the snoopy blabber, but he was cut off by a defiant Deep who emphasized his displeasure by suggesting a use for the evidence that can't be repeated here.

"Well, you're going to have to do that disgusting act to it yourself," commanded Deep's boss, who had just entered the room, "Because you're back on the case! Go ahead, I'm sure many of us would like to watch."

Deep kicked himself for not having made a quick trip back to DC during his vacation to assassinate his boss, and took a quick look at the pictures that had been presented to him. There was no mistaking Sorcha, Erasmus, Erasmus' deformed-yet-tiny member, and the position they were using, it was them. That, and the New York Times front page for September 9th 2012 propped up behind Sorcha's large posterior, told him that the Soupy Sales of American Economics and Orly Taitz of Irish-Russian Espionage were indeed, alive and physically well.

"This must not stand," said Deep Knight, "It's getting so you just can't kill anyone anymore and have them stay dead! I'm writing to my congressman and senator right now, demanding legislation!"

"Stop kidding around, you know they're all in our hip pocket. Besides, the NRA is demanding the same thing, so let them do the legwork."

"But, if I can't kill them and have them stay dead, even under an impenetrable dome of concrete, how can I fulfill a mission to kill them?"

"Who said we wanted to kill them?" asked his smiling boss, "We want to encourage them!"

"I don't understand." said Deep Knight, genuinely confused.

"Reports such as theirs on our activity are one of the reasons so few people believe we exist. I mean, this is crazy stuff we do, but they make it sound even crazier."

Deep suddenly liked the sound of this assignment, that is, if it also involved some random killings and general mayhem to ease the boredom.

"I know what you're thinking," said his boss, "and yes, you can kill a minion or two and screw a few of the Sisters of Sorcha Faal, although what you see in nuns I can't begin to understand, but mostly what we want you to do is feed them false information."

"But, I can't possibly come up with anything as unbelievable as the truth," began Deep.

"Not unbelievable, but believable!" said his boss, "We want you to make their reports sound credible. Drake's and Cobra's too! We would have thrown in the Dinar Gurus, but there's no way to make the RV sound believable, so we shelved that part."

Deep took a deep breath and wondered what strange adventure lay before him. Maybe it was time to think about investing for his retirement with the Slice Girls, after all he could send them to their deaths at some time in the near future and control the whole bundle. But that could wait for his old age, now it was time to take the horns by the bull and ride it to hell and back, with only a short stop in Del Rio Texas. It was time for a new Deep Knight adventure! But not with with a similar plot or these same boring characters. Except, of course, for the amply-endowed scantily-clad women clamoring for his amorous attentions. One with heart, soul, and a meat-grinder of hard-boiled dialog, an adventure for the ages!

But first, a few drone strikes on innocent civilians in rural areas and then some lunch.

[Deep Knight]

The Quick, the Dead, and the Great White North
Another pitiful Deep Knight Adventure

Prologue – A River of Doubt

It was a dark and stormy night. Actually, it was darker than it was stormy, the force of the rain and wind having diminished somewhat as a low pressure front stabilized over the Midwest, while the darkness was as dark as dark can get. But an objective observer could, without fear of contradiction, describe the night as dark and stormy. It was then that the storm suddenly broke, gasping like a too-lean 4-stroke lawnmower engine, the clouds parted, and the sun rose, revealing a beautiful new day.

Deep Knight woke up late, made a cup of strong coffee, and smoked a couple of cigarettes while he read the morning paper. Still unshaven and unbathed, he made it to his office where his long suffering secretary, Velna, was opening the mail and buffing her nails. “Dressing a little informally today,” inquired his inquisitive girl Friday, “or did you just forget to change out of your pajamas?”

“You know I never wear pajamas,” protested Deep who looked down at the rumpled, striped nightclothes he was wearing with genuine confusion.

