|
Server : Apache/2.4.62 System : FreeBSD fbsdweb2.web.rcn.net 14.1-RELEASE FreeBSD 14.1-RELEASE releng/14.1-n267679-10e31f0946d8 GENERIC amd64 User : www ( 80) PHP Version : 8.3.8 Disable Function : NONE Directory : /domains/covertcomic/public_html/ |
Upload File : |
<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//IETF//DTD HTML//EN"> <html> <head> <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> <meta name="GENERATOR" content="Microsoft FrontPage 2.0"> <title>Rexcerpt</title> </head> <body> <p align="center"><font size="6"><em><strong>Excerpt:</strong></em></font></p> <p align="center"><font size="7"><strong>My Resume</strong></font></p> <p align="center"><font size="6"><strong>Or</strong></font></p> <p align="center"><font size="7"><strong>Everything I Know about the CIA and Elvis</strong></font></p> <p align="center"><font size="5"><strong>By </strong></font></p> <p align="center"><font size="5"><strong>John Alejandro King</strong></font></p> <hr> <p><font size="3"><strong>… It was about one a.m., pitch black above the jungle canopy. I leaned out of the cargo door of the plane as it flew low over the trees with its lights off. The warm semitropical night air blew hard against my face. Below me I saw the jungle clearing and the small luminescent marker that our agent had placed in the open field. I knew he was watching us in the jungle somewhere, waiting for us to make the drop. I leaned back inside the plane and gestured to the other two intelligence officers staring intently at me. The big plane banked sharply as the pilot swung around to make the final pass. I held on tight to the metal bar that was anchored a few inches inside the cargo bay opening; my fingers around that bar and a thin rope around my waist were the only things keeping me from tumbling out of the airplane into the night. We came in again and this time shoved a couple of small boxes containing the precious cargo out the door. We never saw them hit the ground, but we knew they’d land close enough to the marker for the agent to find them. The whole operation took twenty minutes. Given where we were and what we were doing, it had to be fast.</strong></font></p> <p><font size="3"><strong>... I’ve always been pretty good at inventing acronyms (you know, words that are formed by connecting the first letters of key words in a phrase; for example, White Intellectual Male Professional spells WIMP, that sort of thing). I often invent funny acronyms during official CIA meetings when someone asks that names be proposed for a new project. I suggest a totally plausible project name whose acronym happens to be a naughty word, and then I claim to be innocent ("How was I to know what the letters spelled?") when (or if) somebody figures it out. For instance, I and several coworkers at CIA were once asked to propose a name for a new office that was being created to address certain computer and data issues. With a straight face I suggested Technology and Information Transfer Staff. Believe it or not, they almost chose the name until someone spelled out the acronym.</strong></font></p> <p><font size="3"><strong>… I walked out onto the stage in my black leather jacket, my slick black hair combed straight back, and was immediately hit full blast in the chest by something. It was people cheering. In fact, it was </strong><strong><i>forty thousand</i></strong><strong> people cheering. Maybe ‘cheer’ isn’t the right word to describe the sound they were making; a better word, definitely, is </strong><strong><i>roar.</i></strong><strong> And this roar was so deafening, so </strong><strong><i>big,</i></strong><strong> it literally made my chest vibrate. You see, the great Miss Thing had not one, but two records in the Top Forty, including the number one dance song in the USA. We were literally the hottest disco act in the world at that moment. This, and the fact that Miss Thing was a flaming queen and the audience of forty thousand people included about thirty-nine thousand men, probably tells you all you need to know about why this show was going to be a good one. Lawrence, our drummer, started pumping his foot pedal ‘boom-boom-boom-boom’, I played the first few notes of </strong><strong><i>Dance with Me</i></strong><strong>, and the audience went so wild I thought the stage was going to collapse.</strong></font></p> <p><font size="3"><strong>... As part of the ELVIS project I also started answering calls on my secure telephone at that time with a reasonably good impersonation of ‘The King’. The phone would ring and I would pick it up and drawl "This is Elvis." I must have done this for weeks. It got to the point that whenever my branch chief called me, if I forgot to do it, </strong><strong><i>he</i></strong><strong> would pretend to be Elvis. One day I decided to stop, though, because the secretary of our office director (our office director being the CIA equivalent of a two-star general) called me and, when I said "This is Elvis," wondered who the heck she was talking to. After that I quit impersonating the King of Rock and Roll while on duty.</strong></font></p> <hr> <p align="center"><font size="7"><em><strong>The Covert Comic. Read him while you still can!</strong></em></font></p> <p align="center"><font size="5"><strong><u><img src="cctiny2.gif" width="61" height="49"></u></strong></font></p> <p align="left"><font color="#000000" size="5" face="Univers (W1)"><strong><u></u></strong></font> </p> <p align="left"><a href="stillmore.htm"><font color="#000000" size="5" face="Univers (W1)"><strong><u>NEXT</u></strong></font></a></p> <p align="left"><a href="Order.htm"><font color="#000000" size="5" face="Univers (W1)"><strong><u>How to Order</u></strong></font></a></p> <p align="left"><a href="myresume.htm"><font color="#000000" size="5" face="Univers (W1)"><strong><u>BACK</u></strong></font></a></p> <p align="left"><a href="Default.htm"><font size="5"><strong><u>Back to The Covert Comic Home Page</u></strong></font></a></p> <p> </p> <p><strong>Copyright 1998. All rights reserved.</strong></p> </body> </html>