BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

In general, whenever I mention Satan, I am referring to one particular petite, redheaded woman in stiletto heels, who is packing an evil attitude and looking for someone to abuse. Yes, you guessed it, E K. (Yeah… I know… It’s not like it was hard to figure out.)

In point of fact, I would venture to say that 90% of the time the word Satan even comes out of my mouth, or off the end of my fingers for that matter,  it is because I am talking about The Evil One to whom I belong. Why? That’s easy. Because she is also sometimes affectionately, and jokingly, (or, depending on your perspective, fearfully,) known as, “Satan In High Heels.”

Believe me, there’s a damn good reason for that insidious sounding title to be bestowed upon her. To put it simply, she really can sprout horns. And, when she does, there’s no saving the poor bastard who was stupid enough to metaphorically pour water on her head and make them grow.

I know it sounds far-fetched, but it’s true. I’ve seen it with my own eyes. Hell, (pun fully intended,) I’ve even been gored by those horns when I wasn’t even the idiot who set her off. Yeah… I’ve been the collateral damage.

Don’t you feel sorry for me?

But, it isn’t just me who has seen it. There are others who have witnessed her true and inherent evilness, but since they are usually her victims, there really isn’t much left of most of them, which is probably fortunate… For them…

As to the survivors… Well, there are only a scant few of them, and even those who aren’t totally catatonic and drooling on themselves are locked away in a mental ward somewhere. The even fewer who still have some semblance of their faculties remaining, simply refuse to talk about it. It’s too traumatizing to relive, even in mere words. At least, that is the excuse they and their shrinks usually spout. I only know of one poor soul, besides me that is, who ever dares to say anything about it. Unfortunately, you cannot make much  sense of what he says. He merely sits in a corner, rocking endlessly, and keeps muttering, “But, but, I said unicorn.”

I have no clue what that means.

If you ask me, I think they’re all just “piss in their pants” afraid of her… Of course, I can’t say as that I blame them. I mean, she looks so innocent one minute, and then the next there are those horns poking out of her skull and she’s slipping into a pair of those pitchfork heeled stilettos, just like the one on the cover of The Devil Wears Prada… And the thing is, if you see the horns… Well… Let’s just say you should have left sooner because it’s all over but the funeral.

But, we really should move on, because E K isn’t actually the subject of this post… Well, actually she kinda is. Sort of. Eventually.  But we have to talk about something else first.

So, back to the whole other Satan thing. While we’ve established that Evil Kat takes up 90% of my “Evil Fallen Angel Quotient,” the other 10% of the time usually involves me rebuffing an accusation about spiritual beliefs by offering a clear explanation of alternative religious paths. Up to and including Satanism itself. Or, in other instances, I am engaged in a rousing conversation about Biblical Prophecy… That last bit always makes for a good time around the dinner table…

Obviously, since I stopped chasing that earlier random chicken, this particular missive about Satan falls into that 10% category. Although, it really has nothing to do with either explanations or prophecy…

You see, like it says in the title, somehow, Satan got behind me…

Well… That’s not quite accurate. The truth is, Satan did NOT actually get behind me.

Satan did, however, somehow manage to obtain my email address.

Yeah… No kidding.

Imagine my surprise when I checked my email, only to find a note from The Dark Prince himself. The Devil. Beelzebub. The Evil One (The other “The Evil One“, not E K). Lucifer. Old Nick. The guy in the suit from “Reaper“… John Glover from “Brimstone“…

Well, I have to say that I don’t think I am the only one who would feel compelled to open such an email. I mean, after all, that’s what Satan is all about, right? Tempting the weak… The strong… The faithless… The faithful… Rhesus monkeys…

Okay, so maybe not rhesus monkeys, but you get my point. The thing is, not only was a I tempted, but I gave in to the temptation. Yes. I opened the email. I mean, after all, I’m running some seriously high-end anti-virus software here, so if it had a Trojan or something, bells, whistles, and other flashy things would have already been going. I was safe from that sort of mischief from hell. All I really needed to worry about was an Apple, especially what with me being a PC guy and all.

Well, no Trojan or virus was to be had. And, I was even safe from Apples. Much to my surprise, however, this is what I saw:

A message for an online singles dating type social network from the bowels of Hell. (Please note that I purposely blotted out the URL in the screen capture. I mean, after all, I’m not about to give Lucifer any free advertising. If he wants me to spread the word about his singles club, he’s going to have to cough up some cash.)

But, here’s the thing that gets me. Apparently Beelzebub just isn’t satisfied with anything these days. Why in the world would he send me, of all people,  an invite to his dating service? Unless, of course, he’s getting soft in his old age and is feeling sorry for me.

I mean, after all, I’ve been married to his sister for better than 22 years, and she’s a damn sight more evil than he could ever be… (See, I told you we’d get back to the evil redhead…)

… Now, however, if you’ll excuse me, I think I need to go hide. E K was reading over my shoulder as I was typing this, but she disappeared a few minutes ago. Now,  suddenly I’m smelling sulfur, and I’m pretty sure I just heard  the distinct sound of a pair of pitchforky high-heels gouging the floor.