“No, I don’t,” replied Velna sharply, having never slept with Agent Knight, or even had a quickie with him in the supplies closet in all the years she had worked for him. This was especially irksome to her as she was likely the only woman between the ages of 18 and 35 within 100 miles that Deep didn't have carnal knowledge of, or even put the moves on. More than once he had tried to explain to her “the rules” about mixing business and pleasure, but the fact that she seemed to be the only one who this rule applied to hadn’t helped mend her ego. “But let’s not go over that again, the boss left word for you to call as soon as you dragged yourself into the office.”

Agent Knight went over to his desk and dragged the old-style black phone with its rotary dial and tangled cord towards him. He dialed the secret number of the Dark Agenda switchboard, and soon was talking to his boss’ office next door. “Damn it Deep,” growled the hardened Illuminatus, “even I heard about the pajamas. What in the hell is with you today?”

“What did you want?” asked the genuinely perplexed detective. Not only did he not own even one pair of pajamas, he had no memory of putting them on or taking off the stylish suit and tie he had struggled into before leaving his apartment.

“Go back home, get dressed, and be on the first flight to New Brunswick,” commanded the old codger, “600 to 800 of those barrels of Maple Syrup we looted from the Global Strategic Reserve have shown up at an exporter’s warehouse. If the Canadian government is able to rebuild their reserves, the effect on the world economy would be devastating. Millions, maybe billions, of American workers, would get a trickle-down of that syrup and with a good pancake breakfast in their stomachs, prosperity would be ensured. We must prevent this from happening at all costs!”

Busily searching the internet while listening to his boss drone on, Deep found an article online and shoveled it back to his boss over the line as if he was one step ahead already. “If you’re talking about the barrels found at the S.K. Export processing facility in Kedgwick, I understand they’ve already been shipped back to Quebec. And it’s only 4 or 5 percent of what is missing. What good would my visiting the barn door after the horses have left do anyway? “

“I don’t know, I figure just your showing up will make some nervous nelly try to kill you, and by tracing them you’ll uncover the whole plot. Barring that, you could always poke around and see what the local beautiful women know, between groans, moans, and orgasmic screams you never know what tidbits of information they might let slip out after you slip it in. You know, standard operating procedure.”

Deep Knight grabbed a long raincoat from his office rack and hoping that the vice squad wasn’t patrolling the front of his apartment building for flashers again, he made his way through the clutter to the door. He thought of trading barbs with his long-suffering secretary, but to his surprise, while Velna was still sitting, legs crossed and buffing her nails, now she was wearing a shear, black, see-through nightgown, with black lace edging and small scarlet-red devils with pointed tails embroidered along the side. Her firm, pert breasts formed smooth sensual silhouettes that begged him to reach out and trace their tempting tumultuousness.

Just as his shocked mind was re-evaluating “the rules,” his boss burst through the door, wearing a royal blue teddy. “My god, Deep, we’re under attack!” he sputtered. “The entire floor seems to have had their clothes exchanged for varieties of bedroom wear. Our armed security guard still has his gun and holster, but instead going through his belt it’s attached to the side of a pair of crotch-less panties. Actually, not a bad look for him, but …” Just then he seemed to notice his own attire, and running out, screaming like a virgin being sacrificed to the owl statue at Bohemian Grove, he almost stumbled over the fuzzy high-heeled slippers he was wearing.

[Deep Knight]

The Rise and Fall of the Autumn Leaves
Another Exciting Deep Knight Adventure!

Chapter 1 – A River of Doubt

Normally, the all-hands meeting would have taken place the day after an attack, but the seriousness of the incident made any delay dangerous. The morning had seen the entire building become a nightmarish sleep-over party, with not a stitch of original clothing left, even on The Scarlet Whore of Babylon’s lap dog, FiFi.

“The first order of business,” shouted the Evil One and Chairman of the Board himself, making a rare public appearance, “is what the heck happened? Darn it, I’ve been in the dirty tricks business for a long time, ever since I gave Eve that apple to eat, and I’ve never heard of anything remotely like this. Any freakin’ clue as to what happened?”

