The Generalissimo

Here I thought it wasn't going to get any better than Jamaica, but I have to say that sunny Los Angeles is changing my mind. I think the girl at the temp agency may just like me. I've been sent here to work with the "Shadow Company", who I originally thought might be purveyors of large, shade-giving trees. That, or an all-black educational TV show spin-off of The Electric Company. Turns out the Shadow Company traffics smack and kills people, but hey, I was close.

It's Christmas time, and I must say I'm feeling a bit homesick right now, especially after seeing that coked-up, naked girl jump off a skyscraper and plunge to her death, her bones pulverized by the impact with some poor sucker's car. I mean, jeez, do they even have an insurance policy to cover that? Later on I discovered that the car was actually my rental, so after extricating my luggage with the Jaws of Life, I took the bus to meet up with Shadow Company.


My first meeting with "The Generalissimo" went extremely well. First, I don't have to worry about getting another rental car, as the Company always uses attack-helicopters to get around. With L.A. traffic, I can't tell you what a plus this is. (That first night I borrowed the chopper to pick up a six-pack and some scratch tickets at the 7-11, and even though I accidentally chain-gunned the Slushie machine and fired a micro-missile pod at a tied-up cocker spaniel, I think the goth-girl working the counter was pretty impressed. When she digs herself out of the rubble I'm totally going to ask her out.) Second, the only adversaries we have to worry about are a couple of mismatched buddy cops, one of whom is suicidal and has a mullet and the other who may or may not be getting too old for this shit. Third, the Generalissimo has all his limbs, so I avoided any faux pas that might have plagued me on my last job.

The only downside is the Generalissimo's enforcer, Mr. Joshua. Holy craparoni, he's not just the Crazy Club President, he's also a member. He's so unhinged that if a movie was made about his life, he could only be played by Gary Busey. To make matters worse, I think I got on his bad side when I went to open what I thought was the refrigerator, and it turned out to be one of his gigantic teeth.

Mr. Joshua also set a horrid example for lackeys everywhere by burning his own arm to prove his loyalty. I hate to do it, but I'm reporting Joshua to the agency. If you want to prove your faithfulness you burn someone else, or just get your boss tickets to Nugent.

Soon we're off in one of the attack-choppers, and Mr. Joshua shoots a guy in the back while he's drinking a carton of egg nog. Fair to say, egg nog was a bad choice. Perhaps it would have gone better for him if he'd been guzzling liquid Kevlar out of a carton of titanium. Plus, he would have had to have been facing the other way. Regardless, it turns out he was the naked cokehead girl's Dad, so it's a pretty bad week for that family. Riggs (mullet-cop) takes a few shots at us as we fly away, but I'm too confused about our plan to pay much notice.

Before I know it we've nabbed one of the cop's daughters for some reason. Our shipments have been compromised and now we actually want to kidnap the cops, which seems like it could be counter-productive. Shouldn't we be avoiding the police? Frankly, I'm totally lost as to what we're trying to accomplish here, and my bafflement is compounded by the fact that these pseudo-military outfits tend to communicate only via walkie-talkie/death squad-style chatter. I try to pry a little when we lure the cops into a trap using the girl as bait:

(via walkie talkie:)

Mr. Joshua: Target is at killpoint. Proceed with attack posture alpha.

Chip (another minion): Copy that. Note eight mile an hour southwest crosswind.

Mr. Joshua: Roger. Pull it in tighter on the left flank. Watch your vectors.

Me: Breaker, breaker. Flamin' Hog, this is Screamin' Toad, come back, over.

Mr. Joshua: What the- who is this?

Me: Smokey bear is reachin' into the honey pot, big daddy, and we're halfway home to Texarcana, figuratively speaking, I suppose. By the way, what the hell are we doing? We're actually trying to kidnap a couple of cops? It doesn't seem like that's all that good of an-

Mr. Joshua: Get off the damn line! Clear this line, goddamn it, or I'll-

Me: I'm sorry, did you receive my earlier transmission? You didn't say "roger" or "copy" or any other CB-style jibberish. Let's keep it professional, people, or I'll have to tell Mr. Joshua.

Mr. Joshua: This is Joshua. Now identify yourself so I can snipe your dumb ass!

Me: Uh... this is Chip.

Chip: Wha- (sound of gunshot)


After we captured the two cops, it was time for beatings and electrocutions (note to self: good name for an album if we ever get our all-temp-minion band together). Our torture man is Chinese (!), and Mr. Joshua says he's forgotten more about dispensing pain than you or I will ever know. I laughed when he called him a pain dispenser, it made me think of Pez. Mr. Joshua was not amused. Still, Endo was more than a little impressed when I showed him how to electrocute a pork roast to tender perfection in only three minutes.

"I've forgotten more about electrocuting a delicious meal than you'll ever know, Endo." He responded by showing me his respect and admiration the only way he knew how: by electrocuting me. When I regained consciousness, the cops had escaped, Endo was dead and my roast pork dinner party plans were in shambles.


