Spies

        The spy business is booming around the world. It flourishes as never before in history, though changed drastically from the golden era “snoopin” once knew. In the good old days one spied on enemies only, always for ideologies and old-fashioned patriotism.

         But listen here pal, money is the motivator for contemporary spy’s.

Now ya’ can hire yourself a pretty good “snoop,” of any nationality, for about a hundred bucks. I’m not certain about overtime pay; if he puts in more’n 8 hours per day there might be added charges.

         The “in thing” today is to spy on everyone, friend and foe alike. Every nation on Earth is out to steal our secrets, and the reverse is equally true. Whether staunch allies or future antagonists makes absolutely no difference. We wanna’ know what those pesky Israelis, and troublesome Russians as well, might have hidden up their sleeves.

         It’s very difficult to uncover the modern-day espionage agent. In days of yore ya’ looked fer ugly Mafia type thugs and hoodlums, but this method of catchin’ spy’s is totally unreliable today. Intelligence agencies are now throwin’ curves, spitters and, in extreme cases, screwballs.

         All  Russian Foreign Ministry officials are KGB agents! At least 98 percent of the foreign-service personnel in our State Department also have dual employers…they supplement their income with a monthly check from the CIA!

         I’m giving serious thought about entering the foreign-service branch of our State Department, and the reader is advised to think along those lines too. Until just recently such an idea would’ve been absurd, but now you and I can make the grade at State…hell man, anyone can!

         Ya’ don’t gotta’ learn 6 foreign languages anymore, neither are protocol and diplomacy a requirement for serving yer country in far-flung corners of the globe.

         All ya’ gotta’ know is how to sneak down dark alleys, be able to recognize and meet “contacts” in abandoned warehouses, own a pair of cheap binoculars, and an equally inexpensive camera. Man, I’m tellin’ ya’, it’s a piece of cake, you and I can be in like Flynn! First thing tomorrow morning I’m gonna’ see George Schultz and apply for employment.

         The Cold War has been raging for 40 years, and many think the Russians have forged way ahead in spying techniques. The Iron Curtain presents a formidable obstacle for freedom-loving people everywhere, but neighbor don’t despair…now there’s good news.

A weak link has appeared in that metal drapery hanging across Europe, there is a chink in the armor. A ‘weapon” is available that can allow us to regain a commanding lead in the shadowy world of intrigue and espionage. This weapon is a commonplace commodity, and I’m surprised as hell the CIA ain’t used it. Those cloak-and-dagger boys are sleeping on the job!

         And just what is this “weapon?”  CATSUP…that’s what! Yeah, that thick red stuff stuff made from overly-ripe tomatoes.

         Catsup can return us to the forefront in espionage “know-how”, and heres the way it works…

2

         Spying should be viewed as a form of art, just like opera and ballet dancing. Instead, these”artists” who wear trenchcoats and hats pulled low over their forehead are cursed and regarded with great disdain. Poorly informed people who don’t know the full story treat spy’s with scorn, even going so far as thumbing noses at these un-sung heroes who do the dirty work in the cesspools of our ever-changing world.

         However, chivalry is on the rise, and with it will come a change in outmoded attitudes toward undercover agents. Spys everywhere will soon be accorded the respect and honors their work so richly deserves. Shucks someone’s gotta’ do it ( Catsup, an abundant foodstuff long overlooked in our never-ending feud with the Red Bear. This delicacy can turn the tide of the Cold War in our favor ).

         In days of yesteryear spying was a perilous profession, a dangerous way indeed of earning a livelehood. Thankfully the cloak-and-dagger stuff is in the past.Today’s spycan breathe a sigh of relief, knowing harm will not come his way. Risks to body and limb are minimal to say the least ( Del Monte, Heinz, Hunts. Catsup comes in a variety of brands. I like ‘em all, and one of America’s potential adversaries, the Russkies, like it even better ).

         The violence formerly associated with spying was “silly as all git out” anyhow, a complete bunch of nonsense. A lotta’ good agents were bumped off, thousands more crippled and maimed for life. Spy’s are an artistic lot, certainly not deserving to have injuries inflicted on their bodies, or suffering indignities of any sort. Lookin’ back, it’s hard to believe civilized governments would stoop to such depravity ( extra thick catsup ain’t nearly so messy on hamburgers ).

         When caught redhanded in the performance of their duties , maligned undercover agents were stood before a wall, blind-folded and trussed, and had their weight increased in a helluva’ hurry. Machineguns and other automatic weapons pumped about 36 pounds of hot-lead into “snoops.” Such extreme action is described as “cruel and unusual punishment” ( aided by catsup, we can become the most successful spy nation on earth ).

         Worst of all, even after being riddled with bullets from head to toe, spy’s were forsaken…nobody on Earth would step forth to claim the pitiful remains. Their home governments simply issued a short communique: “Never heard of him. He’s certainly not one of ours!” Some thanks, huh?

         Then his carcass was dumped in a ditch and bulldozed over with dirt, laid to rest in an alien land far from home. Tell ya’ one thing, 30 years ago I would’ve shied away from espionage!

