Wednesday, March 22, 2006

It Was Her Encyclical Gentle Teen Grin.

When I took a job with the CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY, they sent me right away to NICE IN ARGYLE and a fifty CENT piece LENT for “GLACE,” which loosely translates to ice cream in French. I suppose ice cream was okay, since for LENT, I’d given up sugar CANE, ICY GINGER ALE, and CELT girls. In France, my mission was to spy on the “Glace” stand for any incriminating activity. To my dismay, the stand was manned by a red headed mademoiselle. Her name was “GINGER” NANCY CALE with TEN ICE treats for sale and could tell I was hungry. Her French seemed to slip into English here and there and her eyes were suspiciously green, but as a CIA agent, I had to play it cool like James Bond. After my “glace” we split for drinks. She had herself some whisky and ordered me a Mojito with extra cane sugar. Her ENCYCLICAL GENTLE TEEN GRIN over the booze made me remember what I had given up. “Ah! Screw Lent!” I said aloud, in English, and she replied “Aye! Fuck the Pope. He’s a TRAIL AGING LENNY LENT CE-” and I stopped her, for she said all this in clear Celt-English. She explained that she was a member of the Irish Intelligence and was sent to kill me, YET CARNAGE won’t LET a NICE LEG on an Irish girl kick some ass, especially an American’s from NCL (what I, a North Carolinian call North CaroLina). Then I noticed her argyle socks. I tossed my fifty cent piece on the table, we set our differences and our argyle aside, and forgot about our respective jobs. It wasn’t long before the CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY caught. Over LAGER, they explained to me that LENT vices like GIN, ALE, ICE, and that a whisky drinking CELT named NANCY would be the demise of I. And, they were right.