Agent 54 is a regular guy. He has a sense of humor and an active imagination. Agent 54 works for the Nominal Secrets Apparatus (NSA) under the DORD (Department of Redundancy Department) as a Listener/Reader. His job is to read, view or listen to data collected by the NSA and determine if there is a risk to national security. Agent 54 reports to his bosses, H. Cuffs and Max (Agent 86). He doesn’t take his job too seriously because he knows he’s spying on regular people most of the time.
I was walking down the path in the park
behind my apartment, minding my own business, when I felt a sting. It was a Red Army Ant. I slapped him dead and the little bastard was
still there on my leg, biting me despite being all kinds of dead. What cajones on this little creep.
I got mad as hell. Not just at the one little jerk, at the whole
species. They should have taught that
one more manners than to bite me for no reason.
Now, they all have to pay. Hoo hoo ha ha ha hoo hoo (scary laughter)
Commodore Agent 54
I immediately commissioned myself the Commodore
of the Arizona Ant Naval Academy (AANA).
Our one and only mission, to teach as many Ants to swim as possible. This task would be hard but, sometimes, I’m a
I would teach the Red Army Ants to swim the
old Pennsylvania Dutch way. The Pennsylvania
Dutch will take their young men fishing.
A father and an uncle or two will row the boat out to the middle of the
lake or pond where they throw the young man into the water and row back to
shore. The youth learns to swim most of
The Red Army Ant’s nest are easy to
find. They eat everything around it and
when you drop something on the hole, they attack with the tenacity of tiny
wolverines. I used my trash grabber
stick ($19.97 at Home Depot) to put wet pinecones from the pond on those ant
holes. The water seeps in and within
seconds every ant gets the message “we’re under attack!”. They swarm the cone and when it’s completely
covered with ants, I grab it with the stick and toss it into the canal or
pond. Some ants bail as the cone is
airborne but, most stay until “Ker plunk!” into the drink.
This is the point where the Red Army Ants are
most severely tested and where they always fail. Yes, they try.
They flail their legs and antennae and whatever else they have but, it
is useless. They don’t know what the
heck they’re doing. They can’t
coordinate their movements to get themselves headed in any direction even if
they could figure out what direction they wanted to go. The ants can’t follow instructions in English
at all. They just don’t listen!
So the Red Army Ants float on downstream at
the surface or slightly under it until the fish come. The ants that have the most energy often
become the first to be fish food. Blue
Gills, small Trout and tiny young Bass begin to feast.
my head and go get some more ants hoping one day one lousy ant will swim to
shore and give me a wink. Hoo hoo ha ha ha hoo hoo (scary laughter).
For it is only then, when I can show the
world that I Commodore Agent 54 have taught a Red Army Ant to swim, making me a
celebrity amongst men and landing me on the Curvy Couch of the Fox &
Friends show, only then will the Red Army Ants have redeemed themselves. Then, I can retire as Commodore and finally go
back to my normal life. Hoo hoo ha ha ha hoo hoo (scary laughter). The One That Got Away
years ago when my kids were still in high school I didn’t know squat about the
internet. Today my daughter Nicole
reminded me that I once gave her an assignment to do a report totally from the
internet on Porcupines to prove that the internet was really useful.
Of course she blew me off and I never got the
report. However, since then I’ve gotten
5 or 6 different jobs and started a blog and joined Facebook and Twitter and
have become a social media junkie, all using the Internet like a madman. “Okay Nicole, the internet is useful”.
So, now I have to do the report myself and
post it to my Blog to prove that I am still useful and relevant to my
daughter. Fine! Here it is:
July 17 (Xinhua) -- The Toronto 2015 Pan American/Parapan Am Games' new mascot,
a colorful and prickly porcupine designed by four young Chinese and Japanese
students, was unveiled Wednesday in the Canadian city of Toronto.
porcupine, who made his public debut in front of over a thousand children at
the unveiling, was the final winner chosen out of a slew of mascots sent in by
young designers across the country to represent the Pan Am Games, the world's
third largest international multi-sport Games.
I don’t know why but, people all over the
world love Porcupines (pronounced Porkypines)
I like their funny name and strangely they make me hungry but, other
than that I think they are just rats with spikes.
Wikipedia says: Porcupines are rodents with a coat of sharp spines, or quills. See, I told you so. Porkypines eat salads and climb trees to find
food. (Don’t we all?).
Here’s the most interesting fact about
Porkypines that nobody knows. This may
change your perception of the lovable rodent so read with caution: Wikipedia: A male porcupine urinates on a female
porcupine prior to mating, spraying the urine at high velocity. Yeah, you asked for it. Take that!