A stunned silence spoke more loudly than the melodic ring tones from the many cell phones that hadn’t been turned off.

“Well then, I propose we find out,” concluded the perplexed arch-demon. “All leaves are canceled, only trips to suppliers, potential customers, and the big blowout Sales Meeting in Cancun are still authorized, otherwise the whole building is in lockdown! Back to your offices to dredge up every foul rumor or even rumor of a rumor until we get a lead! All except Agent Knight, who I want to see as soon as this meeting ends, which is now!”

Even though he was relieved at the knowledge that he wouldn’t have to travel to the dark continent of Canada, Deep Knight was naturally apprehensive about seeing the head honcho when he was in a bad mood. Then there was that incident with his daughter at the Christmas party, which even after all this time could still provide some friction, given the lengthy course of antibiotics usually prescribed for that particular infection.

“Let’s not mince words,” suggested Satan, “I don’t like you or your methods, but I can’t argue with success, and we need some of that right now. During this morning’s staff meeting I found myself in an old Madonna costume looking ridiculous, and a man in my position can’t afford to look ridiculous! If someone can do this to me our headquarters, imagine what they could do to the cast of Dancing with the Stars during a live broadcast! Our plan to liquefy the brains of the American public may be in serious peril, and that’s a perilless position to be in.”

“What do you need me to do, Chief?” asked Deep, deferentially lisping like a Spaniard in a Barcelona bordello.

“What you do best, but this time, and let me make this abundantly clear, not with my daughter!”

“I assume you want me to stir the waters and see what comes to the surface besides dead fish and Jimmy Hoffa,” suggested Deep Knight, and with a grunt he took to be a “yes” he gladly slipped out of the Executive Suites with their sulfur reek and back to Velna and his office.

“So, what did the old demon want?” asked his long-suffering secretary, “I understand he looked pretty ridiculous this morning and was tied to be fit!”

“You know the drill, find the good guys and kill them horribly,” admitted Deep, “but right now I suggest we put a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door and check out the supplies closet you were thinking about in the prologue.”

Velna smiled knowingly, also knowing that if she finally got her chance to reach a woman’s ultimate pleasure with Agent Knight, it wouldn’t be sprawled over reams of copy paper and dusty boxes of file folders. “Hold that thought, but first you have a visitor.” She motioned to a lady in a black mourning dress, a thick veil modestly covering her face.

“You checked to make sure it wasn’t Sorcha Faal, right?” queried Deep, “I mean, killing her is fun, but right now I just don’t have the time.”

“No shape shifter DNA,” admitted Velna, “but something wasn’t quite right, so you may want to be careful.”

Deep sniffed his stale office’s stale air and detected a hint of an unique odor, a smell he hadn’t smelled for many years. Taking out his snub-nosed 38, Deep forgot for a moment about Velna’s more appealing 38-Ds and more about his own anatomical parts and their continuing safety. Walking quickly to where is visitor was waiting, he trust his pistol into the side of her head and tore back the veil, to reveal his worst nightmare and old nemesis, the Dove of Oneness!

“Long time, no seek and destroy,” Deep growled, “I had heard you were dead, but I see that report was premature. Then again, it’s nothing I can’t take care of right here and now.”

“You might want to kill me, and I can’t say I blame you, but wait until you hear what I have to tell you,” said Dove with a knowing smile that made Deep want to shoot her even more. But given the strange goings on, he was willing to wait a second or two for the satisfaction of blowing her brains all over his office wall. Motioning for her to raise her hands, Deep settled into his hard office chair to listen to her story.

[Deep Knight]

Murder on the San Clemente Express
Another Expletive Deleted Deep Knight Adventure!

Chapter 2 – All Aboard!

“Where should I start?” mused the once-again-alive Dove of Oneness, “It was a dark and stormy night …”

“Skip it,” spit out Deep Knight, “I worked that to death in the Prologue. Stick to the essential facts.”

