Sorry, but the plans to invade Canada are on hold (Part 3)
September 30, 2010 11 Comments
Cleverly continuing the facade of the ignorant American I continued my trek deeper into the dark, chilling heart of the Enemy’s territory, the evil and intimidating Canada. Weapons concealed about my body and with all military demarcation removed from my person (and I do have to say, getting that full back piece removed that said “I LOVE ‘MERICA AND HATE HOCKEY” was a tad painful… but necessary) I continued acting not as if I was surrounded by rabid packs of violent and blood-thirsty Northerners but by loving, kind-hearted persons of no ill-repute. It was difficult, but due to my lengthy training, which involved watching back-to-back episodes of SCTV and all of John Candy’s movie back catalog, I held my own against the psychological onslaught and not a drop of sweat beaded my brow.
I was Zen, and Zen was ME baby.
We boarded what they so lovingly called a “commuter train” so that we could travel to where my guide supposedly lived, which I had pictured for years as being reminiscent of a Siberian concentration camp with a maple leaf motif, and oddly enough the trip was uneventful, as I expected to be waylaid AT LEAST ONCE by the roaming bands of Cossacks I had been briefed about. No, there was no action at ALL on the trip, which honestly began sewing the seeds of suspicion in my already paranoid mind. Why was everyone, and I mean literally EVERYONE, being so friggin accommodating to me and my undercover operation? Were they just naturally this way as some kind of national PR campaign to disarm the world with their niceness, or…. or….
DID THEY ALL KNOW WHO AND WHAT I WAS?!?!?!?!
-After several deep breaths and checking my facebook status on the free wifi that they had on the train (convenient!), I was back in character and ready for the second part of my mission to execute: Operation “See If She Lives In A Cave, Or An Actual House, And If It IS A Cave Does It Have, Like, Trained Komodo Dragons Guarding The Entrance?.”
I mean, that would be kinda cool.
The train pulled to a stop at our station, and lo and behold… no armed guards were waiting for us! My suspicions were alleviated somewhat, and the cab ride to our end destination was actually quite nice and close, believe it or not, so upon arrival to her abode (a lovely little two story cottage) I was led to what I believed was going to be the front door.
It was a SIDE door that apparently led to the basement.
Bad things happen in the basement.
Torture for information that involves a full grown goat and electric nipple clamps happen in basements.
I now knew that I had been discovered, and reached my hand inside my haversack to release the pin off of the grenade that I had concealed as a can of Hormel chili (WITH beans, not without) as I was not going to go down easily and not without taking at least one of their nefarious agents with me…
-Which about this time Chandler, the fucking TIGER that this woman kept as a pet, decided to reveal itself to me. And it purred. And I had a thought: who in their right minds would have a cat / young LIGER in a torture chamber?I pushed the pin back into my chili grenade and proceeded down the steps, into the very LIVING SPACE of that which I had been trained to loathe lived, ate, and potentially pooped. At least I THINK that Canadians poop; it is well-documented that they have an entirely different digestive track than us Americans and could potentially excrete solid waste from a different part of their bodies.
-Yet another mystery to be solved, but now was not the time for SCIENCE / BOOORING, it was the time for ACTION / AWESOMESAUCE!
I descended the stairwell as my contact led the way. I asked if the term “pet”, when translated from Canadian to American English, meant “royal steed one could ride while chanting Canadian battle hymns”, but she just brushed it off. The lights came on and revealed… A tidy little bachelorette pad that looked cozy as hell, with a TV that, if positioned properly, would allow the alien organisms of Rylek 3 the pleasure of watching as many “I Dream of Genie” reruns as their little 8-valve hearts and boneless forms could digest. I mean dude, it was a pretty big ass TV for a chick to have. Aren’t there international laws that prevent the sale of any television over the size of 32″ to a female unless written permission from their dude is provided?
All in all it was really a nice place, and she made me feel right at home. We went to the market, picked up some crap that was I was told was going to transform into food at some later date (which it did), and had a nice quiet night.
Quite pleasant actually.
STAY TUNED, DEAR READERS, AS I REVEAL THE LAST MAJOR EVENT TO OCCUR IN MY FATEFUL TRIP, THE PARTY IN LONDON! I WILL ALSO REVEAL THE FATE OF THE IPHONE THAT WAS STOLEN FROM MY PERSON MID-MISSON, WHICH CONTAINED SOME REALLY SENSITIVE INFORMATION ON IT THAT COULD HAVE BLOWN MY COVER!!!!
(Note: I didn’t get to the iPhone in this long-winded tale yet, but it is coming…)