         But now I’m most anxious to enter that profession. Sure hope George has a job-opening over there at State ( the Russian people, including KGB agents, have an insatiable appetite for catsup. It’s time someone jumped on this ). Those dummies at CIA I’m referring to…

3

         Russian borders are closed to the outside world , but mounting evidence points to one indisputable fact about that enigmatic country.         For reasons known only to the Politburo, there are no catsup canneries in the land of “comrades.” Not one factory, from the Polish border to Vladivostok, is in the business of pouring thick tomato puree into bottles. This leads me to believe french-fried taters ain’t on their menus either.

         This useful information is passed along with full documentation, and should be made available to all free-world intelligence agencies who show even a slight tinge of interest (makes no difference about those who are not interested . They’re not worth two ounces of salt ). The importance of this data can hardly be over-emphasized…here is the tool we’re waiting for (just 6 bottles of catsup could coax every top-secret in the KGB files. Man, them dudes will commit treason for 16 ounces of the bright red concoction ).

         Let me tell ya’ fella,’ our spies are too pre-occupied with that damn James Bond gadgetry. They’ve wasted 40 precious years foolin’ around with ridiculous wrist watches and silly cigarette lighters. In a word, American espionage agents have watched too manyof them there stupid Hollywood spy movies.

         All Russian spy’s, just before departing for our shores, undergo a briefing behind those forbidding, fortress-like walls at the Kremlin. These last minute instructions are standard and straight to the point. Needless to say KGB men pay rapt attention: “Comrade,         we’re not sending you over there to act cute. Don’t get caught sneakin’ down alleys in America. And stay the hell away from abandoned warehouses. We merely want you to walk into those imperialist magazine stores once a month, purchase 3 dozen copies of  U.S. News and World Report, and a like number of Mechanix Illustrated. Everything we need to know about their space-program and Trident submarines are contained therein. Can you follow these simple instructions, Comrade?”

         “Da,” says Ivan, turning on his heels and heading for Moscow’s airport to board a flight to Dulles International.

         Soviet diplomats/spys complete duty tours at the UN, or at the Red embassy in Washington. Their stay in a hated bourgeois society has come to an end, yet for some strange reason the drudgery of returning to Mother Russia brings added looks of gloom to already saddened faces.

          What souvenir from the west might please his anxiously awaiting family…and blessed Homeland too? Detailed photographs of American military hardware? No way, Hosea!

          Russians board luxurious Aeroflot airliners for their return trip to Moscow. For each “comrade” seated in the passenger compartment, 15 cases of mouth-watering catsup are loaded in the cargo bay…

4

         Spy’s of all nations are lately being corraled in unprecedented numbers. That bridge in Berlin where “spy swaps” occur is busier than a beehive, having more pedestrian traffic (agents from both sides) than a State Fair on the Fourth of July.

         Snoops from the Eastern Bloc walk across it toward Red Russia…they disappear forever behind the Iron Curtain. Our own “specialists in intrigue” hoof it in a westerly direction…they’re never again seen of heard from either. Once caught the jig is up; your mugshot goes on permanent file with the KGB! Your days as a cowardly spy have come to an abrupt halt!

         The significance of the above data oughta’ be crystal clear. In simple terms, it means the entire human race is currently experiencing a global shortage of spy’s. The situation is a desperate one for intelligence agencies, and becomes more critical with each passing day. Every government around the globe is on it’s knees, literally crying out and begging for help. This spells good news for aspiring young spy’s…old buddy, the field is wide open! …( find out which food stores are running specials on catsup. Git yerself on down there and start loadin’ up ).

         This paragraph is being written one week after the above was typed in.

         I landed a job with our State Department, and the well-oiled mechanisms of that organization promptly went into action. Those nice people have already booked passage for me on the next tramp-steamer headin’ out across the duckpond ( had no desire to fly anyhow ).

         Had a nice long chat with George; a real affable fella’ he is. Mr. Schultz has a recruiting drive underway, and he requested I pass along some information to residents of this area. Any among you with “the right stuff” to become a spy should contact him immediately. There’s no waiting period, ya’ can go right to work!

         The foreign-service provides two options for working conditions. They have a “plush assignment division”: London, Paris, Rome, and the city of onion-domed buildings…Moscow.

         But then, horror of horrors, there’s another category of assignments, the “Hardship Post Division”: Tibet, Iceland, Borneo and Inner Mongolia. Hardly any government employees volunteer for those locales.

         “Where do you want to spy…uh, I mean work?” George asked. Hmm, I was offered a choice.

         “Mr. Secretary,” I responded to the portly gentleman. “I’ve been in one of them there hardship posts fer put nigh 57 years. If’n  it meets with your approval, I’ll take Moscow.”

         “Granted,” Mr. Schultz replied. It was simple as that, proving our government doesn’t always function solely with computers. I wuz tickled pink to learn that.

         “Just one thing, Mr. Secretary. Could I have a weekly planeload of catsup flown into Moscow?” I then explained the whole story to George.

         “This is wonderful news. We’ll need a code-name for this operation. Any suggestions?”

         “What’s wrong with CATSUP CONSORTIUM FOR COMMUNIST COMRADES? The Russkies won’t even suspect they’re being fleeced.”

The End

M. L. Wilkinson

November, 1987