And they sound like they’re coming closer with each step…

More to come…

(Maybe…)

Murv

* “Devil Woman Image” courtesy On The Edge Graphics © 2009. Used with permission.

So there I was, just minding my own business. (Those of you who know me are already aware that I do that quite a bit... But, then, you are also well aware that I have a tendency to entertain myself a lot too…)

Seriously. I really was minding my own business. I wouldn’t lie about something like that…

In fact, as I recall it was around 4:45 PM and I was fixing dinner. You see, if I don’t have dinner on the table at precisely 5:30 PM when E K arrives home, well then she does horrible and terrible things to me, then sells tapes of it on the internet. But, that’s another blog, and probably really isn’t one that would be age appropriate for the younger readers. (Oh, and I’m just kidding about the tapes on the internet part. Really… I am… It was a joke…)

You know… Come to think of it, none of my blogs are really age appropriate are they? No matter what the age…

Hmm…

Be that as it may, I’ve already started so there really isn’t much I can do.  Once I begin a story I have to tell it to its conclusion or my medulla oblongata seizes up… And, as you well know if your medulla oblongata freezes up on you things can get a bit messy since it controls all those autonomic functions and such.

So anyway… There I was, minding my own business and fixing dinner, while at the same time keeping an eye on the clock and an ear out for the sound of a car in the driveway. Why? So that I would be sure to meet E K at the door with her Tall Vodka-Tonic of course. (The E K Vodka-Tonic: Five ice cubes, 1/8 of a fresh lime – squeezed over said cubes – followed by three fingers of Premium to Average Vodka, [whatever we have at the time] – straight from the freezer – And topped with Vess tonic to fill the glass within 1/4 inch of the rim. Never shaken. NEVER… Stirred only, and it must only be stirred 3 1/2 revolutions counter-clockwise with a red plastic chopstick. She’s very specific about her drinks… Or else… Well, you know…)

So… I was fixing dinner, keeping an eye on the clock, listening for a car, and preparing to slice a fresh lime just at the last moment so that it wouldn’t have too much time to oxidize and all that jazz… Like I said in the beginning, just minding my own business, and that’s when it happened.

“What happened?” you ask… I’m glad you did. If you hadn’t I might have seen another “chicken” as one of my readers says, and we’d be off down a different trail yet again… (I love that whole “chicken” reference, by the way…)

So, anyway, what happened is that the phone rang.

I realize this probably doesn’t seem like a big deal to some of you, but you see, I despise the telephone. It is there for emergencies and that’s pretty much it in my opinion. But, E K insists that we have one so we do. Hey, what can I do about it? I’m just the chef / bartender / waiter / doormat guy…

Well, since you can never be exactly sure what you might end up dealing with on the phone I put the paring knife aside and abandoned the citrus surgery for the moment, then went over to the clamoring device. The caller I D box hanging on the wall beside it read, “NOT AVAILABLE”…

Uh-huh. Yeah… Right.

It’s been my personal experience that if the number is “NOT AVAILABLE” the person at the other end is most likely a telemarketer and they have the Caller I D blocked. However, I have to admit that isn’t always the case… In something like .01% of the unavailable number type calls there’s been a malfunction of sorts and the ID box simply cannot decipher the signal. When that happens you have no idea who is at the other end. It could be a telemarketer as one would suspect… It could be Ed McMahon calling to tell you that you’ve won some kind of sweepstakes… It could be your Great Aunt Gertrude wanting to hit you up to bail her out jail after she got into a brawl at no limit Bingo… Or, it could even be E K. And, well, you don’t ignore The E K when she calls, if you know what I’m saying… I mean, after all, she could be feeling magnanimous and might be calling to let me know she’s running early, in which case I would need to hop to making that drink right away. Or, maybe that she’s running late, in which case I’d need to adjust my timing on that drink so that the ice wouldn’t be too melty… If her drink is watered down, well… You know. Last time I let that happen I was in the hospital for a week…

Therefore, all of the above was rushing through my brain as I stared at the caller I D. As you can imagine, having that much to think about all at once hurt quite a bit. But, truth be told it really didn’t take a rocket scientist to realize that I needed to answer the damn thing just to be sure.

So, I did.

“Hello?” I said as I put the handset up against my ear.

The phone went click… Click… Then I heard a female voice say, “Good evening, Mister Kat?“

“Ummm, no,” I replied. “Mister Sellars.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I was trying to reach Miz Evil Kat.”

“This is her husband, can I help you?”

“Oh, good evening sir. Is your name on her [insert fancy department store name here] charge account?”

“Nope. I can’t say that it is.”

“Then I would really need to speak with her.”

“Well, I’m afraid she’s not here right now,” I replied.

At this point I really had to give this young lady an E for effort, because  this is when most telemarketers just hang up in my ear. Instead, she persevered with, “No problem. Is there a particular time that would be good to reach your wife?”

