The Story!!!
Ok, here it is.. the whackiest story i've ever read.. I've spread it over 4 parts. Some of you will obviously have read this before as and when it was being written and hence, will know the pretexts from which some of the twists in the story come from. To those who dont, well, I'd have to mention 5 or 6 different blogs with 20 odd enteries to understand the whole thing, so we wont go there. This story was a spin-off of the original sis Abez graciously agreed to do for me, which is why she is the one who started this one. Oh and by the way, at the end of a paragraph or section, the name of the person who wrote that section is written so everyone gets proper credit!
The Saga Continues
"The well-dressed man with the dark moustache cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “Ahem,” he said in perfect Oxford Compulsory, “Agent Usman, are you listening to me?”
Secret Agent Usman, who had been pushing an eraser around his desk and making vroom vroom noises, looked up and quickly said, “Of course chief, inasmuch as which, current situation notwithstanding and all that, wherein that, etcetera etcetera-“
The supervisor sighed and redirected his laser pointer to the diagram on the wall. “Current events notwithstanding, Agent Usman, your attention is needed. You only have one chance to prove yourself, and if you fail, you will be jailed for life as reprobate ice-cream thief.”
Usman sat up eagerly at the mention of ice cream. Ah yes, he remembered now, he had finally been caught and convicted as an ice cream thief, but the M-16, on recommendation of Agent Shadanov Killalotski (currently on religious leave), had given Usman the chance to redeem himself and turn his nefarious skills to good by becoming an agent himself.
So far things hadn’t been going very well. His plush office had been sealed, his limousine confiscated, and on top of that, his secretary, Ms.Sahar, had died. (again) He had been promised a souped-up,secret-agent-mobile, but so far he had seen nothing but an angry supervisor and a cute pink erasor, which looked reasonably like a mini cooper. Therefore, vroom vroom.
Usman parked the eraser and turned to face the supervisor, squaring his shoulders and doing his best to seem interested, competent, and not hungry. “Correct if I’m wrong chief…” Usman began, “But you said I would be given the opportunity to prove myself, and you said I would be given all the tools necessary to do so. So far you have given me nothing, not even a decent mission briefing.”
“Very well then,” the supervisor said, pointing to the diagram in front of him. “ Your mission, should you choose to accept, is…” (Abez)
"Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to infiltrate the Secret Society of Girlie Men. Your guise will be that of," and here his supervisor twittered slightly, "Leonoardo DeCaprio."
Upon hearing these words Agent Usman let out a horrible scream and began to gnash his teeth and try to pull at his well-gheeed hair.
He calmed himself and struggled with his response. "But sir..." (Aniraz)
"No Buts Agent Usman... We've given you your new identity as Mr. DeCaprio and you have a man already working on the inside. He goes by the name of Timberlake, Justin Timberlake..."
Agent Usman without thinking (which he often did) blurted out, "but how can this man have the same first name and the same surname??"
The Supervisor sighed at the uselessness of the situation and decided Agent Usman had to be...." (Usman)
...rubbed out!" the Supervisor thought, and then chided himself for wishful thinking. He cleared his throat and went back to business. "There is no way around it Agent Usman. You are now the girly-man De Caprio, an up and coming fop in the illegal and insidious world of FOPS."
"FOPS?" Usman asked, "What does FOPS stand for?"
"Fruity Operations (for)(Re-) Programming Society. They're a secret league of girly-men who infiltrate positions of power and influence in the hopes of changing society's perceptions of masculinity, and by doing so, they hope to get out of doing all their time-honored chores, like taking out the trash, brinding home the bacon, and squashing spiders."
"Oh boy..." Usman muttered, himself a rather manly-man, though he had been unsuccessful in the past when it came to squashing spiders. There was this one incident with a high-heel...
"Mr. De Caprio," the supervisor said, "Here are your tools. This expensive man-lipstick is not what it seems, it's actually a high-powered laser. Use it with caution."
"And this scary-looking black tube?" Usman asked.
"Ah, this," the supervisor said, "Contains a chemical compound to enhance your sight. It won't give you X-ray vision (we're out of that stuff) but you will develop the nightvision of a cat."
"How do I use it?"
"Oh, there's a mascara wand inside, but on to the next item..." (Abez)
"Oh, there's a mascara wand inside, but on to the next item," the Supervisor said, "Though I think that Secret Agent X-caliber might be better at explaining it."
