Exhibit G.305: Clyde Butterworth
Special character guest, RIA Agent John Smith, talks about his latest assignment. Being a secret agent is not all glam, guns, and action.
I don't know why I always get tossed the weird, odd-ball missions. Maybe Director Rollins hates me, I don't know. Last week I had to track down a lunatic wearing a baseball cap wrapped in foil. Yes. I had to follow this weirdo all over town (and no, he couldn't make it easy for me and live in the city). This nutjob lived in a dumpster by the A.D. railroad tracks of a small town up in the mountains.
What did I learn?
Clyde Butterworth spent his afternoons singing incoherent songs with a voice that made you want to smack your own face with a frying pan. When he wasn't singing, he was glued to a dented flask of empire-knows-what or collecting pine cones.
And so, this “threat” to national security made last week a living hell. Honestly, what unknown atrocity did I commit to get stuck with such an empire-be-damned assignment? You might be wondering why the RIA would waste its resources on a certified lunatic.
It was all because of this letter he had somehow managed to slip under the local police chief's door. Director Rollins was convinced that this was the work of the mastermind behind the recent increase in insurgent cells around the empire.
A translation to spare you from deciphering that mess:
They're watching you. I'm watching you. Empires rise and fall, and soon they will be our masters. I am their frontman. I am their voice! They demand the release of Mitty.
Mitty is not the charismatic terrorist leader Rollins thought he was. Nope. Mitty is a dirty sock puppet our friend uses to harass people downtown. His favorite antic was,
"I AM MITTY THE GREAT! PULL MY FINGER & LISTEN TO MY TRUMPET SOLO!" I'm not going into the details. Use your imagination.
After a day of trailing this guy, I begged (yes, begged) Rollins to have this guy carted off to the nut house. But no. My boss was still convinced that this man was some sort of eccentric genius and actually said that he was impressed with his ability to disguise the truth so well.
IMPRESSED.
After a week of this torture, I submitted all the footage I had of the guy, and I was finally authorized to arrest him and drop him off at the mental health facility in Springfield.
The police chief bagged Mitty and submitted the soiled sock as evidence because this is exactly what the RIA needs to send to the lab, and please tell me you heard the sarcasm in my voice.
So here I am with an evidence bag containing the most grotesque sock I have ever laid eyes on. What should I do with it?
Send your answers to thecommanddeck@outlook.com with Mitty the Great as the subject.
Rated T for Teen – Contains foul language
The free copy is in .epub format (which works on most major tablets and eReaders). If you prefer a .pdf version, please let me know when you send your answer in.
Exhibit G.305: Clyde Butterworth
I don't know why I always get tossed the weird, odd-ball missions. Maybe Director Rollins hates me, I don't know. Last week I had to track down a lunatic wearing a baseball cap wrapped in foil. Yes. I had to follow this weirdo all over town (and no, he couldn't make it easy for me and live in the city). This nutjob lived in a dumpster by the A.D. railroad tracks of a small town up in the mountains.
What did I learn?
Clyde Butterworth spent his afternoons singing incoherent songs with a voice that made you want to smack your own face with a frying pan. When he wasn't singing, he was glued to a dented flask of empire-knows-what or collecting pine cones.
And so, this “threat” to national security made last week a living hell. Honestly, what unknown atrocity did I commit to get stuck with such an empire-be-damned assignment? You might be wondering why the RIA would waste its resources on a certified lunatic.
It was all because of this letter he had somehow managed to slip under the local police chief's door. Director Rollins was convinced that this was the work of the mastermind behind the recent increase in insurgent cells around the empire.
A translation to spare you from deciphering that mess:
They're watching you. I'm watching you. Empires rise and fall, and soon they will be our masters. I am their frontman. I am their voice! They demand the release of Mitty.
Mitty is not the charismatic terrorist leader Rollins thought he was. Nope. Mitty is a dirty sock puppet our friend uses to harass people downtown. His favorite antic was,
"I AM MITTY THE GREAT! PULL MY FINGER & LISTEN TO MY TRUMPET SOLO!" I'm not going into the details. Use your imagination.
After a day of trailing this guy, I begged (yes, begged) Rollins to have this guy carted off to the nut house. But no. My boss was still convinced that this man was some sort of eccentric genius and actually said that he was impressed with his ability to disguise the truth so well.
IMPRESSED.
After a week of this torture, I submitted all the footage I had of the guy, and I was finally authorized to arrest him and drop him off at the mental health facility in Springfield.
The police chief bagged Mitty and submitted the soiled sock as evidence because this is exactly what the RIA needs to send to the lab, and please tell me you heard the sarcasm in my voice.
So here I am with an evidence bag containing the most grotesque sock I have ever laid eyes on. What should I do with it?
The first five people who answer John's question get a free copy of The Berlin Disclosure!
Send your answers to thecommanddeck@outlook.com with Mitty the Great as the subject.
The free copy is in .epub format (which works on most major tablets and eReaders). If you prefer a .pdf version, please let me know when you send your answer in.
