Go fly a kite!

Go fly a kite!

Skedaddle! Skoot! Just let us NSA take care of those pesky terrorists. Nothing to see here. We are professionals. It says so on our badges. Now, beat it.

Or so the Pentagon officers told us when we tried to scale the building, We just wanted to see if we could do it - no harm intended. WHATEVER. We tried a smaller target instead -

the garden fence of 192, Beulah Avenue. We put our Pentagon experience to good use & used grappling hooks before enabling the suction pads on our knees. However, Donald McGraw of

Potinski, Kansas was not a part of anything worth paying attention to which is the exact reason we will not think about Donald McGraw. Now, David McGee, that was an interesting

side quest but we were more interested in side chicks, the more the merrier. Or so we thought. When McGee delivered a bakers dozen of side chicks who thought they were at a funeral

to their next roleplaying session, the situation went downhill. The side chicks, now in a basement of neckbeards, began to suspect that they hadn't been brought here for a funeral.

Sure, there was flowers and food, but no corpse that the side chicks could see. Only a long aisle, at the end of which the neckbeards stood, beaming, next to a preacher. Their

Squawking was so loud, it could only mean they needed food, right now. The preacher gasped for air as they descended on him. The side chicks squawked even louder. The noise police

retreated, hands over their ears, running for their lives, while Alfred Hitchcock's ghost laughed & laughed, until there was nothing left of the preacher except his golden cross.