How Difficult Can It Be? (FF)

FF-Flash Fiction

Made it!  Just made it to the cross channel ferry, climbed on deck with my briefcase, and parked myself at a table facing France.

Hopefully the sea breeze would ward off any attacks of my old nemesis sea sickness, especially on such a short trip. Damn it, no such luck!

A man in a trench coat sat himself across from me.

"Gee, friend, you look green."

I slid the briefcase under the table to him.

Not five minutes later another man approached the table.

"Gee, friend, you look green."

“Please tell me you're a random guy and the other guy my contact.”

“No, I’m your contact.”

Well, how difficult can it be to enrich uranium anyway?

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I had warned M not to assign me to any duty involving  boats because of my tendency to barf on them, but he took it upon himself to work the whole thing into the mission with a smart-ass passphrase. What can you expect from a guy who goes around calling himself "M" when his real named is Maurice?

This heart-pounding tale of espionage is my 116 word contribution to the Friday Fictioneers based on the prompt above for this week.  Unless you're too nauseous, please enrich yourself, if not uranium, by checking out the work of the many other Fictioneers via a right click right here. 

Well, how difficult can it be to enrich uranium anyway?  

Blame the Mucus!

Now who the hell is that guy?

I've been fascinated of late by a series of  commercials where a man suddenly and unexpectedly appears in an attractive young woman's bedroom sitting right next to her in bed.

That's a talent many of us would like to have. 

This fellow, however, is bit different.  He's wearing a t-shirt with the word "MUCUS" written on it,  and the reason he's materialized is to beat the rap that he's responsible for the woman's nasal congestion. 

Go Ahead, Blame the MUCUS!"   he says  to her cynically.

After explaining that Advil's the answer to the real problem, swollen membranes or something like that, you'd think the guy would make his move.   Sure, in  one commercial there's a husband present and in the other a young daughter, but the husband's fast asleep and the daughter just about ready for bed.

But apparently this Mucus guy has even less cool than you and me!

Well, I'm proud to tell you that I --- Perry Block --- have been cast in a new television commercial that follows along the same lines as the one for Advil.   And hopefully I'm going to handle things a whole lot slicker than Mr. Mucus!

WARNING: COMMERCIAL PARODY AHEAD

Very attractive young woman is sitting up alone in bed in scanty negligee looking very nauseous.

"Oh, I feel so sick! It must have been all that lasagna.  Washed down with the bottle of chianti.  Followed up by the linguine, the keg of beer, and the Moo Goo Gai Pan, then the Cherry Fudge Ripple ...."

 Suddenly in bed right next to the woman as if by magic, I appear.

"Go Ahead, Blame the VOMIT!"

"You ... you're the VOMIT?'

"Sure. See, it's written right here on my T-shirt and ... "

"No, I was just startled.  Of course, you're the VOMIT!  It's perfect casting!"

"Thanks."

"But I'm so sick!!!  You mean, it's not the ...."

"It's not the VOMIT. You're sick to your stomach because you've been watching the American political process on television."  

" I have, that's true."

"All those inane candidates!  Taking positions they don't believe in, making promises they can't keep. Everything driven by money and ego, not leadership!" 

"But then what do I do,  VOMIT?"

"I recommend new improved Off Switch!  Just flick it.  Then read a book, go to a museum,  or see a concert (Not ABBA though!)  Do something constructive."

"So  I can breathe .... easy!  And not puke!  Why,  thank you, VOMIT!"

"You're welcome.  And now that's out of the way, doll, what's say you and I ...."

 "OMG!  NOW I'M REALLY GONNA BE SICK!!!"

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