Now, I need to give you some background. You see, E K is no bigger a fan of talking on the phone than I am, which is one of the reasons I find it so perplexing that she insist we have one of the silly things. But, be that as it may, I knew damn well she wasn’t going to want to speak to this young lady about Ginseng Tea, Credit Protection that guarantees you absolutely nothing other than you have to pay for it monthly, or even a special VIP invite to  the Flying Polish Grandmothers for Pagan Babies Day sale. By the same token,  however, I certainly understood that the poor little gal on the other end of the talkie-talkie thingy was just doing her job, so I couldn’t find it in my heart to be overtly rude to her. I mean, after all, it’s not like she called during dinner, or during an episode of N C I S or something else equally unforgivable…

Still, y’all know how I am. I certainly couldn’t pass up an opportunity to entertain myself…

“Well, I’m not exactly sure,” I said cryptically, paused for effect, then added, “You see, she’s out of the country right now.”

This bubbly young telemarketer had to be new on the job because she was just too damned cheerful for her own good. Upon hearing my reply she exclaimed, “Oh, how nice! Is she on vacation?”

“Nope,” I replied. “It’s work related. At least, I think it is.”

She fell silent for a second. Now I really had her curiosity piqued, “Uhm… Uh… You think it is?” she finally ventured.

“Yeah,” I replied with an audible shrug in my voice. “She really isn’t allowed to tell me anything about what she’s doing until after the fact. And sometimes not even then. It all just depends on how classified it is.”

“Classified?” she repeated, her voice brimming over with confusion.

“Well yeah, it’s all kind of hush hush you know,” I said, lining up the sights so I could move in for the kill. “For instance, sometimes it’s just something simple like stealing sensitive documents from a hostile country and  bringing them back to the United States, and other times it’s a little more involved… Like assassinating some whacked out dictator who’s trying to get his hands on a nuclear missile or something… I never really know what she’s been up to until she turns up back here at home.”

“I’m sorry…” she said, her voice taking on an incredulous tone. “I thought I just heard you say, assassinate?”

“You did,” I answered in earnest. “Killing people is her specialty. In fact, I once saw her  take out 11 really bad ass guys in a biker bar with nothing but her high heels, a piece of chewing gum, and a used cocktail napkin – and she did it all by herself… No help at all… Took her less than a minute… Of course, I had to buy her a new pair of shoes afterward because she couldn’t get the blood stains out of the leather… But, I’m here to tell you it was just plain amazing to watch. She’s like the female MacGyver of assassination or something. Around the office they just call her MacBitchver. The funny thing is, she actually does carry a Swiss Army Knife in her purse. Is that ironic or what?”

A stunned silence filled the earpiece. The only thing that surprised me about it was that the young woman hadn’t yet hung up in my ear.

Since I still had an audience, I continued. “Oh, please don’t misunderstand. She doesn’t just go around killing people without permission. She’s a deep cover operative for the N S A and it’s her job. She actually has a license to kill and a permit to torture. It even has her picture on it so she can use it as a government issued I D in the security line at the airport, which is kinda cool because they rush her right through and all. Of course, ever since nine-eleven they’ve kept her pretty busy doing… Well… You know… Whatever needs to be done to keep the country safe, if you get my meaning.”

I could still hear the young woman breathing at the other end of the phone, but a quick glance at the clock told me it was getting close to time for me to pull the vodka out of the freezer in preparation for the Femme Fatale in question’s arrival.

In a bid to wrap things up I added, “But, you know, if I happen to hear from her in between ops or something, I’ll be glad to let her know you called…”

“Uhm,” the girl finally said. “So, you don’t know when she’s going to be back in the country?”

Obviously, I had a live one on the other end and I had to stifle a laugh. Adopting as serious a tone as I could manage I replied, “Nope… I really never know until she just shows up here at home. But as long as I haven’t received one of those letters telling me she’s been disavowed and all that jazz,  I just make sure I don’t give away any of her stuff and we’re all good.”

I’m fairly certain we’ve never had another call from that particular outfit… If we eventually do, I’ll be sure to let double naught E Kay loose on them.  I’ll just make sure I have a drink waiting for her when she gets back from her secret mission… Of course, after she’s had to go all Jack (Jacquelyn?) Bauer on folks, she usually wants a Cranberry Martini instead of the old standby Vodka-Tonic…

…But she absolutely insists that those be shaken, not stirred…

More to come…

Murv

(… PS. In case you didn’t notice the scrolling info on the embedded player, and you are wracking your brain trying to place the origin of the Secret Agent Evil Kat Theme Song, it’s the main title music from The Girl From U.N.C.L.E*… [Composed by the late Jerry Goldsmith and arranged by Dave Grusin]… Of course, if you’re an old fart like me, you probably already knew that. Or knew it, forgot it, and needed a memory jog. Either way, there you have it.)

* U.N.C.L.E. – United Network Command for Law and Enforcement

(Yeah… I’m a geek. Wanna make something of it? Just remember, I’ll tell E K and you really don’t want me to have to take her shoe shopping again… )