"Secret Agent X-caliber?" Usman echoed a little nervously. The name sounded somewhat intimidating.
“Yes,” a voice said from a shadow in a corner of the briefing room, “Secret Agent X, X-caliber.”
“Aaak!” Usman said, jumping vertically out of his chair, “How did you get in here?”
Secret Agent X stepped out of the shadows and shrugged, “Through the door. I’ve been waiting for my cue for at least half an hour. I’m starved, hey Super, where are the doughnuts?”
“Wait,” Usman said, “I’ve seen you before. Walking alone through the Swiss Alps, munching Toblerone and wearing leiderhosen in a distinctly girly way…”
“Yes, I was on my way to a secret conference of FOPS.”
“You’re undercover as Justin ‘Shiver-me-Timbers’ Lake!” Usman exclaimed, and then looking down to Agent X’s feet said, “Wow man, those high-heels really don’t go with your suit.”
“I know,” Agent X shrugged, “But they’re not ordinary high-heels. They’re deadly Pakistani Throwing-Shoes, one swift throw to the side of the head will instantly immobilize a man up to 6-feet, 200 pounds. Anyone bigger or heavier than that will just be stunned will feelings of shame and inadequacy. Here’s your pair.”
Usman took one of the throwing shoes and gave it a casual toss. Instantly he was jerked down to the floor by an angry-looking Agent-X who muttered un-nice things at Usman while the throwing shoe whizzed lethally around the room above their heads. Suddenly there was a loud thump and the whizzing ceased. “Not again,” Agent X muttered…
Usman stood up and looked towards the Supervisor was standing, or rather, where he HAD been standing before the deadly throwing shoe had caught him squarely between the eyes. “Oh my God!” Usman squeaked, “Did I kill him?”
“No,” Agent X said mournfully, “He’s one centimeter over the six-foot mark, and using my secret spy-sense to locate the whereabouts of the doughnuts that are supposed to be at every briefing, I’d say he’s over the 200 pound mark too. He’ll wake up feeling really shoddy though, and he’ll phone him mummy straightaway to apologize.”
“Apologize for what?”
“He won’t really know. It’s a side-effect of being hit with the shoe. Let’s get out of here before he wakes up. Come on, I’ll take you to the spy-mobile.” (Abez)
Ok, here it is.. the whackiest story i've ever read.. I've spread it over 4 parts. Some of you will obviously have read this before as and when it was being written and hence, will know the pretexts from which some of the twists in the story come from. To those who dont, well, I'd have to mention 5 or 6 different blogs with 20 odd enteries to understand the whole thing, so we wont go there. This story was a spin-off of the original sis Abez graciously agreed to do for me, which is why she is the one who started this one. Oh and by the way, at the end of a paragraph or section, the name of the person who wrote that section is written so everyone gets proper credit!
The Saga Continues
"The well-dressed man with the dark moustache cleared his throat and adjusted his tie. “Ahem,” he said in perfect Oxford Compulsory, “Agent Usman, are you listening to me?”
Secret Agent Usman, who had been pushing an eraser around his desk and making vroom vroom noises, looked up and quickly said, “Of course chief, inasmuch as which, current situation notwithstanding and all that, wherein that, etcetera etcetera-“
The supervisor sighed and redirected his laser pointer to the diagram on the wall. “Current events notwithstanding, Agent Usman, your attention is needed. You only have one chance to prove yourself, and if you fail, you will be jailed for life as reprobate ice-cream thief.”
Usman sat up eagerly at the mention of ice cream. Ah yes, he remembered now, he had finally been caught and convicted as an ice cream thief, but the M-16, on recommendation of Agent Shadanov Killalotski (currently on religious leave), had given Usman the chance to redeem himself and turn his nefarious skills to good by becoming an agent himself.
So far things hadn’t been going very well. His plush office had been sealed, his limousine confiscated, and on top of that, his secretary, Ms.Sahar, had died. (again) He had been promised a souped-up,secret-agent-mobile, but so far he had seen nothing but an angry supervisor and a cute pink erasor, which looked reasonably like a mini cooper. Therefore, vroom vroom.
Usman parked the eraser and turned to face the supervisor, squaring his shoulders and doing his best to seem interested, competent, and not hungry. “Correct if I’m wrong chief…” Usman began, “But you said I would be given the opportunity to prove myself, and you said I would be given all the tools necessary to do so. So far you have given me nothing, not even a decent mission briefing.”