When I finally caught up with Mr. Joshua, he and Riggs were in a fistfight on the lawn surrounded by about a dozen policemen just standing around. I didn't want to give them any ideas, but eventually my curiosity got the better of me. "Shouldn't you be, you know, arresting Mr. Joshua or something?"

The officer next to me muttered, "Ordinarily, but this is payback."

"Then shouldn't you all be beating him instead of having it be a fair fight?"

He gave me a shocked sidelong glance. "Ordinarily, but he's white."

Mr. Joshua eventually had the crazy beaten out of him and it was all over (I forgot to mention that The Generalissimo was blown up by a grenade earlier. Seems kinda important with him being the title of the post and everything. My bad). The L.A. cops let me go once they checked my I.D. and confirmed I wasn't famous, and I wearily staggered off to the airport to receive my new assignment. Perhaps I too was getting too old for this shit.

The only bright spot was I got to keep one of Mr. Joshua's teeth as a souvenir. I had to check it at the gate as it wouldn't fit in the overhead compartment.

Doctor "N"

So I took the temp job, and boy am I glad I did. I'm now blogging from sunny Jamaica! Turns out there's a Physician on the island that needed some help in a nuculer reactor. Or is is nucluer? Nerculer? Regardless, I totally b.s.'ed my way through the interview process with the temp agency and they think I'm some sort of expert. Yea, mon!

My new boss is someone I'll call "Doctor N". Blogs can be used as grounds for termination, so whenever I talk about my employers I'll be giving them pseudonyms.

The Doctor is prety eccentric. He spent a million bucks on a fish tank and he enjoys wearing a water-cooler on his head.

Oh, and here's the really wild part: he has no hands! He's pretty sensitive about it, so when I was first introduced to him I tried to be as Politically Correct as I could. Luckily his Lieutenant, Professor Dent was there to help me over the rough spots:

Me: Doctor, I think it's just great that you've built this huge island lair, especially with you being crippled-

Professor Dent: (Clears throat)

Me: Ah... pardon me. Crippled-American.

Dent: (Clears throat louder)

Me: No, that's not right. Differently something? Differently... differently crippled?

Dent: (Clears throat and begins loud coughing spasm)

Me: Er. How about just handicapped? Ew, shouldn't mention hands. Damn. Hand-challenged? No, hands again. Otherly-abled? digit-deficient? Stump-a-riffic?

Dent: (Pounds on the floor and violently shakes head from side to side)

Me: Anyhoo, thanks for hiring me, Doctor. I'll go familiarize myself with the neckular reactor while you turn around, stare out of your undersea window and sob quietly. I won't wave goodbye, I don't want to draw attention to your... well, you know. Or maybe you don't. I was going to say hands, or lack thereof.


Later, I asked one of the other lab boys why the Doctor was so sensitive about being a horrifically disfigured freak. His answer was cryptic, as we were wearing those plastic hood things and I couldn't hear a word he said. Later in the break-room I asked him again. He replied, "Once, the Doctor received a fortune cookie. The message inside read: 'YOUR GREATEST WEAKNESS WILL BE YOUR UNDOING'."

"Wow, that's-"

"And on the other side it continued, '-WHEN JAMES BOND INVADES YOUR ISLAND LAIR AND LOWERS YOU INTO SOME WATER AND YOU CAN'T CLIMB OUT BECAUSE OF YOUR METAL HANDS'."

"-IN BED!!!" I added, laughing. "Pretty impressive fortune telling. Those Chinese are so clever. They're like clever little bugs, really. Clever, slimy, commie bugs."

"Doctor N is half-Chinese."

"Ah... well, hey, that's cool..."

"And I'm Chinese," he added. "And everyone working here is Chinese."

I noticed that everyone in the break room was now staring at me. The moment stretched out, the silence growing unbearable until I yelled, "IN BED!!!"


The next morning I was recuperating on the beach, nursing my wounds from the little hazing incident in the break room, when a vision of loveliness rose from the sea. At first I thought it was Hally Berry, but then I saw she had a speck of acting ability. Her name was Honey Wilder, and the moment I saw her I fell deeply in love. Her hair... her eyes... her lips... all these things threatened to distract me from her breasts, and failed. Then right as I was going to make my move, some sweaty English guy pulls up in a boat and acts like he's got a license to cockblock.

I needled him, "So you're English, huh? Then why are you speaking with a Scottish accent? What are you, some kind of spy?" He got this weird, panicked look on his face for some reason, then we both settled down and found common ground by staring at Honey's breasts.

After a couple of hours of this I gave them directions to Doctor N's lair (James said he needed a bathroom) and sent them both on their way. Later, in a completely unrelated incident, the island blew up.

I floated away on some driftwood- using a pair of scavenged, shattered, metal hands as paddles- and made my way to the mainland.


P.S. There was a dragon, too! Or so I thought at first glance, but then after .00000001 seconds I realized it was actually a tank with a flamethrower. Still cool, though.

Still Looking for Work

Unemployed now for three months. This being the summertime I can't complain overmuch, but the ol' wallet's looking a bit thin. I've got two prospects: one with a temp agency working mainly with evil masterminds, the other with Microsoft. They're totally different jobs in that the temp position looks to be more temporary.

I think I'll sleep on it.