A satire of dysfunctional government and economic inequality.
Chapter II: Day/Page 17 CONTINUED FROM YESTERDAY. . . . He catches his breath, then continues. “Besides, we’re guessing it will take about a week to complete the reset itself, after landing on the planet, which doesn’t leave us much time before the wormhole closes, in case something was to go wrong. Which it won’t!” he adds forcefully, in case any of the dolts at the table thought otherwise. “But we can’t control every variable. Stuff happens in war, we all know that. Doesn’t matter whether you plan or you don’t. So planning is a waste of time. That’s just how it is. Besides, this blue-balled planet, or whatever you call it, seems pretty screwed up already if they’ve set off thousands of nuclear bombs, so who knows what other kind of pecker-headed thing these wing-nuts might do to make our job harder. So two months. That’s it! After that, we’re swooping in.”
“And it’s been a long time since we’ve done one,” chirps in a little needle-beaked Hawk sitting next to the Admiral, who appears startled by his own comment, as if the words had incontinently squirted out of his needle-beak without him expecting it.
“What?” says the Admiral, caught off-guard. “Oh… yes… long time, right. Thank you, Lieutenant. It’s been a long time since we’ve done a reset. So more time would be better, that’s true. But… but two months should be ok. Two months will be ok!” he states emphatically.
The Admiral wanted to make damn certain that there were no doubts about either his capabilities, or his team’s, in the minds of these “spud-lickers,” just one of the many colorful euphemisms the Admiral used regularly when referring to anyone outside the military chain of command. Other favorites of his included mouse-wipes and pud-pullers, which we heard him use earlier, as well as limp-cocks, chicken-dicks, rat-reamers, squirrel-bangers, goose-gangers, pigeon-packers, and frog-fellators, just to name a few.
The Admiral also had a canny knack for mixing and matching these euphemisms into innovative, ever-changing combinations, such as “limp-cocked-pigeon-packers,” which pretty much referred to everyone in government; while those in academia were more commonly called “squirrel-banging-mouse-wipes.” Everyone else not in the military chain of command was simply a “frog-fellating-spud-licker,” or some flavorful variation thereof.
The meeting goes on for another hour, with the various department heads discussing logistics, contingencies, roles of responsibility, and so forth, until the Minister wraps things up. “It’s settled then,” he says. “The Academy’s researchers will go as soon as you’re all ready. And the Admiral’s Hawks will swoop in for the reset in two months. Please put together the detailed plans for me so I can send them to the LSP—let’s say… one week from today.”
END OF CHAPTER II. TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER III TOMORROW. . . .
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Gregory James
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