Thursday, April 30, 2015

The Unseen British Spy

Secret Agent Spy Byron Spat stood on his toes, anxious to find a way to rescue beautiful Chinese Swede seductress Ingrid Ching from Dutch Albino evil mastermind French Princess's diamond thief Guppo.

"Guppo, give it up, old chap, you'll never win. Let the girl go and give up the French Princess diamond." said Agent Byron Spat in his very British accent.
"You vill die und she vill die und dah di-mund vill be mein!" said Guppo, as he held a knife to Ingrid Ching's neck.
"Ooh plee dohn hur me, ja!" said Ingrid Ching.

Byron Spat had to think fast. He was sure in a pinch. He was standing by a bright lamp though. And Albinos have sensitive eyes. 

"Okay Guppo, you win this time with the diamond and the girl. I'll give up and go back to the British government and tell them that I couldn't help them or their friends the French." said Agent Spat.
"Perfect. I knew you would see it my w--"

Just then Byron grabbed that lamp he was standing by and SHINED it in Guppo's face.

"--Ouch my eyes! Too bright!" Guppo screamed. 

Then Guppo put his hands to his eyes, dropping the blade. Agent Spat was able to punch him out, save the girl, and get the code from his pocket to the safe where the diamonds were.

Agent Spat had done it again.
"Wow you save me." said Ingrid Ching.

Spat and Ching had a fling. And then Ching went on her way. They stayed in touch a little but Agent Byron Spat was a spy. He kept a low profile. He was rarely able to maintain personal friendships, much less a romantic long distance international relationship. Being a spy was a lonely profession.

Boy did Agent Spat know that more than anyone else. 
"Good show, Agent Spat. Try not to kill anyone!" said his headquarters guy. Then he realized the mission was over.
"Oh, I meant good job minimizing casualties..." he continued.
"Thanks." said Byron.

Byron stood there and cleared his throat.
"Do you... maybe want to go to the pub, grab a drink?" said Byron.
"Oh no, sorry. I have to be home for dinner." said the headquarters guy.
"Right, right. Of course."

Byron Spat strolled the streets of London, alone with no assignment. Occasionally rehearsing clever things he'd hope to get to say, maybe to a bad guy. It was a rough lonely job. He questioned why he did it.

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