“Like Elvis, I was tired of the fame, fortune, and lack of privacy, so I decided to disappear by faking my own death online. It got the IRS and those collection agencies off my ass too. But then I found out that the whole NESARA thing was a scam, a scam run by some not-as-nice-as-they-seemed people. You see, people let down their guard around you and start to blab once they think you’re dead.”

“Tell me something I didn’t know, sister. We in the NWO have shut down the announcement and prosperity packies so effectively only idiots or thieves who were also idiots would try and promote it now.”

“Yes, you’ve done it by ridiculing us, even writing stories about us where you put words and unsavory character’s private parts into our mouths! I should hate you for it, but in my old age I keep thinking back to the one time I felt what it was like to be a woman, and that was with you!”

Deep winced at the thought. He admitted that he had that one, or possibly two or five, indiscretions with Dove, but in his defense he was undercover, it was his job, he was drunk and on some very strong drugs, and he slipped. It had taken years of therapy and a series of injections to get over, and he still got the cold sweats whenever he heard the word “catheter.”

“Because that’s their plan, they want to ridicule you, and then kill you!” cried Dove, finally lowering her hands to use this expressively to convey a bit more drama. “Can’t you see that I love you and have come to warn you?”

“Great, but you forget they try and kill me almost every other chapter in these stories,” countered Deep, “So I’m always on my guard. Without some more information, a name, a date, or a provocative picture, this information is useless.”

“What if I told you this was being done by a foe so ruthless that he makes all your other nemesises look like idiots?”

“But they all are idiots.”

“Maybe so, but they’re not all Richard Nixon.”

Deep reacted like he had been slapped at the name of the Ex-Arch-President. “Sorry sister, but we don’t have Dick Nixon to kick around anymore. He died 18 years ago.”

“There’s dead, and then there’s dead,” said Dove, using vocal inflection impossible to relate in a written form, so I won’t even try. “Like Elvis and I he …”

“I don’t know what you’re trying to pull, first being alive, and second telling me that Nixon is still alive, at large, and considered dangerous, but it won’t work!” concluded Deep Knight, putting his gun away. “You see, while you may think you’re the most interesting character in the NESARA saga, focus group studies find characters like you are poison to a decent detective story.” Nodding to Velna, who pushed a button underneath her desk, he continued, “So, to nip this in the bud, I’m bringing in a ruthless editor!”

Bursting through the door carrying a big red pencil, the editor made quick work of Dove and she was never seen again on these pages. But the whole episode, or should I say chapter, left Deep Knight feeling apprehensive. For one, he wasn’t sure she-who-must-not-be-named wasn’t telling the truth, and for another, Nixon had been president so many years before he wasn’t sure if he had been part of the Dark Agenda or not. He decide that he had better be safer than sorrier, and pursue this lead, as strange as it sounded.

[LaVidaRoja]

Next Chapter Title:

"You've Got Dick Nixon To Kick Around Again!"

[Deep Knight]

You've Got Dick Around Again!
Another Suggestive Deep Knight Adventure!

Chapter 3 – A Kick to the Nixons

When Deep Knight asks around, he asks the people who know how get the word around, and what goes around comes around, so before the end of this first sentence he had his answer. Strange as it seemed, Elvis really was alive and living in Graceland, the one place nobody would think to look! Even stranger, Richard Nixon was also reported to be at least moving and breathing at a secure compound somewhere near Boca Pendejo Florida. Faking his own death had been easy. Nobody questioned the thin cover story, once again showing that you can’t go wrong giving the people what they want.

Like so many others in power, he had used it to procure the almost-impossible-to-find ingredients for an Elixir Vitae, the famed drink of eternal life. To this day nobody knows where he found the Chimera’s blood, but the large, canary diamond was looted from the Smithsonian and he was presented with the thousand-year-old egg on his trip to China. It had effectively made the aging process stand still, but it had the slight side effect of turning the user into an evil genius. He had surrounded himself with utterly-loyal mutant zombie servants and lab assistants he had grown himself in test tubes. It was rumored he spent his days inventing fiendish devices designed to allow him to one day rule the world! The New World Order had tried to recruit him, but he dreamed of a New Improved World Order, with him pulling the strings. The shadowy figures behind world domination aren’t guys who take rejection well, and when they were informed of Deep’s suspicions they enthusiastically approved him to not only proceed, but to use any literary device necessary to bring Dick Nixon down.