I can hear you all going eeewww gross! Don’t you just want to hug one now.
My favorite Porkypine factoid is,
Wikipedia: Porcupines have become a pest in Kenya and are eaten as a delicacy. Yeah, I knew it! Porkypine stew, uummm uumm good. Wait, does that mean I have Kenyan blood in
sure some of you knew this one, Wikipedia: A
regional American name for the animal is quill pig. Duh!
It has quills and smells like a pig.
So Nicole, there you are. I just proved that if you want something done
right you have to do it yourself. Maybe
if this blog takes off I can come to Boston and take you out for a Red Sox game
and a Porkypine burger. That would be
Imitating Porkypine mating rituals can be rude and hazardous to your social
(7/5/2013) Agent 54 was at work thinking about comedy when I
remembered that I came up with a funny modification to an existing slogan for
something. That's all I can remember
about it right now. I have so many
comedy ideas buzzing around my shiny head that I don't know which one to write
Anyway, It suddenly came to me. I’ll send one
of the voices in my head to look for the slogan that I thought up on
Wednesday. At least it will keep the
voice busy for a while and maybe it will come up with the data. Then I remembered, I forgot to name that
voice or give it a security code. Now,
how do I know if I’m receiving the correct data from the right voice or if one
of the other voices is pranking me?
it’s not the voice that stutters. That
one is so annoying. It’s like
Ti,,Ti,,,Ti,,, Hey! Write down
already! (apologies to Dave Attell)
I’m starting to worry, as any parent would, about the voice that I sent
looking for that lost comedy idea I had.
I’ve heard nothing so far. Where
could the voice be? There are so many
deep dark and depraved crevasses in my mind where a poor little whisper of a
voice could be jumped by a thug of a thought.
Let’s hope for the best.
I found it! Shivering, cold and
naked, huddled in a crevasse on the far side of my Right Temporal Lobe. I picked the voice up, wrapped it in a mental
blanket and carried it to my consciousness.
The only thing it could barely say in a whisper was “coffee”. I’m brewing a cup as I type.
The voice has had nearly 24 hours to recover. It’s time to start the debriefing. “Covfefe” it says as always. I reply “It’s brewing”. Tell me, where did you go, I asked. The voice in slow and low tones replied: I cannot give you directions nor draw a map
however, I can say it was long ago and far away and I don’t ever want to go
there again. After a few sips of coffee
I asked: You were supposed to retrieve
something from 2 days in the past. How
did you get so far off track? "Hey! I screwed up!" it shouted angrily, “Maybe I should
have toined left at Albuquerque”.
Stunned, I replied Albuquerque?
That was 2005 the last time I was in New Mexico. "So sue me!" Shouted the clearly agitated voice
as it stomped off.
Did I make a mistake in sending a voice to do
a man’s job? Possibly. Will the voice ever fully recover? Only time will tell. Should we continue to search the deepest
darkest corners of our minds in the quest for comedy? Undoubtedly, because it is only when we laugh
and let go of our inner sorrows that we are truly happy and carefree.
here again. My boss, H. Cuffs said
I could listen in on anyone so today I’m listening in on him and his golf buddy
Barry. This should be fun. We pick them up on the 18th hole
where we see H. Cuffs wearing his usual white shirt, black tie and black wingtips (no spikes). He has his sleeves rolled up.
H. Cuffs: Chief, that’s a terrible lie.
Barry: As I told the press, I did not know that the
IRS was targeting my political enemies during an election year even though the
head of IRS visited the White-house 157 times that year.
H. Cuffs: I meant your ball sir, it’s in pretty deep grass.
Barry: Oh, is it?
back to H. Cuffs, Barry gives his ball a little side kick.
H. Cuffs: Chief, your lie is getting better and
Barry: H. Cuffs, what do you know about Ron Burgundy?
H. Cuffs: We’ve heard he’s one classy dude and his
hair is a work of art.
Barry: H. Cuffs, what do you know about the Ron Burgundy
H. Cuffs: Not a heck of a lot Chief. We have an operative on it but, he hasn’t had
much luck getting close to the campaign.
In fact, the last time he tried to get something he was run off the
Santa Monica pier by an angry Jack Nicholson.
Barry: I see.
Do you know who’s behind the campaign?
H. Cuffs: It appears to be a Technician named Tim. Apparently he works in a machine
shop during the day and runs the campaign in his free time.
H. Cuffs: Chief, I don’t think the Burgundy campaign
poses much of a threat to anyone. I
think that once the campaign pressure hits, they’ll fold like a tent, collapse
like a lung, cave like a…..