“Very well then,” the supervisor said, pointing to the diagram in front of him. “ Your mission, should you choose to accept, is…” (Abez)
"Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to infiltrate the Secret Society of Girlie Men. Your guise will be that of," and here his supervisor twittered slightly, "Leonoardo DeCaprio."
Upon hearing these words Agent Usman let out a horrible scream and began to gnash his teeth and try to pull at his well-gheeed hair.
He calmed himself and struggled with his response. "But sir..." (Aniraz)
"No Buts Agent Usman... We've given you your new identity as Mr. DeCaprio and you have a man already working on the inside. He goes by the name of Timberlake, Justin Timberlake..."
Agent Usman without thinking (which he often did) blurted out, "but how can this man have the same first name and the same surname??"
The Supervisor sighed at the uselessness of the situation and decided Agent Usman had to be...." (Usman)
...rubbed out!" the Supervisor thought, and then chided himself for wishful thinking. He cleared his throat and went back to business. "There is no way around it Agent Usman. You are now the girly-man De Caprio, an up and coming fop in the illegal and insidious world of FOPS."
"FOPS?" Usman asked, "What does FOPS stand for?"
"Fruity Operations (for)(Re-) Programming Society. They're a secret league of girly-men who infiltrate positions of power and influence in the hopes of changing society's perceptions of masculinity, and by doing so, they hope to get out of doing all their time-honored chores, like taking out the trash, brinding home the bacon, and squashing spiders."
"Oh boy..." Usman muttered, himself a rather manly-man, though he had been unsuccessful in the past when it came to squashing spiders. There was this one incident with a high-heel...
"Mr. De Caprio," the supervisor said, "Here are your tools. This expensive man-lipstick is not what it seems, it's actually a high-powered laser. Use it with caution."
"And this scary-looking black tube?" Usman asked.
"Ah, this," the supervisor said, "Contains a chemical compound to enhance your sight. It won't give you X-ray vision (we're out of that stuff) but you will develop the nightvision of a cat."
"How do I use it?"
"Oh, there's a mascara wand inside, but on to the next item..." (Abez)
"Oh, there's a mascara wand inside, but on to the next item," the Supervisor said, "Though I think that Secret Agent X-caliber might be better at explaining it."
"Secret Agent X-caliber?" Usman echoed a little nervously. The name sounded somewhat intimidating.
“Yes,” a voice said from a shadow in a corner of the briefing room, “Secret Agent X, X-caliber.”
“Aaak!” Usman said, jumping vertically out of his chair, “How did you get in here?”
Secret Agent X stepped out of the shadows and shrugged, “Through the door. I’ve been waiting for my cue for at least half an hour. I’m starved, hey Super, where are the doughnuts?”
“Wait,” Usman said, “I’ve seen you before. Walking alone through the Swiss Alps, munching Toblerone and wearing leiderhosen in a distinctly girly way…”
“Yes, I was on my way to a secret conference of FOPS.”
“You’re undercover as Justin ‘Shiver-me-Timbers’ Lake!” Usman exclaimed, and then looking down to Agent X’s feet said, “Wow man, those high-heels really don’t go with your suit.”
“I know,” Agent X shrugged, “But they’re not ordinary high-heels. They’re deadly Pakistani Throwing-Shoes, one swift throw to the side of the head will instantly immobilize a man up to 6-feet, 200 pounds. Anyone bigger or heavier than that will just be stunned will feelings of shame and inadequacy. Here’s your pair.”
Usman took one of the throwing shoes and gave it a casual toss. Instantly he was jerked down to the floor by an angry-looking Agent-X who muttered un-nice things at Usman while the throwing shoe whizzed lethally around the room above their heads. Suddenly there was a loud thump and the whizzing ceased. “Not again,” Agent X muttered…
Usman stood up and looked towards the Supervisor was standing, or rather, where he HAD been standing before the deadly throwing shoe had caught him squarely between the eyes. “Oh my God!” Usman squeaked, “Did I kill him?”
“No,” Agent X said mournfully, “He’s one centimeter over the six-foot mark, and using my secret spy-sense to locate the whereabouts of the doughnuts that are supposed to be at every briefing, I’d say he’s over the 200 pound mark too. He’ll wake up feeling really shoddy though, and he’ll phone him mummy straightaway to apologize.”
“Apologize for what?”
“He won’t really know. It’s a side-effect of being hit with the shoe. Let’s get out of here before he wakes up. Come on, I’ll take you to the spy-mobile.” (Abez)
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