Having had enough trouble with boats and planes to last him a lifetime, Deep decided to take a train to Florida, the famed Orange Blossom Special. Filling a private car with champagne, special orange blossoms, and Southern belles, the trip was uneventful except for a humorous scene with a porter and tank filled with piranha fish. Rolling day and night, the train made record time and pulled into the Miami station a week later. Basking in the intense sunlight, Deep rented a Jeep and was soon headed for the heart of darkness, the Florida Coast.

Few casual visitors to Florida realize that most of the coast is a vast wilderness of shifting sand, a place littered with shipwrecks and ghosts. Only scattered, isolated spots are firm enough to allow habitable dwellings to be built, that is, if you didn’t mind being far from roads and other people. The perfect spot for a mad ex-president scientist who desires a little privacy to set up shop. Unfortunately, no one had yet to visit his lair and return alive, so its location was a bit vague. Deep’s plan was to travel aimlessly through the sandy wastes and investigate all the high-security castle-like hidden buildings surrounded by fences he came across. It was a good plan, but didn’t take into account the natural tendency of the residents of such places to shoot first and ask questions later.

Luckily for Deep, his navigation skills were terrible and he missed the easier tracks through this trackless waste by relying on directions from his GPS. As it was, the few habitable locations he happened across were manned by armed guards who had learned more about shooting from watching action movies than actual practice. The only bullets that hit his Jeep had missed him by a mile, harmlessly passing through the bottoms of his water jugs. But all the luck in the world won’t help you when your luck runs out, as it did in a particularly soft bed of singing sand. As he spun his wheels in a futile effort to free himself, Deep recognized the soothing strains of traditional Yuletide carols, as if to mock him.

On foot with no water, no food, and only rental agency maps and the stars to guide him, Deep traveled at night to beat the daytime heat. Or at least he did until he lay down and fell asleep. The next morning, with nothing but the circling of buzzards to guide him, he trudged on, one foot in front of another, realizing that if he fell he would never get back up. It was then he fell, and he didn’t get up. As he slowly faded into unconsciousness, for one mad moment he thought he saw a shadowy figure walking towards him, speaking with a heavy German accent into an endless echo chamber. Then, all was darkness.

[Burnaby49]

Not to break the flow of this fascinating adventure (I'm sure DK had dispatched Dove with the same efficiency he employed on Erasmus and Sorcha Faal, although both seem to be returning as often as Simpsons reruns) but to add to a comment I made on a prior post to this thread. To whit;

Seriously? You ever traveled Air Canada? Ever check their on-time and cancellation stats? If you fly here from DC you'll have to change planes in Toronto, the Bermuda Triangle of airports. Even brave men are wasted shells of their prior selves after that experience. I feel safer already!

I just flew to Spain through Frankfurt and it makes Toronto seem no more than spring training for airport hell. I touched down in Frankfurt two hours before the boarding time on my transfer flight and I just made the connection. Can you believe being bussed from my arrival aircraft to the airport terminal across active runways? That cost me a good chunk of my two hours due to the inconsiderate usage of the runways by aircraft taking off. I'm not going to punish myself by reliving my nightmarish memories of the Frankfurt passport check once I actually got to the teminal.

When I left Madrid coming home it was like a different world. I caught the airporter bus in downtown Madrid at 2:00 and was in the air by 3:30, they couldn't get me out of town fast enough! German efficiency is vastly overrated if Frankfurt is a valid basis for evaluating their operational abilities. So, if DK and his cohorts really decide to come after me, I'm moving to somewhere in Germany where the only practical flight to my new home is taking Lufthansa via Frankfurt. DK will arrive at my front door in an ambulance.