(cutting H. Cuffs off) Okay H. Cuffs, I get it.
Barry hits a
pitching wedge shot to the green and ends up 12 feet from the hole.
H. Cuffs: Nice shot Mr. President,
H. Cuffs plays a
Sand wedge shot from 40 yards and leaves it 10 feet from the hole.
Barry: You dirty dog, you had to get inside me.
H. Cuffs laughs:
Barry: H. Cuffs can you keep an eye on Burgundy for me?
Max: Yes we scan!
Barry: Not funny.
Not funny H. Cuffs.
Max: Sorry about that Chief.
his putt missing by 8 inches to the left and rolling 6 feet past the hole.
Barry: That’s a gimmie, right H. Cuffs?
H. Cuffs: Anything you say Chief.
H. Cuffs putts
his ball directly into the center of the hole.
H. Cuffs: Good, Another Par.
The two men
are walking towards the Presidential golf cart.
Barry: H. Cuffs, how do you think this match went today?
H. Cuffs: You lost by 14 strokes Chief.
Barry: That’s not how I see it.
H. Cuffs: Okay, I won by 4.
Barry: Check again.
H. Cuffs: Alright, we tied.
Barry: Now that’s what I’m talking about when I say
“Yes we can”.See you next week.Keep up the good work.
here again.Slow day at the NSA so I
took some of my friends to see a movie.Now,
we’re chillaxin by the pool (or in it) tossin back a few cold ones and dis-dis-discussing
the film.Here’s our review of
Agent 54: So, I thought that was a huge waste of
money. This stinker will probably be on
cable in about 20 minutes.
Shamu: You said it bro! Freakin sharks is really slumming it
now. Can’t find no good roles nowhere.
Flipper: Yeah, they’ve really gone down the drain, ha
ha chuckle chuckle.
Rest of the group moan in unison.
54: How about you Mr. Limpet, what did
Limpet: That’s right boys and
girls. My movie was one of the first to
have live action mixed with animation.
Flipper: 1964! Man, that’s so old when that was made
Moby Dick was a minnow.
Shamu: Yeah, was dat a silent movie.
Limpet: Oh, hush children. I was the star of that movie and I played a
war hero. I had more lines than the two
of you put together in all your work. Ah,
You don’t see roles like that anymore.
You know they’re trying to remake it but, I guess I’m a hard act to
54: Let’s get back to the Sharknado,
Limpet: Oh yeah, uh I thought that was a
waste of film. I give it one Starfish.
comes back into the pool area.
Flipper: Yo Charlie, where you been?
Tuna: Hey I got good taste, I don’t pee
in the pool like some fish do.
Flipper: Whoa, hoity toidy ooh ah.
Shamu: You bess not be talkin trash about me cuz I’m
getting hungry and I could go for a Tuna fish sandwich. Ha ha
Flipper: Shamu, you’re always hungry. I think you’d eat a shark if nothing else was
Shamu: Damn straight!
54: Charlie what did you think of the
movie? How many starfish?
Tuna: What’s to say, it had no plot, no
class and no taste. No starfish. I’d rather watch seaweed grow.
54: Flip, Sham, any starfish for the
Shamu: Hell no!
54: Well I can’t give it a starfish
either so the grand total is 1 starfish from the five of us and that’s only cuz
Mr. Limpet is a nice guy. I guess we
would recommend doing your laundry or cutting the grass instead of seeing
his head out of the door of the cabana.
Nemo: Hey guys, I was just watching the Animal
channel and they reported that they’re gonna make a sequel to Sharknado in New
Flipper: Get out of town!
Shamu: Only in America baby.
Limpet: Oh my.
Charlie Tuna: This country has no taste.
54: Guys this may mean jobs. Maybe they’ll have roles for you all.
Shamu: Where’s my cell phone? Calling my agent right now.
Agent 54 here again. I was on Jeopardy yesterday. I was! This shit I’m makin up is true. (Okay, I stole
that line from a great African American comedian named George Wallace. I
did! This name I’m makin up is real).
And the answer is Who wants to be a
Like a flash
of lightning I hit my button with all the confidence of Superman.
Trebek: Agent 54
54: What is the dumbest question ever
asked? I replied fully expecting to have
earned $400.00 in the category Dumb T.V. shows.
(not really, it’s just that all the shows in the questions were dumb
Trebek: Sorry, No, (to another
competitor) Prince, uh I mean the artist formerly known as Prince.
At that moment all time stood still. Absolutely still. I mean stopped dead. I could only think “huh”, “what the” “no?” No
No No that was the right answer, uh I mean question to the answer. Oh
don’t confuse me any more damn it! I had the correct response!
