1. Sunday, June 15, 2003

    yesterday while the president was fishing i had to work 

    i have to work today too but i will get three comp days this week in return. which is good because last night i worked my ass off. almost literally.

    had to go to the lbc last night. signal hill, technically.

    they sent me because the two other times we went there the agents got terrible food poisoning.

    when i first started at the original agency they made me drink a new pepto bismol every day to make my stomach lining stronger. it actually made it weaker. i could barely eat anything. most of college i was 125 lbs and ate a lot of apple sauce and soup. so they transferred me to uc isla vista where possibly i would find something to give me the munchies.

    this time they were right.

    it was there that i discovered my incredible tolerance to drugs and alcohol, which was when the xbi became interested in me.

    when they found out i felt no pain was when they offered up the flying car.

    last night i expected to be poisoned in one way or another.

    its nothing you can prepare for because you dont want to have an empty stomach and you want them to know that you are being affected by the drug. a wince will do. but then youve got to get it together.

    my partner wore a diaper.

    they say that you should wear clean underwear because when you die, apparently people judge you depending on the cleanliness of your underwear.

    i couldnt care less about that, but i do know that i dont want to die wearing a diaper.

    ah vanity, you evil temptress.

    after we ate the undercooked chicken stuffed with magic mushrooms the suspects brought out a dusty old bottle of absinthe.

    lucky we’ve been practicing.

    the absinthe worked as a liquid plummer in the system. it cut a nice path for all the terrible foods to bypass being broken down and ended up right in the spleen where it reacted in a violent way. i didnt want to go to the bathroom because i didnt want them to think i was barfing it up. if you barf they give you stronger, quicker stuff. like bullets.

    my partner asked me to pull his finger and winked.

    i squirmed a little and felt the drugs rushing through my blood stream like fat kids on a water park slide.

    mind over matter

    get into a discussion about the bible. talk about talking. have a poetry reading contest. see if they have xbox. ask for a beer. go outside.

    right. go outside.

    go. outside.

    if you go outside they’ll think youre barfing, my partner esped me. and he was right.

    he was wearing a full diaper, but he was right. he lit up a camel light and winked at me again. gayboy.

    they had an outdoor lit basketball court and i invited them to a game of two on two.

    they smiled and accepted the challenge and my partner coughed and gave me a dirty look but hes new what does he know.

    i was all, you fellas have some shorts we can borrow, im all about a real game.

    they were all, oh sure, we want a real game too.

    the dude pointed upstairs and the chick stopped dancing and walked up the spiraling stair case and returned with two pairs of shorts and a selection of throwback nba jerseys. i took the old school dr j kentucky colonels jersey and congratulated them on their fine taste.

    i excused myself to the restroom, used the facilities, didnt flush, and changed into my uniform.

    they soon saw that i hadnt barfed up their poison and i apologized and flushed.

    my partner looked perfect in his seventy sixer barkley jersey, with that fat ass of his.

    i messed around and got a triple double.

    then we got our information and flew home.

    massimo + jason + get your oj