Then it occurred to me that there could be a
being that didn’t think that “Who wants to be a Millionaire? is the dumbest
question ever. This is a concept that
still troubles me all those years hours later. The debate in my head started.
C’mon , even the lowliest Occupy whatever,
moron protestor, if offered $1,000,000.00 in cash with no strings attached
would take the money and run. Right? I mean I want to be a Millionaire just so I
can always wear a brand new pair of underwear.
If I were a rich man I would have 300 pair of new underwear (Fruit of
the Loom briefs, colors only, no whites) in stock at all times. Take a shower-new pair. Take a dump-new pair. Sit in computer chair for hours writing
dumbass comedy bits-new pair. Surely
there are more reasons to want to be a Millionaire than there are dollars in a
Could there be a reason for NOT wanting to be
a Millionaire? I asked myself. The answer came back HELL NO!!!
raised a new question. Did that Canadian
Bacon shit Alex Trebek rip me off? No,
no that could not be. Alex Trebek is one
of the nicest people from one of the nicest countries in all the Universe. He’s doubly nice and I should and I do repent
for typing the word shit next to his revered name.
Still, how the hell did I get that questionanswer question wrong? It came to
me in a flash. I remembered when I got
hit right between the eyes with a baseball at practice. The first moron to look at my broken
proboscis and two black eyes asked me
“Are you okay?”. That’s it!
So it is not that “Who wants to be a
Millionaire? Isn’t a very, very, very dumb question. It’s that there is an ever dumber question
that is universally asked far more often in every type of calamity and at
exactly the worst time to ask it.
Are you okay? Is the dumbest question ever
asked. For how many of us, excluding Alex Trebek, can say that we are truly
okay in every sense of the word. Ten, Fifteen
of us, maybe. That could be a stretch.
Having solved the most troubling riddle of my
life-time, I resumed my game of Jeopardy where I proceeded to lose $728,000.00
to Alex Trebek. Care? I do not.
Like I said, Alex is a nice guy and he’s letting me make payments.
I have been inspired to tell a tale of
another IBS (Irritable Bowel Syndrome) calamity and so is the tale of The Zero Acre Woods.
Every state in the Union probably has it’s
South Mountain and Pennsylvania is no different. Yes, it is true that I have pooped outdoors
on the peaks of South Mountain in both Arizona and PA. How many men can boast as much, I do not
know. However, this story is more
unsettling, more startling and more bizarre for it is the tale of The Zero Acre Woods.
I was heading down the back side of South
Mountain toward Center Valley when with the speed of lightning IBS struck and I
was forced to look for a place to poop.
I had planned a delightful round of golf on this early April day. It was
unusually warm and sunny though many of the Pennsylvania trees and shrubs had
no leaves yet. I knew that at that time that
Center Valley was mostly forest land and so I was confident that I could easily
find a place for relative privacy to do
what I had to do do.
I pulled over on a flat area, slammed the
truck in Park, grabbed my emergency roll and with the dexterity and quickness
of Peter Rabbit disappeared into the woods.
By this time IBS was pushing poop with the force of The Incredible Hulk
on steroids. I found a small clearing,
dropped my draws and let loose without the ability to stop even if I had the
I relaxed a
little and looked up.Imagine my
surprise to find that I was a mere 10 foot through scant woods and brush from
squatting on someone’s freshly mown front yard. Yes, before my eyes were about 40 brand new
homes that hadn’t been there last time I drove by.Stately homes they were and many had the telltale
signs of life like cars in driveways, dog houses and swing sets.The one closest to my position had a large
picture window with pretty, open curtains facing directly toward me.
I could not see anyone in the window, nor did
I observe a living soul anywhere and for that I thank The Lord.However, I cannot help think that if someone
did happen to look in my direction from a vantage point that I couldn’t see,
they could not help but see me in my bright Yellow golf shirt and bright yellow
golf hat squatting in what had become The Zero Acre Woods.
Without further incident I finished my
business, scurried back to the truck and off to the golf course where a shot a
very nice round of 86. On the way home
as I passed The Zero Acre Woods I thought how lucky I was to have not
encountered an angry homeowner with a bow and arrow. The thought of myself pictured in the local
paper, pants around my ankles, still squatting, clad in bright yellow with an
arrow pinning me to a tree still haunts my dreams to this day. Don't Curse a Stinker
Holy crap! The first 3
posting on my blog reading list today were all about Poop. No shit, Damn, what
happened this past weekend?
Anyway, Agent 54 suffers from IBS so I can
play this game all day long.
The last time I almost crapped my
pants was on South Mountain in Phoenix Arizona. For an 8 year old kid I guess
it's pretty funny when you find yourself outside with your pants around your
ankles letting loose while starring at a city of 2 million people. For a 48 year old, not so much.
I had run out of emergency TP which I always
have in my hiking back pack (yes, ran out as in used it all) so I had to waste
my favorite orange do-rag.
So, if you are ever hiking in Phoenix
and you see a small orange flag in the bushes, you will know Agent 54 was here.
They call it the Garden State. When you see wild flowers there, remember that
many of them have been grown with a very special fertilizer, for many a time I have
pooped outdoors in New Jersey, the state of my birth.
My worst New Jersey experience was
when the poops hit me hard just before I drove onto the Tappan Zee Bridge which
was backed up like the Hoover dam backs up the Colorado river. With nowhere to
go I just had to hold on with excruciating pain until we got to the New York
side. (20 mins.) I must have threatened to kill my wife 8 times just because
she was there.
That was the largest outdoor monument
I have ever left anywhere. I swear an Elephant would have been proud of that
one and if I had had a cell phone camera I would have posted a pic of it here.
There are many more states that I
have decorated in my own personal way. I guess I’ll save some of those stories
for an appropriate time. (is there such a thing?)
Agent 54 here again.
It was a slow day at the bureau so I was thinking that we here at the Nominal Secrets Apparatus (NSA) aren't really much different than all of you out
there. Yeah, maybe we’re a little
smarter and a little better looking but, you know, in the same ballpark. We still stress over the same things. So, with that in mind, I wrote a song about
one of my stresses with the hope that my new internet friend will get our band called
OGWB going so I can record it. It’s
probably not the best song you ever heard.
I’m no Paul McCartney but what the hell, there’s a lot of crap on the
airwaves, why can’t some of it be mine?
What the Hell is wrong
You get off
the bus everyday
Slow as a
snail, you stroll into the motorway
light turns green you’re always in my way.
here again. The Nominal Secrets
Apparatus (NSA) likes to keep an eye on Hollywood from time to time. We spied a creepy movie set this week.
Scene: Movie set with Cemetery head stones, mossy
trees and a creepy, dilapidated old caretaker’s shed. Around the set are lights, sound
equipment, cameras on tracks, a dozen
folding canvas chairs and a lunch table.
Actors, the Director and various staff hurry about. Two zombies are sitting in folding chairs
with paper plates eating lunch. A third
zombie approaches them with a plate of food in his left hand and his right arm
tucked under the left arm.
Allan: Hey guys.
Max: Hey bud, have a seat. Looks like you had a little accident in the
Allan: Yeah, the girl wacked me with a huge axe that
weighed more than she did. I got to get
it (his right arm) put back on for a scene I got after lunch.
Brad: I know, I’m in that scene
too. I just had get my knee fixed.
Max: Oh, I’m sooooo tired of these same old
scenes. When are zombies finally gonna
get some good roles! I mean, my last 4
movies I had the same lines. “Brains, brains,
moan, groan” it’s always the same.
Allan: Whadda ya want, to be the next Indiana Jones? Fuggedaboudit! Ain’t happenin. Zombies ain’t leading man material. No starlet wants to kiss nobody who’s lips
might fall off at any moment.
(chuckling) That’s funny, Hey, why not some comedies. Huh, I mean you know zombies can be funny
Brad: Maybe someday but, for now this crap is all
we got. We have to pay our dues before
society will accept us for better roles.
Society ain’t never gonna accept us.
Don’t kid yourself. This is it.
Brad: No, no you’re wrong. Look at black actors. For 80 years all they could do was play
butlers and chauffeurs and shit. Now you
got Jamie Fox playin the President.
Max: That’s true.
25 years ago that would have seemed silly but times is a changin.
Allan: Not for us they ain’t. I mean, C’mon, they still think we’re gonna
eat their brains for Cripes sake. Like
that’s all we eat and like you can’t find brains in every asian market all
Brad: Yeah well, I don’t think it will happen in
our undead lifetimes but, maybe our kids will get to play the nosey neighbor or
a cop or something.
Allan: Yeah, in your dreams!
Max: You know, I do love brains. That Brainloaf that Jerry’s wife made for us
last Labor day was out of this world.
Brad: Aw, you know it. My wife got the recipe from her. No good, I don’t know what she did wrong but,
it didn’t work.
shouts out: Zombies! I need you in make-up and wardrobe now. Hustle up before we lose the light.
rise and start to shuffle over to make-up and wardrobe.
Allan: Yeah, here we go, payin dues again.
Max and Brad
together: Brains, brains, moan, groan.